The Disconnect
I went to the pantry on Sunday. The pantry is a food bank where you can shop for yourself, unlike a food box where it’s already packed with mostly food no one likes.
I got there early enough to be included in the second wave of eight. I sat on the sidewalk next to a guy that I originally thought was someone else that I knew. I kept my headphones in and my eyes low to avoid any sense of wanting conversation. I adjusted my necklaces and for some reason started to play with the Metatron’s cube I wear.
Nervousness set over me as everyone stood up, signaling that the time was getting near for the doors to open. That’s when I realized it wasn’t the same guy. I stood up and took my earbuds out.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hey,” I replied.
“What do you know about Metatron or that cube you’re wearing?” he asked me.
“Metatron is Enoch and the cube is a tool. It is everything,” I replied.
This started a conversation, that my now present neighbors joined into as well. We all discussed Michio Kaku, Einstein, string theory, and quantum leaping.
Eventually, our turns came to go inside. He continually checked on me during our shopping spree.
I finished and weighed out my groceries. My neighbor went out to his car and opened the trunk for me. I packed my bags into it. I looked up to see Will standing there holding papers that had the most profound and complicated math equations on them.
“This is why string theory doesn’t work,” he said.
I took a quick look at the paper while my neighbor’s wife brought their shopping and put it in the trunk next to mine.
“Do you have a pen,” I asked him. “I need to go with them.”
We foraged for a pen finally finding one. I turned the paper over and scribbled my phone number on the back.
“Text me, okay?” I said to him.
He accepted my invitation on Monday, and so we set the dinner for Wednesday.
I woke up on Wednesday morning after yet another restless night’s sleep. Lately, I’ve been experiencing difficulty sleeping due to a combination of factors.
I was recently put back on Abilify. As anyone with bipolar knows, medication changes are nearly as disruptive as the symptoms they are masking. I have financial concerns (who doesn’t nowadays). I also have a neighbor who is stalking me. Over winter, he had been putting mice in my trailer. Many of them decided this was a great place to live. Yes, they are all gone now but the fear of him doing this again does affect my one-eye-open sleeping style.
When I do catch a few winks my dreams run rampant. My subconscious life is afraid of theft, dream children being born and snatched, acquaintances coming into my home and stealing things, or the worst one to date burning my books. I know real geek fears but the 2-hour on 2-hour off sleep schedule my body has settled into is not good.
I took the meaning of the last dream I had on Wednesday morning of my books being burned to mean that I shouldn’t allow anyone in my house. The sense of foreboding was palpable having been robbed before.
Wednesday was also Christopher’s birthday. I was aware of it, but I also kind of forgot about it, if that makes any sense. Since Valentine’s Day, I have been mentally preparing for it, which is probably why it slipped my mind. I didn’t even have the thought that I was forgetting something; it just didn’t connect.
Christopher was the last love of my life. We had issues as most people with bipolar do. Christopher had not been formally diagnosed, however, he did recognize his symptoms and identified with the diagnosis of bipolar disorder. Life had become too much for Christopher. He took his own life in September 2020 with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. It was the end of both of our lives as we knew it.
I texted Will shortly after waking on Wednesday. I told him I had an appointment that I had forgotten about, which in hindsight was true. I asked if we could reschedule the dinner for Saturday.
All day I felt off and I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was until I went to Facebook and saw a post by Christophers aunt.
“Oh my God,” I thought “this makes perfect sense now.”
I too made a post regarding Christopher’s birthday and then decided to screenshot my story Crumble in order to honor him for his birthday.
Crumble is the tale of how our love story began. I wrote it a week before his birthday maybe in anticipation of actually forgetting his birthday.
Suicide is a strange thing. I had successfully flatlined myself at one point. I understand the desire to get out of something so painful that you don’t know what to do.
However, after experiencing suicide from the other side I can tell you it is traumatic and numbing.
Not a day goes by that I don’t think about Christopher. His suicide is the most defining experience that I have had in my fifty-nine years on earth.
Though I understand why Christopher took his life I will never understand why he couldn’t let me help him through that period.
I guess the reason for this post is so no one else will have to feel quite the same way that I do. If you or someone you know is feeling suicidal please seek help. The bravest thing that you can do is save your own life.
