A follow up note
by lifeonaxis1
Last time I left off, I was suicidal. Again.
Not as bad as the last time, but still pretty bad.
This time, I ended up going into the hospital. A little “staycation”, as it were. Not planned, of course. I was just trying to do the intake interview for an Intensive Outpatient Program, which I could accept that I “needed”. Then the lady told me she wouldn’t let me leave.
Sign the papers, or be committed by the state.
That’s a decision I hope not to have to make again.
My trip lasted about 4 days. It was over a weekend, too, so I didn’t even get the full benefits of regular meetings and such. Lots of drawing and coloring though. A very, very expensive art class.
But, it changed things. In a great way. I learned that I was fighting depression, which was a problem. But the bigger problem is that I was terrified of people. I had no safe place, anywhere. And without somewhere to feel safe, even if in my own head, I was spiraling out of control. I lost my grip.
In the hospital, they have rules. Boundaries. Things I should have but don’t. They’re imposed on everyone, and so they dictate the terms of the relationships you make. I loved this. At the time, I thought, if only I could figure out how to bring those rules out in the real world! As I saw more and more of what that meant for interacting with others–that there would be no judgment and that you could be safe–I felt the weight lifted. I felt like I could be myself, without being attacked, belittled, shamed, cussed at, or manipulated. I was able to spend an entire day in the group room…with other people! I had been almost certain that would never happen again. I even felt playful at one time, which I hadn’t felt in so long.
It was a gift, this time in the hospital. Because I saw that I needed to address the terror I felt about people. I needed to build a safe place in myself, and work on creating the safe places outside, with others in order to sustain myself through the dark times. This changed everything in how I approached healing.
I got out, and the next day I went to IOP. I was still scared. I couldn’t tell an emotion from a hole in the ground. But I was headed in the right direction. I was asking for help, which for whatever reason, is so hard for me to do. I’ve been doing that, a little at time.
I’m still scared of people. Still wary. Still feel my heart race when someone gets too close. But I keep reaching out, even if just a little. Like my friend in the hospital told me: you give a little trust, and see what happens. Not too much, like casting a fishing rod and winding it back just a bit to see what you get.
It’s a little odd. It still feels pretty isolated sometimes, to always be on guard. It’s safer though. I’m more observant. I’m looking out for myself. I give a little trust, and if it’s respected, great! If not, okay, I hold the line there. More positive actions must be taken to advance!
It feels good to know that I’m doing this because I’m worth being respected, and that I have value as a person, and as a friend, which shouldn’t be pissed away or taken advantage of. One of the great lessons in the last several months was examining how I treat other people, and how people I love and who love me, treat me. And for whatever reason, I started using that as the barometer. For example, I’d try and imagine someone I trusted deeply behaving a particular way (a behavior I wasn’t sure of or that caught my attention somewhere in the back of my mind), and then considered what I would think of them–and what they would presumably think of me–if they did that thing. I started being able to see when the lines were being crossed. Not only did I start seeing it, but I also started feeling it in a way that I could sense it in the moment and act on my feelings. Somewhere a well is filling inside me, because I’ve been able to tap into it several times since then–to be in the moment, to approach a situation with a sense of confidence, of calm even.
It hasn’t stopped the utter terror I’ve felt in response to threats, which I’ve unfortunately received recently (it can come with the job). I still had the panic attacks and my anxiety was spiked for days. When it came to game time, though, I did tap into it. It was there, somewhere.
I’m not perfect yet. But it is so far from where I came.
I’m so glad to hear from you again. I was extremely suicidal last month—to the point of starting to examine practical ways of carrying through with it. My parents and wife intervened, got me back on my bipolar medications (I’ve come to accept my diagnosis), and—of course—I feel great right now. Disturbingly great, considering how recently I was poring over ways to kill myself.
I’m sorry you ended up in hospital, but glad, too. I’m glad you found something there. I was nearly in hospital myself last month. I’m still recovering, and haven’t got back to writing, but I’m going to work, I’m able to muster the positive energy I need there, and my relationship with my wife is—very slowly—improving. I’m back for my son.
Listen. I know you probably don’t need anyone else in your life right now, but if you ever feel the need to reach out to someone who doesn’t know you and can’t cast judgement, my email is chris.north [at] me.com. I’d love to hear from you.
Take the best care of yourself, please.