Sometimes I have to stop reading the news. Sometimes I just get too far in. Like when my friend Richie was killed two weeks ago. I read the news daily to find out all I could, but it just sucked me down deeper into the abyss that wants to claim me for good. I had to stop. Why am I still here when he did more than I do? I was mad that he was dead and the the tweeker behind bars isn't.
The same thing with the death of Robin Williams. I have read all the details. I have read all the outpouring of love, the criticism and everything in between. I had to stop reading. To the world is a tragedy. To the rest of us in the daily throws of battling depression it was a mere reminder that we might be next. The only difference between Robin hanging himself Sunday and me not popping too many pills is that as dark and as low as I get - I have an eight year old boy who needs me. He is the ONLY thing that keeps me here.
He is too young to remember when after a brutal fight with his dad and I took an entire bottle of atarax and then went for a walk. I actually took myself to the ER to admit what I had done, but I was sleepy and didn't want to deal with the paperwork.
So I walked home.
Ten minutes later the police were there, as was the ambulance and the fire department. He is too young to remember being pulled out of my lap as I was given the option to come with them by my own devices or I could be mandatory 5150'd. So I did.
I was taken to the hospital and given a "private" room in the ER. I was given a very nasty charcoal drink to counteract the pills. There was a security guard outside my door. I was on 'Suicide watch". I couldn't even go the bathroom in privacy. I had to have a nurse hold the door open and watch. That was the easy part.
The hard part was the social worker who showed up at 7 pm. I told him my side. The ex told him his side. It was decided that I needed to go to the mental hospital.. I had no say even though I went to the hospital voluntarily.
The rest of the time was spent in and out of sleep. Until 2 am when the next ambulance came to take to me to my destination. The mental hospital. I was strapped to a gurney with both arms and legs secured. It seemed like forever. I didn't know where I was going and when I got there - I didn't know where I was.
It turns out that I didn't make it to the hospital - it was more like the processing building with beds. I met with a doctor who didn't seem to stoked to be awoken for this. It was decided I was bored housewife seeking attention. Nobody even took the circumstances into consideration which really pissed me off, but it was better than actually being committed. He said he would call my husband in the morning and I could go home as long as he would come get me. Then asked if I needed anything to sleep. Hello - I just took an entire bottle of something that made me sleepy - uh no. I was showed to my room and I was too scared to sleep. I listened to he next person get processed. He blacked out and beat the crap out of a bunch of people and then really flipped when taken to jail. The person after him was just plain crazy. They weren't given the option of going home in the morning. Eventually exhaustion took over the fear and I fell asleep.
The morning came way too soon. I was offered breakfast with my 2 other fellow crazies. The last one never came out and the 2nd one tried to make conversation with me. I decided I wasn't hungry and went back to my room.
Eventually I was released into the ex's care. Since I didn't go the hospital - it was not considered a 5150 which means I could never be accused of imcomptence, but for the safety of others and myself would never be allowed to by a firearm. Later I was told the only reason the ex agreed to pick me up was that he didn't want me to have to explain to my job why I wasn't going to be there for the next three days.
So after my last half hearted attempt last year - this is what keeps me alive: The thought that if I don't succeed I will get committed and if I do succeed - my luck would be that it would be my son who finds me.
This sucks because it doesn't do anything to make it better. It doesn't make the black grey. It doesn't change the fact that I have people who love me and care but it isn't enough to not want to succumb to the black. It doesn't stop the fights that drive me deeper. It doesn't stop the feelings of worthlessness, uselessness and hopelessness. It just means that I don't want to traumatize my son anymore than I do on a daily basis with my mood swings and just total inability to get it together. For a long time I tried to numb life with different pills just to keep the edge off so that I could function. Pain pills did more than take away the physical pain - it took away the emotional pain. Having a history of massive headaches - pain pills were readily available. Doctors out here will give them to you for a hangnail if you cry loud enough.
I would wait for the warm fuzzy feeling to hit and then I could deal. The ex didn't bother me as much. The kid couldn't agitate me. I'd like to say that I was strong enough to stop, but eventually the doctor cut me off. After a three week come down - I am now dealing with life unaltered. It isn't fun, but popping pills every 6 hours to function wasn't either.
I'm sad that Robin Williams didn't have that one thing to keep him from slipping. That one idea that allowed him to hold on one more day. Glennon Doyle said sometimes it just waiting the monster out until he tires and moves on. It's hard, but my child needs me and I CANNOT let the monster win.
If you are slipping into the dark. Don't let it win. Tell a doctor. Tell a trusted friend. Email me. Call (1-800-273-TALK (8255).
Find that small light and don't let the monster win. We can do this together.
