Entry #13
~ And so thus, it begins
My
daughter was so ill that I did not risk taking a sleeping
pill in case I would need to tend to a breathing treatment.
I did wake up between 5:00 and 5:30, so I've given up
sleep for now. It's very odd going through therapy. I'm
not sure what to expect and with all the events of the
past 24 hours, I'm not sure I've even processed it, except
at a gut level, literally, like stress has always been
expressed for me. My family doctor says therapy is a way
to remake myself—which means maybe I'll find me under
all the other crap. The thought that my depression could
come back is pretty scary though.
Is
a lifetime of close introspection part of these things?
I've always been one to endlessly run over certain events
and times... to think about what I would have said or
done differently or kept the same. All I know is that
I want to feel again—not just the laughter which
is so important, but also the happiness and sadness which
are lacking right now.
I'm
really afraid to let go, of what I might find about me.
Will I still like myself? Evidently, I don't right now.
If I did, the lake in the next town up or all those blue
pills in my medicine cabinet wouldn't have looked so attractive.
The specter of suicide is such a scary thing.
Since
I got home, I've started reading what I can find about
depression. Mostly online because I'm not ready to go
out in public much yet unless I have to. I was checking
out online support and found a site where people were
discussing suicide. One person talked about how it is
not a choice, but a way to deal with the pain. One note
was from a woman who is a suicide survivor. She talked
about how she started showing her mother and husband where
things were and what needed to be done with them. That
one got my anxiety really flowing because I wonder if
I was doing that subconsciously most of this past year?
I've
always been the one to do the bills, file the taxes, keep
track of our investments, file and track insurance claims.
Dh has no clue. Since my cousin died last year, and he
was only three years older than me, I realized that someone
else has to know how to do these things around the house.
I kept on like I might not be here much of this year.
I DIDN'T REALIZE I WAS DOING IT! Is that what I was leading
up to? The act of committing suicide?
Why?????
What is it I'm holding onto so tightly I'm afraid to let
it go? God, I'm scared. The honesty I prize so highly
is not being allowed to light up my inner self. I feel
like a blind woman looking for something I know is there,
but I can't get my hands around it right now.
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