On living and dying
So, I am depressive. I always have been, as long as I can remember. I was a morbid child, my mother has stories of how I would ask my grandmother when she was going to die. I grew up eating rabbit and witnessing the dispatch and butcher of the rabbits we raised, and horrified a couple of old biddies who came by the house and asked what we do with those "cute little bunny rabbits". Seeing my round baby-like face brighten as I explained how we hit them over the head, skin em, chop em up, fry em and eat em sent them running. I can only imagine.
Anyways, as long as I can remember I've been depressive...I have ups and downs, and my ups are very up but my downs are very down. I've attempted suicide twice, once was an active attempt, right after my dad's heart attack and cancer diagnosis, I went into his medicine cabinet and filled my own pill bottle up with an assortment of everything he was taking. I woke up two days later puking my guts up. I told my parents I had the flu. That was a very dark time, I was 16, had been date raped, my uncle lived with us and he was abusive, my dad was abusive and sick, my mother was my mother...we had 9 people living in a 3 bedroom mobile home. The second time wasn't as serious. I was going to shoot myself. My parents were out of town, I was at their place after fighting with the electric company to get the power cut on in my new place I was renting with my sister...I was at my wits end and just done. I went to my parents side table where my dad kept his .22. I pressed it against my chest, aimed so that it would go between my ribs, and began trying to think of a reason not to pull the trigger. The phone rang, which was weird..because my parents were out of town to see my sister and it was my sister calling. I don't know what she called for or why, but I took that as my reason not to pull the trigger. I uncocked the gun and put it back under the table.
I've always had an idea of ending my life in my head. It's never frightened me, it's always been kind of a comfort. A way out. An answer. And I've always had random urges. Driving down the highway on a bridge, the thought of "what would happen if I just swerved off the bridge?". Mostly it happens while I'm driving. Occasionally I'll get the thoughts while I'm in the bath tub...shaving..."i wonder how long it would take, the water is nice and hot, and relaxing, I bet it wouldn't be long". Then I picture my kids or husband finding me in a tub full of my blood and realize that isn't fair to them.
The only reason I am writing this is because something has changed. I don't know if it's part of the recovery from my na, being lc with my nm has been a blessing and has helped me reach a point where I have much more self confidence. (those are narcissistic abuse acronyms) I don't know if it has to do with being ill and anxiety telling me this was it and the flashes of everything I might miss...I don't know if it's being in a place of employment where I actually feel like I make a difference, I don't know what it is, but...I DON'T WANT TO DIE! Not right now..not in quite a while. I am not ready. I don't want to go. I want to see my kids do things, I want to get old with my husband and tell dirty jokes that make my grandkids groan...I want to see what is coming. I don't want to miss it.
Another thing that might have brought on this change is this. In August one of the most amazing people who has ever walked this planet sat in his garage, put a needle in his arm, started an IV drip and drank beer until he stopped breathing. He was my baby cousin. I didn't know him all that well, we weren't nearly as close as I wish we were, but I only have happy memories of him. He was the clown, the entertainer, the one who always had something smart to say, or would do everything short of breaking his neck to make people laugh. He was a theater nerd, he was a nurse, he was a soldier...he was a father. I never knew that he struggled with depression. I never knew that it was something that we had in common. I don't know what lead him to do what he did that night. I've gone through all the "what if I had reached out to him more" things, and I find that highly selfish and narcissistic. I don't think there is anything that I could have done, and I don't think he would have responded if I tried. He had his struggle with this illness, and he chose when to quit fighting. And that's how it has to be viewed. It's an illness. It's a chronic and lifelong illness. The crappy part of it is it doesn't kill us, we have to do that ourselves. Depression is the laziest disease.
But, right now...I don't want to die. I want to live. I want to see tomorrow and the next day and the next and next week and next month and next year and on and on...I can't say that I have hope, I can't say that I'm not depressed...but I am experiencing anxiety far more than depression now, and that urge to just not be here anymore is muted and dull and only a side thought rather than a serious "I could do this" feeling...and I am enjoying that. I am enjoying it so much!
However, at the same time, I do have anxiety...and one of the biggest things that pops up is the "well, now that you don't want to die, guess what?" and dammit, that shit sucks.
Anyways, as long as I can remember I've been depressive...I have ups and downs, and my ups are very up but my downs are very down. I've attempted suicide twice, once was an active attempt, right after my dad's heart attack and cancer diagnosis, I went into his medicine cabinet and filled my own pill bottle up with an assortment of everything he was taking. I woke up two days later puking my guts up. I told my parents I had the flu. That was a very dark time, I was 16, had been date raped, my uncle lived with us and he was abusive, my dad was abusive and sick, my mother was my mother...we had 9 people living in a 3 bedroom mobile home. The second time wasn't as serious. I was going to shoot myself. My parents were out of town, I was at their place after fighting with the electric company to get the power cut on in my new place I was renting with my sister...I was at my wits end and just done. I went to my parents side table where my dad kept his .22. I pressed it against my chest, aimed so that it would go between my ribs, and began trying to think of a reason not to pull the trigger. The phone rang, which was weird..because my parents were out of town to see my sister and it was my sister calling. I don't know what she called for or why, but I took that as my reason not to pull the trigger. I uncocked the gun and put it back under the table.
I've always had an idea of ending my life in my head. It's never frightened me, it's always been kind of a comfort. A way out. An answer. And I've always had random urges. Driving down the highway on a bridge, the thought of "what would happen if I just swerved off the bridge?". Mostly it happens while I'm driving. Occasionally I'll get the thoughts while I'm in the bath tub...shaving..."i wonder how long it would take, the water is nice and hot, and relaxing, I bet it wouldn't be long". Then I picture my kids or husband finding me in a tub full of my blood and realize that isn't fair to them.
The only reason I am writing this is because something has changed. I don't know if it's part of the recovery from my na, being lc with my nm has been a blessing and has helped me reach a point where I have much more self confidence. (those are narcissistic abuse acronyms) I don't know if it has to do with being ill and anxiety telling me this was it and the flashes of everything I might miss...I don't know if it's being in a place of employment where I actually feel like I make a difference, I don't know what it is, but...I DON'T WANT TO DIE! Not right now..not in quite a while. I am not ready. I don't want to go. I want to see my kids do things, I want to get old with my husband and tell dirty jokes that make my grandkids groan...I want to see what is coming. I don't want to miss it.
Another thing that might have brought on this change is this. In August one of the most amazing people who has ever walked this planet sat in his garage, put a needle in his arm, started an IV drip and drank beer until he stopped breathing. He was my baby cousin. I didn't know him all that well, we weren't nearly as close as I wish we were, but I only have happy memories of him. He was the clown, the entertainer, the one who always had something smart to say, or would do everything short of breaking his neck to make people laugh. He was a theater nerd, he was a nurse, he was a soldier...he was a father. I never knew that he struggled with depression. I never knew that it was something that we had in common. I don't know what lead him to do what he did that night. I've gone through all the "what if I had reached out to him more" things, and I find that highly selfish and narcissistic. I don't think there is anything that I could have done, and I don't think he would have responded if I tried. He had his struggle with this illness, and he chose when to quit fighting. And that's how it has to be viewed. It's an illness. It's a chronic and lifelong illness. The crappy part of it is it doesn't kill us, we have to do that ourselves. Depression is the laziest disease.
But, right now...I don't want to die. I want to live. I want to see tomorrow and the next day and the next and next week and next month and next year and on and on...I can't say that I have hope, I can't say that I'm not depressed...but I am experiencing anxiety far more than depression now, and that urge to just not be here anymore is muted and dull and only a side thought rather than a serious "I could do this" feeling...and I am enjoying that. I am enjoying it so much!
However, at the same time, I do have anxiety...and one of the biggest things that pops up is the "well, now that you don't want to die, guess what?" and dammit, that shit sucks.
posted by Najiwench at 8:03 PM
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