May, 10th 2017 — The fear

This article is part of the series “What is like to attempt suicide and fail”. Start there, if you have not read it yet.

Wednesday, D Day + 33
3 dias until discharge. Maybe 2.

Yesterday they did not give me the two pills I take to sleep. And I didn’t notice. Result? I spent the night in clear, read the Encyclopedia Britannica twice and rehearsed a version of Hamlet doing all the characters.

Then, I created some courage and walked down the dark corridor of the men’s ward of the clinic to the nearest point in the infirmary window. With the help of a more experienced colleague, I shouted the nurse in the dead of night. You do not want to know how this process can be gloomy.

After waking up (judging by the response time) the nurse opened the small window and answered my pleas for a few drops of if necessary , a remedy that I was already abandoning, but this night was, indeed, very necessary.

It took me 20 minutes to leave our dimension. I went into some white-dreaming, which is one of the side-effects of the sleep drops. Another side effect I discovered in the morning, with none other than the Emperor, yes, Dr. Juan in persona , in my bedroom window, already with his head inside and beating hard on the wall. “Let’s wake up, young man?” He shouted in his famous porteño accent.

The only proper response after jumping out of bed as if a rattlesnake was sleeping with me would be “yes, let’s go.” Instead, I ended up letting out words without the slightest connection in a language invented at that moment. I was happy for the “young man” though.

I took a quick shower and went up to the morning lecture. I was surprised at the cafeteria by Maira, the cute and popular nutritionist, offering me an overtime breakfast. I had to accept it. I had cornmeal cake and weird looking candy-colored sweet something.

I took the opportunity to announce my departure in two days, waiting for the inevitable frenzy of weeping, wailing, infinite commotion and tears. None of that happened, strangely enough. I understood as a sign to tell her she is a noble character in my diaries. Curiosity ended up rendering her scribbles on my Moleskine with her Facebook contact. I’ll be Maira’s friend!

The morning lecture was conducted by psychologist Bad Cop , who pulled a song from a popular Brazilian Singer before beginning. Each time a song of any kind is sung in a lecture, the value of the performance drops 87%. Just so you know.

Again, Freedom was the subject. This time with concepts from Aristoteles, Freud, Schopenhauer, Sartre and my favorite philosopher, the Dictionary. The conversation eventually walked to topics such as “error”, “free will”, “autonomy” and others.

But my subject of the day is the consultation with the psychiatrist. Is he the man behind the scam door? The one who will scream “gotcha!” and tell me I am crazy and so I stay?

“Rodrigo Bressane,” called a monitor to clear my doubt. “The doctor wants to see you.” The consultation was quick. My lithium is in the therapeutic levels, my general evolution was excellent, in the words said and written by the psychiatrist. My discharge is confirmed and I can leave on Friday. As I am who I am, I tried to cry a way out leave tomorrow, Thursday. He calls a guys, who calls a guys. They said they’ll try. I’ll find out early tomorrow.

Continuing the list of things to move life from now on (last issue):

1. Stop drinking: I really wanted to write “drink socially.” But I really need to stop drinking. After 10 years of bariatric surgery I discovered, here at the clinic, that the absorption of alcohol in my body is six times greater than in a normal person (doctors and specialists with different information please comment). Six fucking times. That explains 90% of the dumbest things I’ve ever done in my life. Too late, unfortunately . It is a fact that the most Homeric shit-storms of my poor journey were reached while being drunk. I lost the respect of my children, the appreciation of loved ones, and destroyed a relationship, I fear, irreparably. I can not drink and I do not want to drink anymore. I do not know yet how to perform this task. But I’m here to learn.
2. Visit Europe more often: how many times? Many. As many as I can. Infinite? Yes, I want infinite. There is no place like the Old Continent where you do not feel dazzled, either by the memory, by the beauty of architecture, by the brushstrokes of great masters, by the flower girl on the bicycle or by the wind in the face of the couple in the cafe. The European magic, just there. Now, connect that item with that other one from traveling the world by motorcycle. Get it?
3. Be content: with things and situations, the way they are. Stop trying to have the world my way. Appreciate the things of life and the planet as they are. Drop stones and pick some flowers.
4. Reflect on the consequences: of everything. What am I going to do now? Tomorrow? Next month? Use this reflection to make better decisions. That should count for big things, like a contract, buying a home. And for little things, like “should I accept this invitation?”, “Is piercing my dick a really good expression form?”.
5. Focus on my treatment: I know that I do not leave here much better than I entered. This diary, the hundreds of emails I received, the hundreds of messages from old, new, sleeping friends were a wonderful event. But I leave as the same Rodrigo, with the same head, the same loose screws. There is a difference, however: purpose. I want to live. Better than the past life. And I’ll take care of this.

Truth is that today is a day of fear. Do you know all that desire to leave this place that I feel since the first day? That became a pile of afflictions. Awe of what I will find out there. Remember that on the other side of the blue gate things remain as they were on April 7. Maybe a little better. Maybe a little worse.

Gradually painful thoughts come back to me, images that I wanted to forget, pains that I did not want to feel anymore. Just the things I’ll have to deal with out the door. I know the Monster does not die. He falls asleep, he is tamed. But he does not die.

In all those days I wrote, I was truthful. In my own way, exaggerating sometimes, omitting in others. But it was all true. I wrote with genuine tears. Aches and pains. I’m not going to start lying now. I’m afraid. In good English, I’m shitting myself with fear and anxiety. This is me. Fragile as a porcelain doll. May life have mercy on me.

I loved seeing the direct comments on Medium. Please, continue!

I will post more tomorrow. I’ve created a list of songs I’m listening to while inside the psychiatric clinic. To listen, subscribe to the “After Death” playlist on Spotify.

If you want to talk to me, write to rodrigo@bressane.com.

Be kind,
Rodrigo Bressane