I have waffled whether or not to post this. And I may put it back in draft after posting it. It may be disturbing for some readers. It may also enlighten, giving a tiny glimpse, a surface view, of part of what goes through the psyche of the one entrenched in the throes of deep depression or anxiety, where life takes on the hue of hopelessness and one's self as worthless. These distortions loom large, and the afflicted feels the only escape is death.
I know what to do when these episodes descend. So I really don't want any "advice." And, I'm fine now. The episodes rarely happen these days; for that, I am grateful. But I'm not so naïve to think this darkness will not revisit. I'm glad I have a light.
On 11/11/18, three days after the recent episode, I wrote a poem.
On 11/14/18, almost a week after the episode, I wrote the following piece. At the end of it I include something I wrote on 11/08/18, the day of.
***
November 14, 2018
How much of my feeling of pointlessness is due to my illness?
How much is due to the changing seasons of life? Empty-nesting? Aging?
How much is due to our 24/7 news-on-screens that never shuts down?
In the airwaves all around us.
The fires.
The floods.
The mass shootings.
The tensions.
Trump's looming largeness.
And yet he is such a petty man.
Divisive rhetoric all around.
I feel I am not alone in this feeling of pointlessness.
My pointlessness is not all due to loss.
I endeavor to own my losses and to recognize just how good I have it.
Compared to most of the world.
And that I should be thankful.
I have food, every day.
Too much food.
I have clothing, every day.
I have shelter, every day.
I have transportation, every day.
Last week, when the suicidal ideation engulfed me
I hung on
I knew it would pass
But when it is present, the self feels totally without value
Utter worthlessness
Used to be, when the kids were young, and I would have engulfment episodes
I would think of the kids
That was my reason to keep living
I couldn't do that to my children - commit suicide
I just couldn't
My suicide plan then was foolproof. I don't like making messes that others have to clean up, so I would do myself in at the local lake. I'd drive to the lake with pistol beside me. Before getting out of the vehicle, I'd swallow the Xanax - however many pills were in the bottle. I'd then take the pistol, exit the van, and wade into the lake up to my armpits, keeping the pistol out of the water. I'd then wrap my lips around the barrel and pull the trigger. If the bullet didn't kill me, I'd have a back-up. I'd drown. And the fish could eat me. There'd be no physical mess. At least, not much.
But last week, as I battled thoughts of suicide, I knew I didn't have the energy to carry out that plan. Nor the physical strength to pull a trigger on a pistol. It'd just have to be Xanax and the bathtub. I wonder what the significance of drowning is?
Last week, as I thought about leaving this realm, my brain in a vice, my heart gouged with a gaping, empty hole, I wrote the following in my Sudoku puzzle book. Sudoku, one of my current go-to therapies.
I wrote:
11/08/18
...my note would say:
"I cannot continue in this non-existent existence. I'm sorry I didn't get the house cleaned. Here are all my passwords. Please keep in touch with each other and take care of the earth. If there's an afterlife, I'll see you there. I could have said goodbye directly before leaving, but it's just too painful. I'll miss my pets, and bike, and the woods."
And I think of my blind friend, the schnauzer. And when he looks at me, even though he cannot see me, his eyes say, "I love you so very much Carol."
I need to stay around, at least for him.
...my note would say:
"I cannot continue in this non-existent existence. I'm sorry I didn't get the house cleaned. Here are all my passwords. Please keep in touch with each other and take care of the earth. If there's an afterlife, I'll see you there. I could have said goodbye directly before leaving, but it's just too painful. I'll miss my pets, and bike, and the woods."
And I think of my blind friend, the schnauzer. And when he looks at me, even though he cannot see me, his eyes say, "I love you so very much Carol."
I need to stay around, at least for him.
***
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| ~my friend and I~ ~the blind leading the crippled~ |
