The ’S’ Word
How I got to where I am now… *spoiler… not that far
Content warning: this article discusses suicide and suicidal ideation. If you or anyone you know needs help, please call the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline at 988 or visit their website.
I promised myself I was going to wake up positive.
I popped in my AirPods immediately and played one of those positive morning affirmation meditations.
Yes! Get up. Make your bed. What’s on the task list today?
I’ve been going through a difficult time with the man I am with regarding plans to travel. I thought I ended our text conversation last night, but see that there is a long text from him that I never read. Nope. I won’t read it yet.
Finish your meditation. Make coffee. Stretch. I knew if I read that long text, it may shift my mood. I was right. It did. Requests to do something I do not want to do. We’ve been over this. Why is it not clear? I must be a crappy communicator. I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. I am alone, physically and in my head.
You see, this situation I speak of, has been ongoing for some time. I want it to end. I wake up to it. I take it with me during the day. And, ultimately fall asleep with it. Suicidal Ideation and all the feelings attached to it take over and I’m done. I am 54 years old. How did I not develop any coping skills by now? My shoulders are just about touching my ear lobes and all the painful stress settles on my neck and shoulders.
Why must I start from ground zero every day? The suicidal ideation starts… why am I here? I don’t want to do this anymore. I can’t stand myself. How would I do it? Thinking… oh gosh, what am I thinking? Stop. Stop thinking and these thoughts will stop. Shake it off, literally. I walk up and down the hall moving and stretching and taking conscious breaths.
Chill? No, freeze
I’d fall into the freeze state most of the time. You know that sense of dread and foreboding? The cycle of not knowing what to do so I choose to do nothing in hopes I’d disappear.
When I was married, my now ex would tell me to get in the car we’re going “for a ride.” I knew what that meant. He would drive around and unload on me. Yelling at the top of his lungs screaming. Most of his anger surfaced when he couldn’t pay the bills. He took care of all the bills. So, why was it my fault? I worked. He worked. What have you done to our money?? But apparently, it was all my fault and he let me know it… loudly.
He would park in a remote place like a parking lot. A couple of times he did that at the nearby park including one that had the neighborhood swimming pool. Big space. At nighttime, the place was deserted with parking lot lights dimly lighting the space. The car would park and then it started.
Honestly, I shut down. Went numb. I would look out the window into the darkness. I really don’t recall the details only the feeling. Up goes my shell to protect myself. Periodically, he would ask me a question. I didn’t answer. Sometimes I didn’t even know the question. He’d scream some more, stating I didn’t care. I didn’t know what he said??? But it was the same thing.
“I’m worthless. I don’t make enough money. I don’t work enough. I don’t do enough. I’m not enough.” I was his human punching bag. I would convince myself that hey, he isn’t physically hitting me. I should be happy about that. Just shut up and don’t give him a reason to want to take me “for a ride” again… but it would still continue regardless of what I did. I did see a pattern… end of the month when bills are due. I tried to stay clear or busy during that time to avoid the car rides with him.
Foiled again
I made the plan. I slowly emptied my locker at work until it was empty. I would throw away things at home I didn’t want left behind… old journals, things that just clutter. I was nesting in a way to prepare for my exit. I had a fresh bottle of Acetaminophen from Costco. Ever see it? It was a BIG bottle. I figured I would put myself in liver failure as my body systems would ultimately shut down from Acetaminophen toxicity.
D a m n I t. It didn’t work again. I thought the third time was the charm. I didn’t finish the bottle. I was gagging trying to swallow handfuls of pills. When I went to bed early, no one questioned it. I really thought it was enough. It wasn’t (obviously). I woke up, again!!! No one knew. No one cared. The same empty feelings submerged and the knowing that I still exist.
A little help here
I made an appointment to see a new primary doctor. I finally did it. I called for help.
As the intake nurse was gathering information on her new patient using her computer, I could see her expression as her face was partially exposed to me. How I answered some questions raised a concerned look on her face. She finally stopped asking questions and politely excused herself. I lay there crinkling the paper underneath me alone in the exam room thinking, “What is she doing?”
That nurse returned with the doctor. I felt outnumbered and a bit intimidated as they hovered over me. I apparently drew some red flags regarding the suicide risk assessment questionnaire. Then, I told them. Everything. The plan. The pills. The marriage. My history of suicide attempts as a child. Well, not everything, but enough that they wanted to admit me to the hospital. Sure. I wasn’t going anywhere. They told me that they needed to contact my husband. Sure, I suppose he should know. It was all set. My husband came to the doctor’s office and we were instructed to go to the ER. The office staff reassured us that they would arrange the admission to an inpatient treatment center.
My husband’s reaction? Unremarkable. He was quiet. I knew for sure all he was thinking was how he was going to keep this from everyone. We waited in the ER for so long. He didn’t talk to me much. My husband finally left to go home with the kids and I went on an ambulance ride to the treatment center. I will not get into detail regarding my stay. Maybe I will write a separate article on it. All I can say is I wanted to go home as soon as I arrived.
I don’t want to die. I want help. I want to live a good life. I want to be surrounded by people I love and trust and know they have my back. People who check in with me because we are friends. When I express myself, I want to be understood. I know the only way is to do the work. I see all the possibilities before me and it does look bright. Thank you for taking the time to read this.
