tuesday

i've debated on posting this.  worried it was going to seem as a half-ass attempt of glorifying my behavior, or trying to illicit some type of pity for myself.

i'm trying to remove the shame from what i've done.  trying to accept that this will and will always be a part of who i am and that it can/will get better.  i'm trying to get past the point of embarrassment and turning red when someone asks what happened to me.

and i'm not going to give details on what i did.  just an explanation of what led up to it, and now the aftermath of the incident.

Tuesday was like any other night in most recent history.  my moods have seemed almost volatile, but manageable, because i've learned to keep them within myself.  Zane and I painted a pumpkin for Christmas, and I talked Trin into going to the store to buy some holiday beer "because I have been so stable recently."

that was the first mark of my undoing.  drinking and anxiety seem to go hand in hand for me.  a shitty day at work, a good day at work, a messy house or the beginning of my period all seem like good excuses to drink.  a bottle of wine, a few beers.  i never drink liquor because i falsely associate liquor with having a problem.  sitting on the back porch with a giant glass of wine, and a pack of cigarettes after the kids are asleep never seemed like a problem to me.  it is how i got through college after all--and i did finish on the Dean's list most of the time.

But see i'm on prozac.  which isn't an excuse at all for what i did, but it does create an amplification of intoxication when drinking with it.  when drinking on prozac there is no "off" button for me.  I can keep going, i don't feel sick, or tired or anything.  I feel worry free.

i drank about 5 beers on Tuesday, over the course of about 4 hours, which did not make me insanely drunk.  but it did make me destructive.  one small thing had the ability to set me off.  and i let it.  i was drunk and i felt anxious, and depressed and i felt as if it was never going to get better.  i felt like my world was crumbling within those very seconds so, i went upstairs and spent some time alone.

and i was hiding my problems and feelings from Trin.  within those few minutes I was able to do some major damage to myself.  Damage that required me to not be able to stay at home, but to be immediately ambulanced to the hospital.  damage that caused trin to have a friend come over to stay with the kids to be by my side, damage that sent my mom up to columbus at an ungodly hour with my dad's best friend.

but i'm okay.  in the physical sense.  i'm still here.  it's a major setback.  a definite reminder that things are just not going to get better.  and i don't know how they are (but eventually they will).  4 weeks of intensive therapy left me with the ability to cram my emotions in on myself, but created a time bomb that blew up.  i'm still not coping.

my mother cried at the foot of my hospital bed, asking me to come home to Kentucky.

"we could rent a 4 bedroom house together. me, you, zane, rae and trinity"

Trin, who was visibly shaking sobbed, looking for answers during a period when I have none.

i sat in the hospital with the same purple robe.  labeled as a mental patient.  under the bright lights and the doors that dont close.

and I worry about Rae. seeing her mom in bed all the time.  i worry about Zane who is more aware of the situation than he needs to be.  and it makes me realize how selfish of a disease i have let this become.

the only thing that crosses my mind is how i am sick of feeling this way.  sick of the trials and errors of therapy and medication.  sick of the stigma associated with mental illness and i dread the idea of how others are going to treat me.

i'm fucking bonkers.  off my rocker.  i have a screw loose.  i feel like i should be in the damaged produce isle.  and it's humiliating.  and it seems reason enough to crawl into my bed and close the curtain forever.  because it's easy to feel alone when your depressed.

it's easy to forget the ones you love and care about and just become wrapped up in the huge cluster-cuss that is yourself.  and that's what i did.  and that is what i have to stop.  because in a sense i am alone.  this is my disease.  my cross to bear, but it impacts more than just myself.

and that trip to the hospital shook the rafters of my little microcosm.  it drew out the loved ones from the corners, and essentially slapped me in the face.  a wake up call for how pointless suicide really is.

i'm still in the dark, but i finished decorating for christmas.  i force myself out of bed, and try to find some enjoyment in life.

and i'm scheduled for more therapy.  more doctor visits.  more time digging away at my own person to somehow find a functioning individual underneath.  to somehow regain some normalcy, and to somehow regain my own life back.

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so, down from the trenches i speak to those who are in the same place.

don't medicate yourself.  stop drinking alcohol, smoking pot or whatever your drug of choice is. talk to someone.  anyone.  I called the suicide hotline, and they are really nice people.  think about others.  think about who really does care.  and fuck those who don't.  change your clothes and stop lying in bed.  don't just watch netflix.  set small goals.  things don't change overnight.

take a deep breath.  we are all still here.