Journal Day 5 12/10/19

I’ve decided if I’m going to blog about being depressed and suicidal, I should get comfortable with saying it to people who care about me. I’ve changed my mind. They can read about it on my blog. Oh, wait. One of my goals is to make it easier to talk about suffering from depression and being suicidal. I’ll have to work on that.

If I was diagnosed with cancer, I wouldn’t be embarrassed. I wouldn’t feel like it was my fault. I want people to be able to talk about what they’re struggling through and ask for help.

So, in the hot tub the other day, I thought of some things to follow up on later.

First, I was having a hard time deciding where to start to describe how I ended up writing a suicide note and gathering the necessary supplies. I’ve decided to start with the death of my dad in April of 2019. See Chapter One.

Next, I discussed the idea of my blog with Dr. Liz at our appointment Friday. She’s behind me 100% and gave me permission to refer to her as Dr. Liz.

Lastly, I’m not always in a position to write down what I’m thinking about for my blog, like sitting in a hot tub, but it’s okay. The thoughts will stay in my head and maybe I’ll even be able to recall them when I have pen and paper later, which is not a given.

Journal Day 4 12/6/19

I’ve never followed a blog or even checked one out. I thought about doing that before I started mine, but then decided to just plow ahead. I’ve also started this blog in a notebook to be published online later. This gives me time to think twice before posting or considering whether or not I should even have a blog at all. I’m going to publish the dates of my journal entries and they are accurate to when I actually wrote them.

I’m fine with my closest friends and family knowing what I’ve been through, and I’m not worried in the least about strangers reading this. The thought of friends, acquaintances, coworkers, people I run into in the community reading this – I’m not going to lie – that makes me nervous.

I’m feeling better every day. It helps that I was already on an antidepressant and we increased the dose. I’ve also started on a new, complimentary medication. I continue on bed rest for the most part. This will get more difficult as my condition imrpoves. I know this because my m.o. has always been to do too much, too soon, when recovering from any illness or injury. The first couple of days of rest, I kept running a “should” list through my head. My sister recently listened to a podcast on which anxiety was discussed. One person said he tells himself, “Not now,” when he starts should-ing. I’m trying that. Now, a week in, it is such a relief to know I’m not supposed to be doing anything. When I woke up this morning, my first instinct to go through a to-do list was easily brushed aside.

Because I’ve been dealing with depression for 25 years, the story of how I got to the point where I was planning my end has a very long version, but also a more recent chapter. I’ve decided I’ll start with the most current set of events and circumstances, later giving a full account of my initial experience and extended journey with depression and anxiety, as well as the effect on the stages of my life and relationships.

I sat in our hot tub today for the first time since shit hit the fan on 11/24. Much as I tried to be fully present, my mind kept returning to my writing. I can’t get it all on paper right now but as a reminder to myself:

  • Chapter One
  • See what Dr. Liz thinks – am I crazy to put this out there? What if trolls come out and say terrible things?
  • Relax, it’s all in my head and I can remember later

It’s really hard to talk about being suicidal, especially with someone who has a legal duty to report if a person is suicidal or homicidal. You have to choose your words very carefully.

Journal Day 3

I feel relaxed for the first time in a very long time after five days of bed rest. I have to resist the urge to begin doing, planning, and worrying about what comes next.

I’ve thought about suicide more times than I could ever recall. It’s one of the symptoms I get when my depression increases, along with decreased appetite (I call it the depression diet), troubled sleep, crying easily, etc. In my younger years, thoughts of suicide really scared me, but over the decades it’s become a gnat I can swat down, chalking it up to just another symptom. Until a week-and-a-half ago.

I’m not going into details about what my plan was, but for the first time I had a real plan. I wrote a suicide note. I assembled the things I would need. I couldn’t beieve I was actually doing these things, but I was; so I believed I really would carry it out. Then a friend asked me to meet for coffee later in the week and I said, “I might not be here.” Of course, I wasn’t in my “right mind” but I thought this friend might not interfere. I was wrong.

She told me I couldn’t go through with it, and I asked her, “Why?” Because she loves me, my family and friends love me, she explained.

The problem was that for all those years I’d had suicidal thinking pop up, I swatted them down with that exact thinking. “I can’t hurt so many people who love me.” But it wasn’t enough to tip the scales this time. This emptiness was bigger than the pain, disappointment, and anger I knew would follow for my husband, our children, my extended family and friends.

My purpose in life, which had buoyed me through many down times, was that I’m here to weave love and compassion into the fabric of life. I’ll write more later about how I found that purpose. But the weekend before Thanksgiving 2019, this was no longer a credible defense because I was empty, unable to give love or compassion to anyone.

I literally felt a “whoosh” as the last vestiges of myself were spent after I wrote my suicide note. I had nothing left to offer. It occurred to me that I had served my purpose. I’d done what I was here for and used up all of myself. If there is nothing left to give, I must be done.

I would include my suicide note here but I’ve offered my family and one of my closest friends the opportunity to read it, and they’ve all declined, with the exception of my husband. Maybe I’ll publish it later.

Journal Day 2

I have an illness, have had for about 25 years. It goes into remission but recurs at the worst of times. The illness is depression with a side of anxiety. If you’ve experienced either of these, it’s my hope you find company, understanding, encouragement, maybe something to hold on to. If you love or are involved with someone who suffers from depression and/or anxiety, I’m trying to give you a glimpse into what it’s like to deal with them. I know from my husband and my best friend that if you haven’t had clinical depression, it’s very hard to relate. Perhaps walking with me for a while will improve your ability to empathize with and support your loved one more effectively.

As administrator of my site, it’s fine with me if you disagree with something I say. It’s not okay to call names, judge or bully (me or other readers), any of which will not be published.

I don’t begin to think I speak for anyone else who struggles with clinical depression or anxiety. I’m sharing my thoughts, feelings and experiences, which may or may not resonate with others. Like I said, if no one reads it, I’ve still written it and gotten it out of my head.

Depression is just as much as illness as diabetes or heart disease. It requires treatment and lifestyle adjustments. It’s much more than a bad mood or a pity party. It affects me physically, mentally, and emotionally.

So where am I right now? As I write this, I’m under doctor’s orders to sleep as much as I can for two weeks, complete rest, because I came very close to taking my own life 10 days ago. I’m receiving professional help including medication and therapy. I’ve signed a contract agreeing I won’t hurt myself. I’m on a leave of absence from work with some time on my hands, so I’m documenting my experience as I move forward, wanting to memorialize this time in my life while the thoughts and feelings are fresh. I want to be real. I’m afraid I might give out too much information. I know I’m vulnerable right now, so I’m nervous. Because I’m choosing to share events and situations as closely as I can to how they play out, I’m not going to use the real names of my friends and family; they didn’t choose to be part of this.

For years, one of the things that has helped me maintain balance is having a purpose in life. My purpose is to weave love and compassion into the fabric of life, regardless of where I am, who I’m with, or what I’m doing. Recently, however, I found myself empty with nothing to give. This blog will be a way for me to sort out how I got here and how I work my way up and out, putting one foot in front of the other.

Some people may find topics I discuss disturbing, so this blog might not be for everyone.

I’m tired. Enough for now. I’ll leave you with a poem I wrote three days ago.

Empty

A paper cut out of a person
with nothing left inside.
The front and back still look the same
so it's not too hard to hide.

Keeping up appearances,
play acting on life's stage
is lonely and exhausting,
an effort to turn each page.

Meanwhile, cares and troubles trip along,
no break I get from juggling
until I cry, "Enough, enough,"
and admit that I am struggling.

Aware that I am more fortunate than many
with family, friends, and a good physician
who will help me on the path to healing,
there is hope on the horizon of my limited vision.

First Blog Post – Ever

Here I go, starting a blog, my first. I’m here writing in spite of myself. I am sharing my experience as I move forward, healing from my third, and worst, episode of major clinical depression. I welcome interested readers who would like to walk through this journey with me. If not a single person chooses to read my words, I’m okay with that. This is my real time experience as I travel out of darkness and into light.

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