Worrying
As I have mentioned before, I have a friend who always notes that she has no doubt that I will get to the destination I am headed for, it is the path I take to get there that always worries her. I guess that is just how I have always been - kind of unpredictable in my route, yet successful in the end. Through the years I have had plenty of friends and family give me the "I'm a little worried about you" line to which I have always answered, "I'm good, I will tell you when it is time to worry." Even if there was more than ample reason to worry, that was my line and everyone respected it.
These past several weeks I have received my fair share of phone calls and emails with that concern, "I'm (we're) worried about you." All I have been able to reply is, "you should be." There was no reason to try and snowball them, they all knew better and could tell in my voice (and even in my writing) that it was time to worry. The hard part is that usually the next question is "what can I (we) do to help you?" and that one I don't ever have an answer. I have been saying that there isn't much anyone can do right now except maybe keep checking in on me from time to time. And prayer, I'm always good for prayers. And they have done it. Daily I get a call, text, or email from someone. Even at work I am being watched after a little more than usual.
Normally, this would annoy the hell out of me, and yet for the time, I am grateful for it. I have done pretty well at knowing where *I* am at (as I point to myself, smile, and think "right here") yet outside of that I sometimes feel lost, even in familiar places. Seems there is always someone around to find me, always a familiar face on the corner you might say. I will take it right now, it makes me feel safer. I think everyone else has some peace knowing where I am as well. Kind of like when you would venture off and your mom would say "stay where I can see you."
I have now been asked or confronted about suicidal inclinations (either direct or indirect) by each of my medical professionals. Can I express just how sobering that is? Needless to say, kind of distressing at the same time. If I am exhibiting behaviors that move to that type of questioning, then I only start to worry even more about myself.
Yes, there was a time in my life when I really wanted to die. I didn't care if it was by my hand or someone else or by some freak accident kind of thing, I just didn't care. Through the years, suicidal thoughts have been on the list of ways to end the emotional pain I was in. I couldn't figure out any other way to make it stop (or keep from coming back) and so that choice was always very near the top. After so long, the "holy cow, I can't believe I just thought that as a choice" goes away and it is just there, a piece of pie, equal to all other choices.
My mom was very adamant in her disapproval of suicide when we were growing up. I don't even know why it was ever a discussion actually, yet it was. She would say, "Suicide is just a permanent solution to a temporary problem and I have no sympathy for anyone who tries it." She beloved it was just people making a conscious choice to get attention. (Yah, I know, kind of ironic, eh?) She would carry on the conversation right down to how she would not even go to the services for that person because all they had done was be selfish and she wasn't going to show up and support that. Needless to say, she has no clue how many times I have been on that ledge and it wasn't like I could go to her and tell her how I was feeling. Or, who knows, maybe she did have an idea and that was her way of maybe keeping me from doing it, knowing how disappointed she would be.
A couple years ago, we were out for dinner and she was doing her classic "woe is me" and threw out this line of how she could just put on several of her pain patches on her arm and OD and end it all. Apparently my response of "why just put them on your arm, lay them out on the bed and log roll over them all" was not what she was looking for. Maybe I should have stopped there, yet I went on with multiple other ways she could achieve a self-imposed death without bothering anybody in the process. I would later learn that she got really upset that I didn't do the "oh, please don't be like that, it will be ok...." reaction. Um, even she should know that, of all people, don't play the "manipulate me with suicidal threats" game with me. Now, don't take that the wrong way, if someone in distress were to come to me, I would be more than empathetic and would assist them in any way I could to get help so they were safe, yet don't come throw it in my face to try and get some gain out of me.
I don't think with me it has really ever been this "desire to die" as much as a lack of a "desire to live" and I think there is a difference between the two. When I was heavy, I used to say, "When you don't care if you live or die, you don't care what you weigh." I can't lie, I used to pray that I would go to sleep and just not wake up the next day. When I would have chest pains and shortness of breath, no I would not call for assistance, I hoped I would just pass out or something. The "desire" came and went as the stress and chaos in my life went. It was almost parallel. I wasn't out to kill myself, and yet I wasn't in a hurry to stop doing destructive things to myself either. I hated myself, so what was the point? The world would go on, people would get over it, and soon I would be forgotten.
I worry now that some of those conscious behaviors I did still linger in the subconscious. Is that part of the anxiety issues? Is it some part in the back of my brain still trying to do me in? When the self-destructive thoughts start pouring in and I find myself in that "dark place" where reasoning is almost impossible, will I default to old habits? I know the desire to always makes an appearance. Then I remember being in that hospital room with nothing but a bed, table, and a camera. I was on suicide watch. Even though I knew that is where I needed to be, I was so scared. Now that I think about it, there's never really been anyone I felt I could tell just how scared I was. Another chunk of emotional overload stored in hopes it would go away. It will be 14 years the end of July.
Back in October when I finally mixed too large of a dose of pills and found it extremely difficult to wake up the next day, I always say I had two choices - adjust the dose for my current weight or stop the behavior. There was a third choice considered that I have never talked about. It was not reducing the dose, it was increasing it little by little. Each day waking up a little harder, maybe one day not waking up at all. So, maybe just thinking that is not bad, yet seriously contemplating it and planning it out, is. Honestly, I knew long before the end of October that I was in trouble with the amounts I was taking, that it was too much. I wonder what we were learning in class around that time as I am sure that it had a huge impact on the final decision I made.
I was talking with someone after church today and we got talking about Job once again. He said, this is just your trials like Job, Satan gets to beat you all he wants, yet he isn't allowed to kill you. I just looked at him and said, "yes, but my fear isn't Satan killing me, it is me killing myself."
Whether directly or indirectly, it is a fear that has been a part of me for a long, long time. I do look forward to the day it is not a part of me at all. Meanwhile though, it exists within me, quietly whispering all the time.
These past several weeks I have received my fair share of phone calls and emails with that concern, "I'm (we're) worried about you." All I have been able to reply is, "you should be." There was no reason to try and snowball them, they all knew better and could tell in my voice (and even in my writing) that it was time to worry. The hard part is that usually the next question is "what can I (we) do to help you?" and that one I don't ever have an answer. I have been saying that there isn't much anyone can do right now except maybe keep checking in on me from time to time. And prayer, I'm always good for prayers. And they have done it. Daily I get a call, text, or email from someone. Even at work I am being watched after a little more than usual.
Normally, this would annoy the hell out of me, and yet for the time, I am grateful for it. I have done pretty well at knowing where *I* am at (as I point to myself, smile, and think "right here") yet outside of that I sometimes feel lost, even in familiar places. Seems there is always someone around to find me, always a familiar face on the corner you might say. I will take it right now, it makes me feel safer. I think everyone else has some peace knowing where I am as well. Kind of like when you would venture off and your mom would say "stay where I can see you."
I have now been asked or confronted about suicidal inclinations (either direct or indirect) by each of my medical professionals. Can I express just how sobering that is? Needless to say, kind of distressing at the same time. If I am exhibiting behaviors that move to that type of questioning, then I only start to worry even more about myself.
Yes, there was a time in my life when I really wanted to die. I didn't care if it was by my hand or someone else or by some freak accident kind of thing, I just didn't care. Through the years, suicidal thoughts have been on the list of ways to end the emotional pain I was in. I couldn't figure out any other way to make it stop (or keep from coming back) and so that choice was always very near the top. After so long, the "holy cow, I can't believe I just thought that as a choice" goes away and it is just there, a piece of pie, equal to all other choices.
My mom was very adamant in her disapproval of suicide when we were growing up. I don't even know why it was ever a discussion actually, yet it was. She would say, "Suicide is just a permanent solution to a temporary problem and I have no sympathy for anyone who tries it." She beloved it was just people making a conscious choice to get attention. (Yah, I know, kind of ironic, eh?) She would carry on the conversation right down to how she would not even go to the services for that person because all they had done was be selfish and she wasn't going to show up and support that. Needless to say, she has no clue how many times I have been on that ledge and it wasn't like I could go to her and tell her how I was feeling. Or, who knows, maybe she did have an idea and that was her way of maybe keeping me from doing it, knowing how disappointed she would be.
A couple years ago, we were out for dinner and she was doing her classic "woe is me" and threw out this line of how she could just put on several of her pain patches on her arm and OD and end it all. Apparently my response of "why just put them on your arm, lay them out on the bed and log roll over them all" was not what she was looking for. Maybe I should have stopped there, yet I went on with multiple other ways she could achieve a self-imposed death without bothering anybody in the process. I would later learn that she got really upset that I didn't do the "oh, please don't be like that, it will be ok...." reaction. Um, even she should know that, of all people, don't play the "manipulate me with suicidal threats" game with me. Now, don't take that the wrong way, if someone in distress were to come to me, I would be more than empathetic and would assist them in any way I could to get help so they were safe, yet don't come throw it in my face to try and get some gain out of me.
I don't think with me it has really ever been this "desire to die" as much as a lack of a "desire to live" and I think there is a difference between the two. When I was heavy, I used to say, "When you don't care if you live or die, you don't care what you weigh." I can't lie, I used to pray that I would go to sleep and just not wake up the next day. When I would have chest pains and shortness of breath, no I would not call for assistance, I hoped I would just pass out or something. The "desire" came and went as the stress and chaos in my life went. It was almost parallel. I wasn't out to kill myself, and yet I wasn't in a hurry to stop doing destructive things to myself either. I hated myself, so what was the point? The world would go on, people would get over it, and soon I would be forgotten.
I worry now that some of those conscious behaviors I did still linger in the subconscious. Is that part of the anxiety issues? Is it some part in the back of my brain still trying to do me in? When the self-destructive thoughts start pouring in and I find myself in that "dark place" where reasoning is almost impossible, will I default to old habits? I know the desire to always makes an appearance. Then I remember being in that hospital room with nothing but a bed, table, and a camera. I was on suicide watch. Even though I knew that is where I needed to be, I was so scared. Now that I think about it, there's never really been anyone I felt I could tell just how scared I was. Another chunk of emotional overload stored in hopes it would go away. It will be 14 years the end of July.
Back in October when I finally mixed too large of a dose of pills and found it extremely difficult to wake up the next day, I always say I had two choices - adjust the dose for my current weight or stop the behavior. There was a third choice considered that I have never talked about. It was not reducing the dose, it was increasing it little by little. Each day waking up a little harder, maybe one day not waking up at all. So, maybe just thinking that is not bad, yet seriously contemplating it and planning it out, is. Honestly, I knew long before the end of October that I was in trouble with the amounts I was taking, that it was too much. I wonder what we were learning in class around that time as I am sure that it had a huge impact on the final decision I made.
I was talking with someone after church today and we got talking about Job once again. He said, this is just your trials like Job, Satan gets to beat you all he wants, yet he isn't allowed to kill you. I just looked at him and said, "yes, but my fear isn't Satan killing me, it is me killing myself."
Whether directly or indirectly, it is a fear that has been a part of me for a long, long time. I do look forward to the day it is not a part of me at all. Meanwhile though, it exists within me, quietly whispering all the time.