The Beginnings…of a Suicide Diatribe?

It has been about a week or so since everything happened – the suicidal ideations, the mind rushing, head explosions, going to the hospital, and the subsequent discharge. Unlike my previous overdoses, I was in and out of the hospital. I had a few conversations with doctors, attended some support group sessions, and within a few days I was let go because the ideations stopped, and suddenly I had to remember how to put a fake smile on to ease those around me. But seriously, how do I feel now? Honestly, I feel absolutely nothing at all if not numb, for some points; and maybe feelings at other points that I need to process a bit more before I can describe them in more detail. “Happily” enough, the suicidal ideations have subsided. Yet, they are consistently around me in reminders still, now that I am home.

Because of complications with paper work at work, I have had to continue my “recovery” at home. What’s particularly difficult is that if I don’t keep myself busy or more importantly, go outside, my home perpetuates ruminations and becomes a mind demon. After all, it is an everlasting monster of a reminder of every suicide attempt I have gone through. The master bathroom / kitchen is where I have tried to slit my wrist. The guest bathroom is where I have tried to drown myself. Then, my supposedly favourite place – the kitchen, is where I have actually, wilfully overdosed twice. Each position where I tried to willfully kill myself flanks the kitchen sink, so I feel all the negative vibes as I wash the dishes each day. I can actually see myself sitting on the floor counting out pills in each instance. I try not to feel overwhelming emotions because at this point I want to be stronger than I was last week. I have to be stronger than I was last week. I want to move on from the past. I have to move on from the past. [Maybe we need to finally move.]

But sometimes it’s difficult. Let’s ignore work and travel, etc. for time being. I want to talk briefly about children. The hardest thought for me to process is having a baby, even though I feel like it is time, and I know JH desires moving forward with building a family. I have always wanted to have children, and be a strongermom in light of the fact that my own left me with no thought or care. But once I started the severe depression, and was given my bipolar diagnosis, I could no longer process protecting, much less developing a child. I had absolutely no faith in myself anymore. The worst nightmare I have had so far is imagining my baby screaming in his/her crib in the next room while I am drowning in the bathtub in the next room. I am not scared just of having post partum given what I have / am going through. I am lividly scared of being literally suicidal 24/7 when I have my baby. And that’s just not fair to JH or the baby. The last thing I ever want is for JH to be a widow in conjunction with my baby being motherless. My psychiatrist said that as long as I still willfully want to have children, fear is better than not wanting to have children at all. Fear can be overcome.

Moving back to work and travel. I feel like I still have lost my lust…my anything for life. Everything that used to make me excited about going to work, being creative at home, running away to exotic countries for a few weeks at a time…just seem lacklustre to me right now. So I am just….for lack of words….lost.

So far, the only thing that has excited me has been the stories I have received from my “batshit crazy” coming out on social media. I have read the stories over and over again even though some of them lack detail. Since the day I came out, each day, somehow a new one has surfaced and I get a bit excited over again. I have had a few ideas in my head that I have argued over with my husband (because he is more the logic, and I am the creative). The one idea we could decide on was to somehow accumulate stories anonymously from my network (as a starting point) and build a resource that could be accessible by patients, who sometimes forget that others hurt out there like they do; doctors and nurses, who really want to understand what patients are going through, and what is actually going on in their minds; and families, who need resources to help them understand what their loved ones need for complete understanding and support….to help them actually conceptualize what the disease might be like in one’s mind in the most literal sense.

JH, in the beginning, felt it was hard to find resources on the Internet that plainly described in a story-like fashion what it meant for bipolar individuals to go through what they were going through. We collectively read books, but books felt so technical and theoretical. They did not quite help you get inside a person’s mind to understand the extent of their pain. Through my own experience, I have come to learn that stories of lived experiences do this. I got this through support groups, and most recently from the story share that came from coming out. But others keep it repressed and do not share until it is too late. If they could read about someone going through the same extent of pain that they are experiencing privately, they can remember that they are not alone. Maybe even sometimes, we need to speak to someone who is not a doctor, a nurse or another patient at the hospital. Someone who understands on some level what’s going on because they have their own lived experiences of suicide, depression, anxiety, etc. The stories could be rants against depression and suicide, and all the difficulties associated with the pain. It would be like a suicide or depression diatribe.

Anyways, these are just ideas. Not sure at this point whether my nothingness inside is capable of producing anything. Though….I really like the idea of a suicide diatribe. The problem with executing this idea is gaining trust and perhaps removing denial. For awhile I could not share anything, let alone pages and pages of stories, because of trust issues, and because I was sceptical anything was wrong with me. So maybe a share network will not work. I guess I would have to ask my network, those who have shared whether they would write a piece…whether they would share willingly for a cause. I think I have a cause, I just have not fully 100 percent sold myself on it. Moving on…

In the meantime, reverting back to how I feel, I don’t feel anything. My ribs don’t hurt from crying, and I honestly don’t feel a bit of anything – especially emotions. Maybe the meds have consciously sucked up my soul again. And I will have to wait to feel again. Or, grab a something sharp and just do the job for my mind and heart. But, let’s not get too negative just yet. There’s always tomorrow. There’s also always the rest of today for all that to change…for something to change.

Author: Roro

Home baker. Sugar obsessed. Casual traveller. Fighting a fight. All photography and content are copyrighted by Roro @thechewishkitchen unless otherwise stated and referenced, and cannot be used without permission.

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