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Exploring Womanhood > Journals > Life on a Slippery Slope > Entries
Entry #10
~ Home at Last!Coming
home was strange. Dh treated me rather gingerly. The kids
were thrilled to see me and didn't want to let me out
of their sight. Because they are so young, we really haven't
said much to them other than that I'm sick, but I'm getting
better. How do you explain to your five-year-old that
you are sick enough that suicide was an option? I don't
think you do. I was so glad to be home, but nervous. It
seemed like it would be a long week until I would see
my family doctor and go through intake with my counselor.
Eight days!
My
daughter is very insistent and demanding. Tonight she
insisted that I read to her at bedtime. She may be three
going on four, but she asks me profound questions at times.
I'm not sure where she gets them, but she must feel them
deep inside herself. She asked things like,
"Will
I live forever?"
"Will I have to give up my toys when I grow up?"
"Will I die?"
"Will I grow old?"
"Will you die?"
"What happens when you die?"
I
answered her questions on her level, but I couldn't imagine
where she was getting so many questions about death. It
made me wonder what she heard when I wasn't home. How
do you tell your daughter that these are questions you
are trying to figure out yourself; that these are the
things that you wondered about as you contemplated driving
into a lake the week before? I could only shake my head
a little, but here was my wise child making me think about
the profundity of life, of my life and how my dying might
affect hers.
S,
one of the patients I met at the hospital, told me she
believes that the problems that cause one to commit suicide
on this side of life stay around on the other. That gave
me pause to think. I would hate to take these feelings
and thoughts with me into death. Maybe the thoughts I
have had about going when it's time do not apply when
I am sick in the spirit. Make no mistake, depression is
an illness, a malaise that pervades every part of one's
well-being. I still feel sick to my stomach and I'm not
sleeping well, but I have a week to get through and I
will!
One
of my diagnoses is major depression of moderate severity.
It is weird to hear things like that because depression
is considered a mental illness. It is a real paradigm
shift to realize you are the one with the mental illness,
not someone else you don't know. It is true and it is
now my reality.
My
family doctor asked me the last time I was happy. What
I figured out eventually was that it was the day our oldest
child was born! That was almost six years ago. Dh and
I had been trying to get pregnant and finally had a baby
after four years of trying and infertility treatment.
That was the day the future seemed shiny and new and fraught
with lots of possibilities. That was before we started
two years of multiple doctor visits, early intervention
therapies, you name it. Then, along came our middle child
and her issues which were and continue to be present in
our lives.
At
times I feel almost normal. That's weird! Does that mean
that the urge to kill myself was a figment of my imagination
or am I trying not to get too anxious about that fact
that I'll be starting therapy next week? As I contemplate
it, I know that the suicide thoughts and plans are there.
I have quite a pharmacy if I wanted to do something, yet
I know it's not a real option. All I have to do is look
at my family and know I would irreparably harm them if
I hurt myself. I cannot do that! As hard as it will be
to talk to my therapist, I have decided that I will not
hold back. For far too long I have kept everything inside
rather than expressing my feelings. It's hard for me to
trust anyone. Talking to a perfect stranger about personal
issues scares the hell out of me. Yet, I know people do
it everyday, so I will be too next week.
Here
are some things I have come up with in the time I have
laid awake before my sleeping pill kicks in:
One,
I'm not crazy, but I am depressed.
Two, I've managed to stick up most of my barriers again,
although I'm not having suicidal thoughts of the same
intensity like I was last week.
Three, the last time I was happy without reservations
or qualifications was the day my oldest was born.
Four, got to talk about all this or I will kill myself!
(eventually)
Five, I want my feelings back—the love and the hurt
and the pain or I'll never be intact again.
Six, I don't want sympathy, but understanding will do.
Seven, I have to deal with ALL of this—no hiding
or holding back even if it's painful in degrees.
I'm
not sure what I want from life these days, but I am looking
and I will find it!!
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