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.