Spilling secrets

I had a D&M with my best friend the other day, told her how I feel – for real. She has been chronically depressed for… well almost forever and I have never wanted to add to her burden by venting my own silly problems. It was actually really interesting to see how her suicidal ideation varies from mine, I guess having not spoken to anyone about it before or googling it or being another person I figured the way I thought about suicide was the way everyone with depression did. Turns out I was wrong. I’m apparently loopier.

 I don’t know why I have been telling people about this lately, maybe my subconscious wants help? If so it needs to sit down and shut up. I sort of regret saying anything now. I have always been strict with the ‘make it look like an accident’ thing as not to let anyone feel responsible in anyway.  Divulging my feelings will now put speculation on those plans forever even if I were to die in an actual accident and that bothers me a lot.

However in some respects I also feel that it is good if ppl know how I felt, that means I can write the individual letters I want to write and I can use the far more peaceful method of self-destruction that I have always wanted to use rather than the violent option I was going to be left with.

I googled how docs react to suicidal ideation and I need to be REALLY careful not to say too much about my plans or they can legally hospitalise me, although I have some contingency escape plans in place for that event if I am too worked up at the time it could go south. I want this on my own terms in my own time and although I will act quickly if I am forced to I would rather avoid the stigma that will leave behind for the others.

Pumpkin Hour

The last several days have been low ones, yesterday the worst ending in an ugly state of mixed irritated shaky suicidal depression.

I finally broke down in front of the better half. It was awful, letting him see me like that.

The hardest thing was the absolute support he gave me, his desperation to understand the way I was feeling and his obvious need to fix it. But sometimes we are so broken that we can’t be fixed, or at least that is how it feels. I just wanted him to run, save himself from me, a burden that will last a life time, the good times no longer worth the bad.

The best description of my emotional self I could offer him at that moment was to imagine someone had just given you a million dollars cash and was throwing it over your head like a TV game show when they suddenly pulled out a gun and shot your child in front of you. Some bitter and twisted combination of restless nervous excitement so blatantly destroyed by sheer terror and helplessness.

I have a lot of trouble being in that place, I can reason intellectually with myself that it will pass as it always has - and thankfully it usually does within a few hours – but emotionally I don’t feel it. In those moments I just need to die, I need to end the extreme intensity.

He held me close in his arms for a long, long time until I eventually drifted off to sleep, the firm hug felt… safe.

When I woke up this morning the need to die immediately had passed but the restless irritation had not. I was so damn shaky, like a junkie needing a fix. I couldn’t concentrate and I was still very depressed. I managed to load the kids into the car and take them to the school bus, they were all missing hats and I think one of them had yesterday’s shirt on, but they got there.

I knew at that point I probably wasn’t in the best state to go to work, but I didn’t know what else to do. I thought pretty hard about swallowing my pill collection and tried to figure out the best place to do it. I had heavy traffic into town and on auto pilot I ended up at work anyway.

 It’s all a bit hazy from there – I felt a bit like I was drifting in and out of a dream, I went in and started my work, I was feeling really dizzy at this point and kept losing touch with what I had thought about doing and what I had actually done. I was wondering if it was just because my blood sugar was low, I hadn’t really eaten much over the last few days. It dawned on me that being there was pointless and couldn’t remember if I had already asked to go home or not, I realised I was still sitting at my desk so I couldn’t have asked, this kept happening until I forced myself up to the team leaders and simply stated that I had to go home as I wasn’t feeling too well. The boss said I looked awful and to go, I must have looked pretty bad as I stumbled out of the office towards the car I was met with a lot of worried faces and ‘are you okay?’s.

I sat in the car for a bit trying to get my bearings and then started driving. I wasn’t sure where to go, I still desperately wanted to die but was too vague to properly act on it. I thought about driving to the beach, the coastline is only about 2 1/2 hours away, I could lie on the sand listen to the waves crash on the shore and take my final medicine. Lost in this thought, I nearly ran up the back of a cement mixer stopped at a red light and decided I probably shouldn’t drive very far as I could end up hurting someone else, so I decided to ring my BF, if she was home I could just go there and… I don’t know what… I didn’t really expect her to pick up the phone, but she did.

So I made it to her place, and we talked for a few hours until her other half got home, it helped immensely, we made plans for her to come to my place on Sunday and I was to go to the shops and buy food for a BBQ on my way home – she’s good like that. I was still quite shaky but not feeling feint anymore when I got to the shop. I decided to get a haircut on a whim in the hope that it would make me feel better (I was due for one anyway) and then I also bought a bag and some other crap I didn’t need. Nothing like spending a few hundred dollars you don’t have spare…

I headed home, arrived still shaky but a ton better than when I had left, the evening progressed and I started feeling quite ok again, not happy but not really depressed anymore, I hesitate to use the word “normal?”. I even ate some dinner and TBH and I watched some ‘once upon a time’ episodes. I snapped out of my funk suddenly and felt good, actually happy. I went and binged on chocolate mousse, that particular guilt hasn’t hit me yet and TBH fell asleep.

So it’s nearly midnight and here I type, pumpkin hour approaching, wide awake, quickening thoughts and slightly shaky again. Fuzz dog keeps jumping on my lap mashing the keyboard with his little paws and I wonder if sleep will come tonight.

I wish I knew what tomorrow would bring, I am so sick of this rapid roller coaster. I just need to get off somewhere, don’t particularly care if it’s at the top or the bottom, but at this moment I just want a month- hell, even a week -of some kind of stability.     

look her in the eye

She smiles at you, runs into the room to say goodnight,

But you cant tell her why, you cant look her in the eye.

When she says “I love you mummy, more than the whole wide world” it cut you so deep the amount of faith that she’s shown, to think that she loves you when you don’t deserve to be known.

You tell your daughter that you love her too but think to yourself, that mumma’s gotta go soon, she’s already decided what to do, and no amount of lying will change that awful truth, that you were abandoning your babies when they really needed you.

But you’re a selfish mother fucker with too many scars that don’t heal, and it’s no place for children when you can’t control how you feel, when you yell and you scream about nothing that’s real, no reason for your anger expect you’ve eaten a meal.

Until there’s no point, no point in trying, it wouldn’t be fair, spent too much time hiding, the love that should be naturally there. Because to actually feel it? It fucking hurts. The guilt that comes from not really being present after their births, for not giving them attention when they needed it most, from hiding in your bedroom like a god forsaken ghost.

You know they are better off without you, so maybe your final gift to them, won’t just have to shit all over them, but actually help them too, just maybe, you can break the curse of this mother fucking cycle, maybe you can empower what’s left of their youth when you take away their problem like the problem took you.

Bitter and twisted

I’m not cut out to be a mother. Not anymore anyway.

I don’t think I even love them properly anymore, more like an aunt and certainly not like a mother. I can’t take the fighting, and I am unable to discipline them effectively. They don’t care what I say, and frankly I don’t care either. I just want to run away and hide.

I feed them, clothe them and go through the motions when I am home. and I fantasize about disappearing, where I would go, how I would get there – how I would fund it.

I have to take them to school now. One just slammed his finger in the car door – It is wrong that this exasperates me rather than worries or upsets me. Fuck everything.