sadness is creeping in like a spider under the moonlight

two days ago, as i was driving home with a friend, i told her that i felt like i could cry.  she said, go ahead, cry.  but i couldn’t.  i felt sad.  i felt like i could cry.  but i really couldn’t.  i came home and changed into what i called “moping clothes.”  i crawled into bed and lay there motionless.  a little while later, my sister came in and asked what i was doing, so i told her that i was moping and that i felt like i could cry.  so she said something, something like, why don’t you just cry then?  whatever she said it turned on my tears that came and came for the next hour or so.  i’m not kidding either.  the first half hour i was crying as if i were weeping for the dead.  i would cry, and then get the hiccups, you know what i mean?  my pillow was getting soaked and wiping the tears away with my hands wasn’t doing a good job of getting rid of the moisture.  after about 30 minutes of hysterical crying, i cried somewhat toned down, softly.  i was sobbing and sobbing.  the whole time, i was crying out to God, as i have read the psalmists cry out to God in times of their despair.  i cried out to God that the pain/suffering/affliction whatever i am experiencing in my life was too much for me to bear.  i didn’t want it anymore.  i asked God to take away the pain or to take away my life.  anything that would pop into my mind seemed so sad and all i could feel was sadness.  i felt broken.  like a mirror that shattered and is now missing shattered parts of itself and can’t be put together again as a whole.  on any other day, i might have been tempted to take matters into my own hands.  but two nights ago, i chose to just sleep and to let sleep be the relief i so badly needed and wanted.  

next day i felt better.  that’s not too shocking since i felt so badly the night before.  it’s hard to imagine how i might have felt worse.  i woke up with red puffy eye lids, like i stayed up late and rubbed my eyes too much or something.  i had therapy later that day.  i told my psychologist that i had cried the night before for about an hour.  he didn’t seem surprised.  he just asked, what were you sad about?  i told him that i didn’t feel sad about any specific thing.  i was just sad about everything and anything.  i was just sad about my life, sad to be experiencing life in the way that i do.  i can’t remember what else we talked about during the session.  i left with a sense that my psychologist was alerted to the fact that i was feeling pretty bad.  we went over a crisis plan that i have been working on at a program i go to once a week.  i have a list of people i want helping me and making decisions on my behalf if i am unable to do so.  i also have a list of people who i do not want involved in my treatment plan.  i have a list of medicine i take every day.  i have a list of medicine i am willing to take, should they become necessary.  and then there is a list of medicine and treatment they should not give me.  

it’s kind of an unsettling feeling to not know when i might have to check myself into a hospital.  it’s unsettling to know when i might burst into tears.  and when i do, i have no idea how long i am going to cry for or if i am ever going to stop crying.  i sense that there is sadness somewhere in me that has been hidden, buried and kept in check.  and for whatever reason, the sadness is refusing to sit back and let things run smoothly.  

when i check into a hospital, partial hospital or am interviewed by potential treaters, they always ask, do you have access to a gun?  are you feeling suicidal?  do you have a plan?  i answer, no i don ‘t have a gun.  i feel/felt suicidal.  and the plan, it’s tricky.  i’m not like the character on memento who has a 5 minute memory.  for him, if he had a plan, he would forget his plan in the next few minutes.  i have a memory that retains information a little bit better than that.  once i come up with a way to do something, how could i forget it?  it’s in my memory.  and when i get sad, really really sad, and sad for a long time, bits and parts of the plan become activated.  i know what i would do i if i were going to do something.  but no i don’t have a definite plan.  i don’t have a date or place.  it’s good that i don’t have a definite plan.  if i did, i would have to tell my treaters and they would be really concerned for me.  maybe they would be concerned enough to lock me up in a hospital.  but for how long would they keep me?  would i stay there until i said that i can’t remember the plan i once had?  or that i don’t have intentions of pursuing the plan that i had in my mind?  

i can only speak for the present moment.  right now, no, i don’t have a definite plan.  but sadness is creeping in, like a spider under the moonlight.

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quite an unusual day

since i got out of the hospital (basically since the last post), i have been traveling a lot. it’s good that i was traveling since i am not sure i would have done any better at home. i saw family and friends and was kept busy, meaning not contemplating or deliberating on how to gracefully exit my life. somehow after the last hospitalization, i came to terms with the fact that depression is something i have to live with, work around, and accept, for now at least, if not the rest of my life. then i started thinking that if the rest of my life is going to be like how it’s been in the past six years, that i would much rather not sign up for more. then recently, parts of the puzzle i’ve been thinking of when i was not feeling well started coming together. i decided that if there is a next time i attempt to end my life, that i will be more successful.

for a brief period during the hopelessness, i started looking forward to life like i had never done before as i was getting to know someone. i never met anyone that i wasn’t afraid of getting to know better, spending more time together and it was strange but really nice. anyway, it was a brief but lovely pause in my ongoing dark hopeless days.

so as i saw the end of my life approaching, sooner or later but probably sooner rather than later, i wanted to prepare for the end. and most of the time when i am alone, which also seems to be times when i’m not feeling good, i try to make progress on planning my last attempt. as i have been consumed with thinking and planning about the end, i told a couple of friends and my psychiatrist. yes i did.

incidentally, my psychiatrist is planning to retire sometime in the near future. so she wanted me to find another psychiatrist so i could start transitioning as smoothly as possible while she was still working. and now she hopes that the new therapist will be able to do something different, say something different than she was able to and hopefully facilitate my recovery. last time we talked, she mentioned ECT (electro convulsive therapy) for about the third or fourth time and seemed quite upset that i wasn’t even willing to talk to someone to gather more data about ECT. as far as i can tell, we’re going to try one more medicine. then as she sees it, ECT is the only thing we haven’t tried and would be the next on the treatment plan, so long as i was willing.

after i talked to her, i did some data gathering on the internet. for most people whose depression is medicine resistant, ECT treatments are pretty effective for relieving symptoms of depression. so i can see how ECT would be recommended for people when relieving them from depression seems urgent enough (like if a person is planning to commit suicide).

but at what cost? it seems like keeping someone alive would trumph any other considerations. most people just have short term memory loss and confusion for weeks or months. but some people lose long term memory and even some cognitive capacities. i agree that a lot of people would be protected from the grief of losing a loved one, if someone is kept alive by ECT treatments. but as for me, i don’t know if i would choose life over death if the quality of life wasn’t good physically, mentally and/or emotionally. if i had to choose, i would choose to live as me, with or without pain and suffering. so i figure ECT treatments are out, unless someone forces me, like a judge for instance.

everyday since i got out of the hospital, i think, breathe, obsess about finally exiting and being spared from depression. on some days, it’s painful to be conscious. but today, for some mysterious reason, i did not think about the end of my life. today, i thought about what i would do for the rest of the day and found myself hoping to accomplish things in my life which i thought i no longer cared about! i don’t know how long i will stay hopeful and free of pain. all i know is that today, even in this very moment, i am living life, not as i had done before when i was just waiting for the end of my life, but living life as though i will live tomorrow looking forward to the next day and the day after that and the day after that.

itunes

i bought a bunch and i mean a bunch of albums and songs from itunes last night and this morning. i’ve adopted listening to music as a coping skill. last night i listened to music until 1 am until i feel asleep. then first thing in the morning i turned on music again. it’s working for me so far to keep thoughts about final exit away.

since i cannot die

i live because  i cannot die.  well, it’s not entirely true that i cannot die.  i’m sure i could die. it’s just that i don’t want to live.  my depression seems to be getting worse.  the psych medicine i’m on seems to have stopped working.  i have been to the hospital too many times.  it’s pathetic really.  i can’t make a final exit that is too obvious.  i’ll have to choose a discrete way of dying.  i wouldn’t want anyone who knows me to find me dead.  no one should be able to conclude that i chose the final exit.  it will have to be a smart way to exit.  i’ll have to plan out the details carefully.  in the meantime i’ll have to live.  but i live because i cannot die, at least not yet.

final exit

i really think that if i died an early death that jesus would still love me. am i wrong to think so? when this life is so hard, when the pain gets unbearale, i often just want to escape: a final exit. maybe that’s why sleep is so inviting. sleeping allows me to stop life for a little while. and that’s why the hospital visits are helpful to me too. i get a break from my life.

last time i ended up in the hospital, i had a black out, a day of no memory. i’m not sure whether i was conscious or not. i only know that i have no memory of being in the ER. is that like hitting rock bottom? i don’t think so. i talked to a girl who ended up in the intensive care unit as a result of an attempt. i’ve never ended up in the icu. maybe i’m not doing so badly. but still everytime i attempt a final exit i run the risk of making a “final exit.” there are times when i’m not sure that is what i really want. so maybe i’m not really ready for a final exit.