May, 14th 2017 — The first 48 hours

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

Ricky Fitts: She’s not your friend. She’s just someone you use to feel better about yourself.

Sunday, Mother’s Day.

Good news. A lot of them. That’s what I was hoping to bring to you, dear reader. Instead, I bring disappointments. A lot of them.

It has been more than two days since I left the psychiatric clinic for freedom and the new phase of my journey. But life, this bitch, does not care.

I spent a few hours of enormous happiness — maybe even a manic episode. Beautiful things happened. My first encounters with people who followed the case up close. The splendid hug I gave and received (that’s how the best hugs work) in Dr. Irapuan and his family, who also welcomed me to dinner. Magic.

But the outside of the damn blue gates continued to shelter everything that got me in there. The sensations, or the lack of them, the pain, the anguish, the horrors, I found all of them. Strong and healthy. Didn’t even change clothes.

I tried to be a father right away. I failed. I tried to see value in small things. I failed. I tried to get back to work fresh. I failed. I tried happiness. I failed.

At home, I did not sleep. When I slept, I did not want to wake up. But I did wake up and found that she, solemn life, still ignored my presence.

I’m not saying it will not get better. I want it and I’m committed to it. But, yes, I’m saying it has not improved. I see myself in the emotional ground zero, which proves my theory about the ineffectiveness of hospitalization in my case. Then you, who I know, will say “calm down, buddy, it’s just the first days, things will get better, it’s a process and blah, blah, blah”. And I’ll answer “I know, I know”, but it’s more to make you stop talking, you know? Because inside, it’s so bad, it’s so distressing, it’s so empty, it’s so painful. Then you’ll think, “Well, what an ungrateful guy.” And I will not say a word, because it was just a thought you had and I can’t read them (yet). But you’re right, except that you probably have no idea what I’m feeling.

Not everything was bad. I’ve already taken commendable amounts of Coke-Zero. The one from the glass bottle. The best. I did not drink anything with alcohol on several occasions and it did not cost me a millimeter of willpower. Done deal. I started to read and already plan to practice my list of things to change in life (soon with a revised and updated version). I have taken my medication on time. Psychologists and psychiatrists will be properly bothered on Monday — though I am still orphaned on that front, which is a serious problem. I discovered that I lost more than 2 kg in “Alcatraz”. I rode my motorcycle a lot, which is great, but also one of my escapes from depression. It’s what I do when I do not know what to do.

And this, my dear friend, is the summary of my first 48 hours back to life, that motherfucker.

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