Friday, March 27, 2009

Slow Suicide or Chemical Hairshirt


When I set out writing this blog, I like many didn't have a clue what I was doing. I just new some how, I was going to do something different. I wouldn't rail against the drug companies, there are bloggers out there who do it and do that brilliantly. I wouldn't write about recovery- steps needed to get well, there are others who write blogs about that and do that brilliantly. My niche would be something different. What goes on in your head during the thoughts of a broken brain crying out to the heavens to be heard when it is in it's madness. Sort of like Pepys and his diaries, only without the verbiage of kissing dead Queens of England.


So I write about brief periods of madness, the down and dirty about manic depression and mania. And a couple of cute fixes or pictures of my cat, because what are the joys of sharing your life with a pet if you cannot post their pictures on the Internet?

So it should come as no surprise to those who read this blog, that last Friday I went to a conference to man a booth there, for an organization I belong to at the State level. I had a nice lunch, and enjoyed the company of some real nice, wonderful people. About 1 pm I was feeling so tired, a side effect from Leukocytosis, I think, I drove home, and crashed. But on the way, stopped at the supermarket and bought some food, and some supplies for that time of the month.

Sometime between Friday night late, and Saturday morning, the black dog came. Maybe it was from a weekend of so many deaths- famous people, who seemed to go in threes, Natasha Richardson, Jade Goody, Nick Hughes, and and those not famous but still die by their own hand.

My brain is rebelling. I don't know how I am going to get though that weekend. I have no desire to write, I am too depressed to write. Something that has never happened before. I have always been able to write even from the deepest depths of hell. But my Mac mocks me. I cannot even bother to turn it on, despairing at the emails I need to write and the thought of blogging or working on my novel- it's too much. It's too much to even stroke the cat. That is a huge warning sign. When she is not Queen of my Universe, and most Exalted Feline, you know I am depressed.

It seems life has passed me by. No children. No marriage. My wedding dress hangs visible in the closet mocking me. Despite everything, that was the best day in my life. I should get rid of it, but somehow, just cannot though it torments me. I feel so empty right now- I need to be held so bad. If "The Devil and Daniel Webster" was possible- I am certain I would sell my internal soul for ten minutes to be held and to hold someone. I am also incredibly horny- it's been two and a half years now- but that's neither here nor there. Yeah, I am feeling hyper sexual. Maybe that is adding to the mix. I don't know. I just know, I cannot see myself being past this weekend. I don't want to get past it. I want to sleep. And it's been several days since I have slept. So I have bought a bottle of Advil PM, 50 pills, a bottle of Sominex, a bottle of CVS blue capsules. I have my prescription Motrin and my lithium and Cymbalta. And sometime over the weekend, I try to lie down to go to sleep sleep for an hour and go into the kitchen , pour a glass of milk and take some pills. Anything to sleep. And crawl back to bed, and sleep for another hour or two but I cannot get more of two hours at the most, and long for sleep, for blessed unconsciousness. And it's not coming. Back to the kitchen and more pills, more milk. Lie back in bed, turn on the radio, and listen to the sound of some DJ droning as I hear my heart beat like it's coming out of my chest like a Tex Avery cartoon. But still, no sleep. I just want to sleep.

Sunday night the vomiting starts. Monday morning I wake and see I have emptied all the sleeping pills bought- all in the effect of trying to sleep. And from Monday to Friday I cannot keep anything down. It is on Friday I realize it's from the pills. I basically overdosed without knowledge of over dosing- 50 Advils, 5 Motrins, 25 Sominex, 8 blue capusules. Was it intentional? I don't know. I can recall my last attempt in November 02 where I tried to hang myself and the rope broke. I can recall taking a kitchen chair outside with me, making the noose, looking at the moon, and kicking the chair away. I recall what it was like to start dying. But this- this wasn't to die. This was just to sleep, to find sleep, and maybe never wake up again, but maybe not.

A lovely friend came by one night to baby sit- I was still vomiting, and shaking. I tried to lie down and rest, and lay, sweating and trying to breathe, trying to cough to bring up phlegm, crying but not able to make tears. I look terrible. My apartment is a wreck. I haven't cleaned in a week or so, there are dust bunnies and cat vomit on the hard wood floors. I just stopped caring. I just can't deal with it right now. He stayed with me, fed me, held me and listened to me. I don't deserve such people in my life.

And right now, I feel like I am being punished. It's not "Wait til your Father gets home", it's something more visceral. Did I try to suicide- could my brain have worked that way this time? No note, I've never not had a note. I've always planned the few times I have attempted. This wasn't planned. It just-was.


And maybe that is why I did not die though now, talking to the doc, I realize I should have. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be this time. Maybe it wasn't supposed to happen. It was a fevered brain trying to cope as best as it can trying to hang on, to live.

I just know I am still shaking, still sweating, cannot stop crying. Weak as a new born calf. Anxious when I never get anxiety. And maybe I need to feel this too, as some type of divine punishment for my sin(s) this past week. My own chemical hairshirt. I don't know. I just don't know. I just know that I am not suicidal right now, which is a blessing. I have a lot of learning to do this weekend, unlike last.

11 comments:

Immi said...

Either way, it's got to suck. I'm glad you have a friend there to help you out. I'll just have to send Holly some cyber-scritches in the meanwhile. I hope you feel better soon, girlfriend. *hugs*

Ana said...

Susan,
Are you going to therapy? I'm looking forward to see you getting better.
I believe you've been trough too much.
Perhaps changing psychiatrist?
Take good care of yourself.
Hugs,
Ana

susan said...

@Immi, thnk you. Was nice friend and gave Holly lots of scritches.


@Ana I m Ok. I do have therapy and have a lot to digest right now. HOw are you?

Pyrs said...

Susan, I can identify with what you wrote, and have felt like writing something similar lately, though my experience right now is less intense than yours. My house is not presentable either. Thank God for cats, and friends, and music, and books, and coffee, etc. These are the things that keep me going.
Hang in there. Perhaps your friend will visit again soon.
Pete

Sandy Naiman said...

Hi Susan,

I wish I was there and not here. You just wrote one of the most compelling posts I've ever read, ironically, about not being able to write.

Have a look. Do you know that writers cannot judge their own work? That's why they have editors, so as I am and have been a professional editor, let me share this with you.

Some of the greatest writing in the world comes out of enormous sadness – Hemmingway. Yours is so visceral, so real, it's publishable.

Except that you're struggling alone. This is very hard for me to accept especially as I just called you and you didn't answer the phone.

You want to live. I sense that somewhere, deep inside your mind, you are dying to live, but you're utterly exhausted.

Sleep is so essential to life. Deprived of it, and all of us go mad. Sleep deprivation is a well-known form of torture and you are sleep deprived.

How can you solve this conundrum? Sometimes our minds work in strange ways. Your writing is so powerful, perhaps you can write yourself to sleep.

Or simply keep drinking warm milk, which you told me last week, always helps you.

You are craving company, too. But I wish you had more friends who would visit. Virtual friends just cannot hug you as you desperately need to be hugged.

An E-hug doesn't have any feeling. It's just visual. The wrong sense. You need, I think, to be touched. Really touched.

I would give anything to be able to touch you, Susan.

Love,
sln

Stephany said...

i hope that friend visits very soon, like this weekend. hang in there.

Sandy Naiman said...

Susan,

Rewriting is good. Writing is rewriting.

You seem to be getting into step with your life right now and you were laughing last night when we spoke.

Keep it up. Have a positive Saturday, today! Enjoy your visitors.

E-hugs,
sln

John FW said...

Susan -
You are such a good writer that your telling about this is all the more harrowing. I'm glad you seem to have come out of the worst of it. I practically shake reading about your encounters with suicide - unconscious or impulsive or planned or any other kind. It wasn't your time, and it won't ever be your time for that! The ability to write about those experiences and face squarely what's going on is brave and, I'm sure, essential for you - both moving and inspiring for us. I know well what you mean about that intense need to be touched. Here's a prayer that it happens soon. You do deserve it and deserve the good friends you have!

Here's a transcontinental, electronic, blogospherical hug - 2 hugs.

All love to you -- John

louisey said...

I am so concerned for you Susan and feel very helpless, wish I culd visit and give you a real hug.

All my love

Mary in Africa

melzoom said...

my darling... in a similar state, I found that textures were the only thing that helped. I know it sounds silly, but different textures-- corduroys, silk, denim, burlap, jersey knit, charmeuse, were the only thing that kept me grounded. I hope you find that thing...

tedgardener said...

It seems like everyone of us has answers but I'm googling "Suicide" and all I find are cries for help and nothing more. Your post was the only one with substance. Since its 2011 and the postings are 2009, you're either succesfully dead and wishing you were so, Either all of that or you're so much better. I hioe for the latter. If not, say hello (tedgak of it.rdener@msn.com) just for the heck of it.

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