It’s hard to go through depression. It’s hard to have suicidal thoughts. It’s hard to be put in a hospital. It’s even harder to get back to reality.
In the hospital, everything is easy. People tell you what time to go to bed, what time to get up, what time to eat, take your medicine, when you go to therapy, when you can go outside. You’re cut off from social media and the outside world, there’s a whole world living inside a building. And it has its own schedule, its own ebb and flow.
The reality of the world is that life doesn’t work like that. There is no one to tell you when to do something. No one to make sure you’re following your meds. Mostly you’re on your own. And then there’s work, life in general and the stresses that brings, social media, and your very own mental illness to deal with.
When the doctor tells you for the first time that you’re bipolar, it can be jarring. It’s not something that people want to hear. But it doesn’t have to be something that brings you down. It doesn’t have to label you. It just means that you have to manage the world differently, keep up with the medications and doctors visits, go to therapy if that helps you, make sure you get adequate sleep, eat right, things like that. But you learn to manage with that. And you can. It’s been done before, you can do it.
And you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here. I’m here for you. I’m here to help. I’m here to make sure you take your meds and eat, but you have to let me in too.
I’ve been in the hospital, I know how low stress it was compared to out here. I know what it’s like to not want to face the reality of going back to work. I also know how it feels to not be able to do it, not be able to face it. And I can tell you that it’s ok.
The point is, I’m here. And I’m ready and willing to help when you’re ready.
My heart hurts.
Last night was the first time I’ve been on the other side. The one letting someone take the one I love into a hospital, knowing that I’m going to have limited visitation and calls. Watching security guards surround him as he tried to go home. Because all he wanted to do was go home. Watching as the police came to get him, to take him away from me where I could not follow.
Last night, my heart broke. But I know it’s for the best.
Suicidal thoughts have a way of sneaking up on someone and taking over everything. They consume and they do not discriminate. Depression doesn’t care if you’re white, black, hispanic, male, female, gay, straight, or bi. It takes and it takes all.
So when you say that you’re depressed, I listen. And when you say that the images in your head are scaring you, I’m scared for you. Because I know exactly how that feels. To be trapped in a cycle of images that ultimately want to break you, break your mind and spirit and your heart. Its hard, it’s scary. But you don’t have to do it alone. And when you say you need help, were going to get you help.
Last night I felt like my world was ending. I know it’s not, I know it’s for the nest, but it hurts. My chest hurts. My heart hurts. Breathing hurts.
Last night I felt like maybe I made a mistake. The doctors give you weird looks when you tell then you’re suicidal. Sure they say they want to help, but do they really want to?
Last night I took my husband to the er because he was struggling. He was struggling more than I could help him. I’m only human, I’m a CNA not a doctor or a nurse and I can only do so much to help. So I took him to the er.
For the first couple of hours he was ok. But as the night dragged on, because you know they take their time, he wanted to go home. So he wanted to leave. We unhooked him from the machines. He was feeling better and he wanted to go home. We put his shirt on and headed out the door. The nurse called security. Did you know that if you tell the er that you’re suicidal they put you on suicide watch and you can’t leave unless you’ve been cleared by a doctor? And usually the only way you’re leaving is to go to another hospital. They called security. We made it to the parking lot. We were surrounded by 4 security guards with attitudes. He just wanted to go home. They took him back inside and searched my purse. It hasn’t been an issue until then. Finally at 3am the cops came for him. They took him away to the mental hospital.
Love can be a hard thing. When you love someone, you want wants best for them, even when it’s scary for you. I’m scared for him. I know he’s in the best place he can be right now. But the not knowing is killing me.
I love you baby. And one day this all will make sense and will be nothing buy a memory.
So… My posts from the past couple of days…well…they’ve been pretty grim.
But that’s how I’ve been feeling.
And I’m sorry if I’ve upset anyone. But I had to tell someone. I felt like the thoughts were going to make my head explode.
When I told hubby, like I said, he was upset. And still, now, I don’t know if it was because of what I was thinking that made him upset, the fact that I told him, or what. But he was upset. And, again, I don’t blame him for being upset. Because I was upset too.
I was upset that I was thinking these things, that I was seriously considering all of these things.
Some ideas were just words, some were images or videos of the exact scenario. It was sad, but it felt like there was relief in that. Until I saw how my family would react. And it just seemed so selfish and painful.
I don’t like being that depressed. And, yes, the thoughts are still there. But, right now, they are more whispers than screams.
And for that I’m thankful.
I don’t think that I am actively suicidal. I haven’t actually attempted, though the thoughts are present. The images are violent and vivid.
Hopefully, this won’t last much longer.
I just get tired of fighting, you know? Fight the good fight and keep trying? No, it gets tiring and stressful and hateful. And it’s depressing. And there is always the thought “well, I could kill myself.” I’ve only ever been sure that I would succeed once, and I was stopped, because I opened my mouth and told someone what I was thinking.
I’m scared. Or not really scared. I was yesterday. It’s sad that I can’t just be happy or at least normal. And all I can think about is that I shouldn’t be here anymore. I’m tired of this. I’m tired of everything.
Yesterday, I thought it was ok. And then I wasn’t. And I feel horrible for Hubby because he’s having to deal with my shit. He’s afraid, I think, for me. He wouldn’t be watching me like he has been if I could just be normal. I feel bad. He deserves so much better. He needs me to be better and I can’t be. I feel like he’s going to send me away. I don’t want him to leave, but I keep pushing him away.
What if he sends me to the hospital and then doesn’t come and see me? What if this doesn’t get any better?
I don’t want him to leave me. And I get so mad because he stays. It doesn’t make sense to me.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
It’s not getting better. And I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t want to go to work tonight, I don’t want to do anything. I want to sleep forever.
I just want to be alone. But I want to be with Hubby. But when I’m with Hubby, I get mad at him, and there’s no reason to be mad at him. I just want to be with him, cuddle and cry. I hate feeling like this. I hate putting him through this. I don’t know what to do anymore.