The new PHP is going well. I’m getting something out of the group therapy sessions. I enjoy spending the time with people just as broken as me. Someone pointed out the other day that I appear to be running without filters or masks. I suppose they’re right. And it’s a bit refreshing. I’m still not sharing completely when it comes to suicidal ideation. They ask if it’s passive, active, or nothing. Active involves plans and intentions. I always put passive, but I have to admit I have a number of different plans. No intent yet, but the last week has tested me quite a lot.
Last week was extremely hard. Still reeling from the news of our friend who committed suicide, I’ve had volumes of thoughts and feelings about that. But two events made my week go even further south. The first was a dinner with my eldest, just one of the things we do. This time it was fish and chips. We talked about our friend and she was pretty emotional. She didn’t even get along with him that well, but they had a connection anyway, and this was a tough loss for her too. She cried, but held it together enough to have a very good conversation about the implications of suicide. Mostly the usual (anger, sadness, resentment) which I’ve heard, and now felt.
Her tears and feelings felt like a poorly masked commentary on my own suicidal history and the impact on my family. I could just hear more and more safety catches being placed on my own plans and intentions in addition to the locks already there. Family, my other daughter, my friends. Everyone I’m having to stay alive for, and now these additional perspectives. By the time I dropped her off I was livid, though I didn’t share my anger with her. I just wanted to drive my car straight into a wall. My anger tied directly to the things preventing me from dying.
Next day, even worse. It was the day of the memorial. I’m glad I went, but it sucked in ways I couldn’t have imagined. It was a nice service, with family and friends telling stories of our friend. He was larger than life, and as such the source of great stories. When one of our friends told her story, I got a few sobs out but kept it together. What really got me was the first memorial. One of his nieces, about the same as as my youngest daughter, same hair, similar look. As she was sobbing through her memorial, she morphed into my daughter, standing there sobbing over her own words for me. From there, it became my memorial. Which of my friends would be there? Who in my family would host the memorial. Would it be a hassle of a task for them? I’ve never seen some of my siblings cry. Would they? How would my ex be participating? Would she speak?
I tried to not make it about myself, but failed miserably. When the ceremony was over, I hugged my ex, told her I couldn’t be there anymore, and left. I just couldn’t handle small talk from the people I knew there. My current state does not lend well to the question “how are you these days” and honestly it just felt like I would be haunting the place.
As I left and made a beeline for my car, I saw other people leaving. The hot summer day causing people to take off their ties and jackets. Throw them in the backseat and head back to the office, or to lunch somewhere. The memorial left at the service and the day must carry on. And that’s it. It’s over. My family would probably gather somewhere and drink and tell family stories. Someone would have to go through my apartment, clear it out. I wouldn’t want it to be my ex, but wouldn’t want one of my siblings have to do it. Nothing crazy to discover there, just wouldn’t want to inconvenience anyone.
That’s about it. Those are the events of the week. They had a profound effect on me, and I don’t know how long it will be before I find my balance again back to my major depressive episode and anxiety spree. For now I’m just trying to stay out of the hospital.
In the time since I have reviewed plans, researched more, and thought through logistics for a suicide. I’ve been doing that for months though. It has been the intent that has begun creeping in. Two nights I shouldn’t have been alone, but lucky you I’m still here. But I feel this chaos in my life that I haven’t experienced before. It’s not the comfortable depression or the painful anxiety, it’s that I can’t imaging the future, and working with the care team doesn’t give me much hope. The staff psychiatrist gave me that look that the treatment resistant depression clinic psychiatrist gave me. I’ve done a ton of meds, ECT, TMS, all sorts of things. They’re offering another round of TMS, which I guess couldn’t hurt. (except for the woodpecker) Of course, that would be every day for a whole bunch of weeks. Not conducive to going back to work. Layer on that they’ll likely refer me to an IOP, which will be three days a week for half a day — and the combination works out to two half days that I can work. And I can guarantee you that’s not going to fly. Not to mention I’m a people manager. So 5 days a week is pretty much the gold standard.
Does this preclude me from going back to work? So that removes my income and health care. So that would lead to medicaid and disability. Goodbye apartment, travel and what else? I love my car and it’s paid off, but repairs on that model can be stupid expensive. So either I lose that or build up the credit card debt and sink my credit score. That’s hard to come back from. I know I’m catastrophizing, but tell me you can’t look at that and say it’s not a possibility.
When I think of how mental health feels, it’s like a focal ring. When things are okay, low pressure, anxiety quiet, it’s a wide view. I can see my daughters, who I don’t want to hurt. I can see work, and some sort of future, however hopeless it may be. Which keeps me from hurting myself. But when things get bad, and the darkness clouds my vision, and the anxiety puts me in a cage, that’s when the focus narrows, all I can see is inward and ugly, and there’s no perspective but me. That’s when I can’t see the safety catches and my thoughts run to finally getting to the task of ending my life.
So here I am with resentment for the people and things that are preventing me from stopping all of the pain. And an ever narrowing focus.
a Scarlet D 
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