I'm a nerdlinger, a horror movie enthusiast, love anything British, twisted sense of humor, as well as a vintage romantic. I write stuff and things. And I fangirl.
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~Always Help Someone. You Might Be The Only One Who Does~
Today the 29th of July will mark a year that I tangoed with death. But I ended up being the stronger of the two
I have a case of the Monday’s everyday. I take medication for bi-polar, panic anxiety disorder, and PTSD. Some days are better than some, but those real downer days can last for a few hours/days, or for months. Nothing can cause them, or it can start with nightmares or panic attacks. But I do so well for so long and then I break.
This brings on actual physical pain. During the duration of these times skills can be used that I learned in therapy or from a psychiatrist. The easiest one when I start to lose touch with reality, not knowing about my moods (always, never, everyone sort of thing, and believing it) is three positive truths. No matter how easy, how truthful it is, just as long as they’re true. And say them aloud, and it helps keep you grounded. Journaling helps release some of the pain, getting everything out there. No one is going to read it, it’s a secret if it has to be. If you need a confidant to just read it and get such things out there so at least another person knows.
Self harming is a release that is not positive in anyway shape or form. But once it’s done it feels like something that’s well, indescribable. I am not to the extreme as some. I don’t do it to die. It’s a release, and as a punishment, depends on the occasion. I wish it was like a fine evening gown to pick for a gala or a more intimate occasion. But instead it’s something that is going to cause pain and make me bleed.
None of this I condone, and I wish I didn’t do it. I have tiny scars from where I had cut skin as a teenager with manicure scissors that no one can see but me, because I know they’re there. I can point them out though upon request. But I have one large one and I hate it. I cover it up as much as I can. And two large ones that are up on my bicep, those hurt the worse and that pain I never want to do again. Most of mine bleed, and then just look like scratches. I can’t imagine those who have so many scars, my heart aches for them. I know how the pain inside feels. But the feeling of your choice of cutlery I don’t know. I just know it hurts.
But I always cared for my wounds. Bandages, Neosporin, anything that I needed to keep from an infection, too much pain, and to get through and school and eventually as I grew into a full functioning (haha no seriously I am trying) work day. Some people don’t. And that means something about their selves.
But this time cutting wasn’t cutting it. (Bad pun I know) I chopped my hair off, after I had just let it grow out from donating it once before, so I donated it again, and dyed it funky but not too funky to not land me a job if the opportunity arose. I sat in that chair with bandages on my arms, in a long sleeve shirt in the spring. I was hot, in pain, and just plain uncomfortable for that long ass time it took them to do my hair. But after I was done I looked hella fine.
I still felt like an empty hole inside of me, pure helplessness, I’d lost hope on life, my husband really didn’t want me. Living in a different state because of being in the military, he had full power to get me out to where he was. But never did. It got to where I didn’t want to talk to him. He didn’t question anything about my life, he started lying to me more about petty things, with the hole and pain I was feeling, I started to grow hatred. Not just for him, but for myself. I already knew this marriage was a failure but I couldn’t have a chance to fix it, but I could have stopped it. I blamed myself for so much.
When I’d be up all night from not sleeping from nightmares, or my brain would go off on this atlas of thoughts, I read because a former co-worker gave me two books at one point hoping they’d help. They’d help some, but not enough to sleep like a normal person. Or I’d write hoping the world I’d create would penetrate the parts of my mind that were keeping me overwhelmed, would help me forget the bad things that kept my brain over active.
It finally got to the point where making jokes, pretending to be the average me, and the smiles got to be exhausting. I laid in bed and thought of my options. I’ve gone to the hospital before with suicidal thoughts, but I had just ran out meds and waiting for them to go back into my system was what I needed and environmental factors weren’t helping. So I was just sent home.
I cried on the day I made the decision. Not a lot, just small tears. I made my decision, as I had done before. Last time was as a teenager, and then I just had gotten sick or something just didn’t work. But this time it was going to.
I first tried to make an outreach to my father who didn’t have time to talk to me. He doesn’t really believe in such issues, “it’s all in your head” sort of thing, not real. And I wasn’t just going to tell him I was going to die. I called my big sister. She was out of time on her phone. My adoptive mom didn’t answer her phone. I called an associate that’s the closest to calling a friend, another former co-worker at work, she was gone for the day, and her cell kept going to voice mail. I had the number to the crisis team. I worked for an outpatient behavioral health office before I had gotten married. So this number was very handy and passed out a lot. But I didn’t want to call it. Why? I knew the people. They at the time, I don’t know about now, were assholes, very impatient, short tempered, just didn’t want to deal with most of anything. Their supervisor whom I’d dealt with on a few occasions she was always rush, rush but I have time to make jokes with this one person hahahaha. But if I had questions, they had to be e-mailed, she didn’t have time to answer them. So I knew I was somewhat alone.
My one and only friend I can say I have I texted at work and asked him if he remembered the pin number to my debit card. He replied with a yes, but was concerned. He knew better. I told him it was a ‘just to make sure’ reason. He didn’t fall off the apple cart yesterday. Then I texted my adoptive oldest younger sister if she remembered my passwords, after a bit of a delay she simply just said ‘yup I do.’
I picked up my digital camera and went around and recorded the things I wanted to go to whom, and then what could be donated. That list was rather small. I own a lot of sentimental junk that I only find wanting. No one else would want much of anything I have.
I sat that on the back of the couch, put season one, disc one of NCIS in the DVD player, got my blanky on the floor and my favorite pillow and picked my spot. I moved the living room furniture to where I think it would accommodate a gurney for the paramedics/ME/Coroner. I don’t know who’d come first, I wouldn’t be the one calling, but I was trying to make room so they could move around.
I grabbed a water from the fridge and went to my medicine cabinet and took 23 of one prescribed medication and 10-13 of an over the counter medication. Swallowed those puppies, made sure my clothes were comfortable and walked my happy ass to the living room floor and laid down after starting my DVD. As I typed a note of how I felt and what I took, and any wishes I had in a note on my phone while watching “Yankee White” I got a little misty eyed. This would be the last time I would watch this episode. The last time Gibbs throws out some rules, DiNozzo is a womanizer, laughing at him and Ducky taking pictures behind the presidents’ desk on the plane, them outsmarting, Fornell and the whole FBI, and hell just even getting Kate Todd who everyone loves and misses dearly after being shot by a terrorist later on. I wanted Kate’s funeral music played as played by Abby, the traditional leaving the funeral New Orleans jig. But to find the going to the burial would be hard. I chose cremation because it’s cheap despite my fear of fire I’ll be dead who cares, and I didn’t think the life insurance my husband had on me covered suicide. It was a nice little note saved on my phone and I left it by me so someone would find it, then to read it.
I grew very tired. I fought it. I always fight sleep. I don’t know why. But I do. I wondered if I fell asleep initially would I have the really long dreams that are vivid? Or have a horrible nightmare? Tired of the nightmares, tired of no sleep. But it was getting to the point where I felt like I was losing my body. I knew I needed to close my eyes, and sleep. Oh sleep, I love it. And I would finally sleep forever. But shortly after I closed my eyes, my friend had gotten off work and it seemed like he busted down the door and that’s not what happened. He unlocked it, and asked me what I had done. I could barely talk, he tried to get me to sit up on the couch I couldn’t do it properly. Despite my reassurances of “Hey I can do this. Let me do this myself.” He picked me up and sat me on the couch like a child. I even tried to make jokes about dying. He wasn’t pleased. I explained things to him slowly and as best as I could. I sounded like an extreme drunk who was on the verge of passing out, or maybe someone so messed up on drugs. I’m not sure which, maybe both?
He wanted to force myself to throw up, but the medication had dissolved so much it wasn’t doing anything. He was going to call an ambulance, I sounded like my father on this, I told him I didn’t want to have to pay the bill. Ambulance rides are expensive. Well drive to the hospital then, I refused. No I wanted to die, and I didn’t want my stomach pumped. That made him angry. So I was told we were pulling an all nighter and he was watching me. I couldn’t sleep. That was going to be hard. I could barely walk, and I went out on the balcony of my apartment which is the second floor (if you’re in America, first if you’re across the pond) because he had to smoke and I wasn’t being left alone. It was kind of hard, I was so afraid to fall off, because I’m afraid of heights. I didn’t want to fall and break a bunch of bones and crack my skull. Too much physical pain for me, thanks.
I kept feeling like my life was leaving my body randomly. I would feel really light, and like the wind could carry me away. It felt more like it was the inside of me felt that way though, not my actual body. My breathing was so shallow and I felt limp. I wanted to just fall asleep, and be taken. But then I’d feel normal again, drugged, tired, icky as hell. But then I’d feel light and floating, and if I tried to move a body part, that felt so limp. At one point I actually thought I was absolutely the closest to death. I had a ‘beam me up Scotty’ feeling in my body, and I think I could actually see myself like I was watching me, next to myself. It didn’t last long. But the moment stuck with me.
But when the sun came up I felt somewhat ok, he let me sleep but he did observe me. I slept for a short time and woke up. He drove us to his apartment in my car. Walked up what seemed like a thousand steps, but I made it, still feeling like a noodle having an out of body experience. I was there for a couple hours, having problems talking like slow speech, jumbling up my words, spacing out, slurring, and then my walking was a little clumsier than normal. I walked back down those steps and into my car. I lied and said I was fine to drive. I turned my car on, it was a miracle I was able to lift my arm to turn my car on. I had the radio on, barely got my window cracked because it was hot and I was super hot in my car. I rested my head on my steering wheel. And I sat there pppfffttt who knows how long. I felt like I could once again slowly feel my life leaving my body. I was slowing down more than I had since I woke up. Things seemed almost a streaking blur as I would try to move my head. My vision would streak like a water color painting. I would get light and like a noodle. After awhile trying to figure out what was going on, I got a text message from my friend asking if I was ok. I said no.
That was my first reach out to someone that responded. And I actually admitted out loud to myself that I was not okay. He came down stairs and drove me to the hospital. I wanted to make sure I didn’t have any brain damage from the amount of medication I had taken, but I knew I was going to pull through.
The triage nurse was hateful, treating me like I was crap. I had the urge to say “Bitch I just tried to kill myself, don’t think I wont try it on another person.” But I sat there through her bad time that she was having, whatever it was. Because you never know what someone else is going through. I sat with my friend for a long time, despite the small amount of people waiting. Yes I know the protocol, why we could be waiting so long, but I was not in the mood, despite my laughter. I can laugh at the worst times.
My ER room was the same as the last one I was in when I was feeling suicidal. Is that a trend in these parts? I don’t know. But they had Law & Order on and I was watching it. The doctor was a cunt (I like the word, I don’t find it offensive. But in this case make it the most offensive, disgusting thing you can. And that’s her). The nurse had asked me a few questions, she was kind. But the doctor had asked me a few questions, not even close to why I came there or anything, after sitting for so long she finally informed me I was going to a mental health facility. Well I wouldn’t call it that really, it’s a nut house a couple floors above an ER. So I was angry, she got an affidavit so I have to go against my will.
This utter bitch, I want to go home and watch Sherlock for the 40th time this month and lay on my couch. Who does she think she is? But I had to do what she said. I was angry, left to sit there and wait on an ambulance to take me. After waiting a long time, enough time where my friend left because he needed to go to work and needed some kind of sleep. Shortly after he left, the EMT’s arrived. My first ambulance ride, it’s because I tried to die by my own hand, and none of them are good looking. It was kind of a bummer. But they loaded me up and it was rainy. Oh so rainy. And I love the rain. That was a good feeling, the rain, despite being strapped to the gurney and being wheeled around.
My stay is another story. But it was worthless, except you could order two burgers at meal times, and had tattoo talk with one of the techs. And even when you’re in scrubs and you look like hell, some former GI thinks you’re beautiful and that you’re a wonderful person. Kind of weird, but it still was a sweet sentiment.
But I found out from this I’m stronger than I thought. I felt a little like Wynona Ryder in ‘Girl Interrupted’ she kept saying, she just had a headache, and well I just wanted to sleep. I hate the whole, “you can sleep when you’re dead” bit, because I tried. I like sleep. I wanted to be there forever. I know there is a life to live. You have to live it a little lighter though. Don’t be so hard on yourself, don’t dwell, and things aren’t as bad as they seem.
The nightmare’s come and you think they’ll stay, but they wont. They will stop, for awhile anyway. The flashbacks are hard. But think of a possible flash forward. But like the nightmares, the flashbacks aren’t there all the time. Enjoy the moments in between. If there are people who you don’t want in your life, get them out. Or if they don’t want you, then let them get out.
Things are so hard to look at from a positive prospective. I don’t have money to pay for bills, I just bum rushed moved, trashed 45% of my unsentimental things so I could just move, things aren’t that great, I just got my first job in two years after my life was derailed. But I’m pulling through. I’ve got this, and I’m prevailing. Slowly but surely.
Three positive truths come in handy for times when you think you have nothing going for you. You need to uplift yourself. Do something to uplift yourself because you need it, everyone does. Meditate, write, music, TV, knit or crochet and endless scarf or afghan, find an interest in something, be around awesome people that are awesome to you. When was the last time you were out of your pajamas? Fix your hair, lip stick (red lipstick goes great with everything and nothing), put some pomade in your hair dude and go to the store even if it’s to look. It helps.
We are in the world to live and leave a mark. Mark the slightest bit of yourself on someone as a stranger doing something kind, a stranger off in the distance doing god knows what that leaves something inside of another and it kind of just sits and resonates inside of them, mark on people you know and love. And they’ll do the same to you. But most importantly survive this ride that we are living in. It’s hard as fuck. Not going to lie. I’m only 27, I’ve seen things, touched things, felt things, but I’m hoping to improve the rest of my life. Scratch that. I’m GOING TO IMPROVE the rest of my life. Survive, be apart of the living, mark those who are surviving and show them “hey we’re both here with our struggles.” We need to know we’re not alone. Hurting or not, we need to know we are not alone. Never.
I’m alive because I survived. I struggled through a physical fight, and an emotional one. Damn it was a hard struggle too. I will not sugar coat it. I fought staying awake. Feeling things that weren’t natural, things that made me feel like I was dissipating, there was a lot of pain. And wondered why the hell am I looking at myself. That of course is not natural.
There is one I fight everyday some days are worse than others or even very different. But it’s an intense tango. It’s passionate, it’s intense, and it is oh so very close. But in the end, one of the partners are stronger than the other, you lead the other. And I was that partner. I lead death, I felt him, so close to me. As much as I wanted him, he wasn’t the partner I needed. He wasn’t good with me because of how bad we fought and struggled. But that intimate, trusting, gripping dip never happened between us, I pushed him away before it could happen and I am alive, and well as I can be.
And yes, I believe it was a him.
If there is ever a time when you think you need to end it, you want to give up, there are people. Strangers who will talk you through things, I’ve done it quite a bit (instagram was interesting), but message me. Doesn’t have to be a huge cry if you don’t want it to be, it can just be to talk. I may not reply right away, but I will. I don’t want anyone to go through things alone. And there are other people not just on Tumblr alone that you can talk to, all you have to do is put forth a little effort to find them. Twitter has tons of them too. There’s an enormous online support system. You’ve got people who want you to pull through and continue on and better yourself, and you don’t know them. A better day is never too far away.