So much has happened. First of all, I’m the shittiest person on Earth. I’ve been wrapped up in myself, in my mind and have been being an ass to people who don’t deserve it. I am so sorry for that. I feel like all I’m ever doing lately is apologizing. I just keep messing up and messing up. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t want to be a shitty person to anyone, let alone to good, generous, loving people.
I made an executive decision to fly to my mom’s for Thanksgiving. I have a week off from work and no one to have Thanksgiving dinner with. I thought long and hard (there I go again- being self-absorbed) about my current state. I realized even if I found someone to spend Thanksgiving Day with, that I’d still be alone with my not-so-great thoughts for over a week. I could not see the end. I couldn’t see me living through the entire week. It just wouldn’t happen. At least, I couldn’t envision it happening. Plus, when I was locked up, one of my best friends and I sorta planned me flying to my mom’s for Thanksgiving. I didn’t really take it as something that would really happen because I didn’t have money for it. But like I said, I wouldn’t live through 9 days alone. I know myself. So I decided to put a plane ticket on the last little free space on my credit card and go.
I surprised my mom. She hugged me and then immediately grabbed my waist. I was wearing a huge oversized hoodie (I’ve been wanting to hide from the world lately, hiding under oversized clothes). She commented on how thin I was. I had just talked to her earlier that day on the phone and she had immediately insisted that something was wrong- that I didn’t sound like myself. I didn’t tell her anything on the phone and I wasn’t sure if I would when I saw her in person.
She kept at me though- insisting I didn’t look right, that I was acting different than usual, and that something was definitely wrong. So I told her. I shared with her how I had not been doing well, had blogged incessantly about suicide ideation, and how I’d gotten myself locked up for a week. She took it surprisingly well. She only made three jabs at me. She said people who cut do it for attention or they’re just crying out for help (jab #1). I explained to her about the fight or flight trigger and the adrenaline the way the psychiatrist explained it to me. She didn’t agree.
She didn’t seem to care about my two friends jumping ship on me. She said “they’ve had enough of you.” (Jab #2) I was surprised and replied that I didn’t think that was possible considering I’ve only seen/ communicated with them twice and her another two times since January. How could they “have had enough” of me? Either way, it made me feel like complete shit. I’ve got to make sure I don’t do that to my other friends. I am truly so, so lucky to have a few people stick by me through all this mess. 😔 I don’t want everyone else to decide they’ve had enough of me too.
I told her about starting Zoloft and how that had been affecting me.
I told her how I’d been so much more depressed since I got out and that I wasn’t sure why.
I told her how I lied like crazy to try to get out of there…but obviously, I’m a terrible liar since they didn’t believe me and kept me locked up for 5 days.
The only thing is that she didn’t take my wishes to die seriously…and I didn’t have the courage to restate what I’d already said. She said, “well, the only time I thought you’d really do something was when you and Danny broke up.” (He was my fiancé when I was 18 years old. We broke up when I was 21.) I told her I remember being devastated, but no where near the point of suicide…especially over a break up. What I’m dealing with is so much MORE than that!
She knows what I’m dealing with. She said I’d just have to get over it. (I took this lovely, compassionate comment as jab #3.)
Anyway, I’m preparing for more jabs from her in the coming days. I’ll just have to deal with it.
And then I find out about Kyle. He was my friend way back in the day in my early 20s when I spent most of my time on the streets, smoking cigarettes and playing guitar. I had seen the story of the guy who jumped off the roof of Trump Tower. I looked at the picture of the covered body and pictured myself in there. I thought how that guy had more courage…I’d never be fearless enough to jump. Only today did I find out it was Kyle. He was schizophrenic and in the last few years, I had the hardest time deciphering his nonsensical Facebook posts. I figured it was all the drugs and mushrooms he did. He wrote a lot of poetry, but none of it was about death or dying or suicide. So I’m not sure if it was planned or was a spur of the moment decision or if he was on something when he did it or if his mental illness is the root cause?
Either way, I wonder why it wasn’t me. Why did God let him die?