I have SO MUCH to talk to you about, so many amazing things to share with you from just the last week. I honestly have to write it down to keep it straight in my head because it's so much for me to process right now. I promise it'll come.
But let's talk about an update on me. I feel like I'm not doing a good job documenting this because it's really overwhelming. I don't know what is notable and what isn't, if that makes any sense. And to be honest, I don't know how much you want to know, like really know. I say that because I've encountered people who will always ask me how I'm doing and if I say, "great!", I'm totally lying. 100%, flat out, not even good at it, lying. But if you tell someone what things are really like, it's an immediate awkward silence and they look around for someone else to basically save them from this conversation. I can hardly get offended or upset because I likely would do the same thing. For the people who stick it out and then ask the next inevitable question, "What can I do?", I don't have an answer. If I had an answer I wouldn't be having this conversation. So leaving the house has become so tough because I don't want to face this conversation and I don't want to make people feel weird and helpless.
Right now I'm kind of in limbo with doctors. I keep seeing my regular practitioner almost every other week as we try to get my blood pressure medication regulated and migraines under control. Fun development of Reynaud's Phenomenon has happened.
So I wait.
So besides my regular doctor, I'm seeing my therapist every other week as well. I've gone three times I think and it's really... it's helping. I find that I look forward to going because I can fully unload what I'm thinking and feeling and leave there feeling like she isn't judging me. Sometimes when I tell people how things are really going for me they get scared, worried, and angry with me.
Bottom line is that I'm suicidal. It's a really scary thing to just say that, just throw it out there like that, but I have been told that as soon as I admit that, and tell someone, it helps. And it actually does, oddly enough. I'm not as scared of myself now that I've been honest with people. I've gone from passive suicidal, (saying I wasn't planning anything but I maybe wouldn't hustle across the street as fast if a bus was coming) to staring at my pills every night and wondering if I took them all what would happen. Surely I'd have a heart attack or something. I spend a good chunk of every single day wishing I had actually died and stayed dead. I lay in bed and wonder what the point of any of this is. I find no joy in my children, my husband, my home, my life. That doesn't mean I don't like any of that, it doesn't mean I wouldn't fight to the death for them. It means there is something wrong in my brain that just isn't connecting the dots.
I remember hearing about people who were suicidal and I'd get so angry with them, like how selfish can you be? You have an amazing, blessed, beautiful life. You have what millions wish they could have, you don't have a terrible lot in life at all compared to others yet you wish you were dead. Is seriously nothing ever going to be good enough for you? And as it turns out, no. Not with the brain chemistry I've got right now, nothing will ever be good enough.
Another thing I learned in therapy this week, that I hadn't thought of, was that the Sara that I knew so well and everyone else knew is dead. She died and she isn't ever coming back. So what we have now is a brand new Sara. I don't know her, Matt doesn't know her, my kids don't know her and this new Sara doesn't know any of them. And so I'm in the process of doing all of this and recovering physically. Toss in regular life, stress, financial stress, depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts and yeah... that basically sums up my life. It's like if someone plopped you into a stranger's life and told you to assume the role of that person.
I can't do it.
I can't be that mom, wife, friend, daughter, sister, person I was.
The kicker is that I have enough memory that I know I was good at things, I was organized, I was funny, I was smart, I was active, I was a lot of things and I'm not any of that anymore. I don't know what I am. I don't even want to be anything, I want to just sleep. I want to be gone because I have to think I'm more of a burden being alive than gone because this? This is a really horrible existence.
So in these few months I've learned that time is meaningless. What is no time at all for you is an eternity for me. I've learned that the mental health crisis in this country is real and it is terrifying. I've learned that the suicide hotlines are a joke and honestly I felt worse after talking to that guy. I've learned that until you have held a handful of pills in your hand and were so close, you have not a damn thing to say about anyone, ever. You can't insert your opinion about suicide or depression, just be so thankful that you don't know what that's like. Because these are dark days, friends. Dark days. I'm getting better at faking it and being happy for the sake of people around me but I'd be lying if I told you I didn't lay in my bed and cry each and every night because I can't hold it in anymore.