Monday

Scar Tissue Doesn't Tan

When I first thought up this title I was referring to physical scars we all have received over the years. For many they may have been from a long ago accident, most likely as a kid. Falling from a bike, a fight with a brother or sister or some long ago adventure. And when we look at the scar we've carried around for all these years, a story is always with it. I have several of these, a birthmark on the back of my leg that has grown as I have grown. People have often asked me where I got the bruise from. Or the one on my knee where I slid into gravel while riding my bike. I wasn't suppose to be riding on that particular street and didn't want anyone to find out about it. I cleaned my knee up as best as I could but some of the gravel never did come out and when the skin grew back on that knee some of that gravel remained with me, the pain long ago gone but a reminder now of what happens when you don't listen to your parents.
I also have many scars from later in life, of a different kind, that remind me of stories I have a hard time telling. But I've also realized that the scar tissue that also remains are the scars insides. These also don't tan. The sun doesn't shine on them making them less noticeable, but rather make them show more - a reminder of what has happened and the meaning those scars continue to have in my life.
I look at these scars, both inside and out, and each still tells a story. A story of the pain and heartbreak. A story of my life. Each scar representing a release from the pain, not forever, but long enough for me to go on with the next part of my life. As long as I can see the scars then I am alive, the pain has not killed me. I wonder if it has changed anything or are things still yet to change.

It can be a lonely existence. For the pain isn't for sharing it is kept for me to handle. And at one time it would have be easier to handle. Back when there was only me, but only me changed a long time ago. And along with it came a husband and two daughters. They too are part of the pain, but they are also part of the happiness. Again lines blur the happy into the sad and back again.

The responsibility, the maturity. The things I thought I wanted, but didn't that now can't be changed. Decisions that are made by us before we are old enough to understand the consequences of what we are doing. But then are we ever old enough. Is that really the question we should be asking ourselves. Who really plans their life. Isn't is just a series of events. Some started by ourselves, but others we don't control. And it's what we do with these events.

It's these unexpected occurrences and our inability to handle them that cause the scars. We just didn't know any better, or we did the best we could, but was that really our best? For many we just shut down, stop existing but let the world around us continue to exist.
And while some scars may fade, the memory of them remains. Or some remain, readying to be pulled open again at any moment.

Friday

Where are you, I can't find you

When I saw my sister in that coffin two short weeks ago, something wasn't right, well a lot of things weren't right, but this one thing I just couldn't put my finger on until this morning.  That wasn't my sister in that coffin.  There was a body there, but my sister was gone.  I didn't feel that she was there.  It was just a body but a body no longer being used.  She had left and now I don't know where to find her and I really need to find her.  I don't know where to look, someone needs to help me, I've really got to find her.  And don't tell me she's in her kids, or in her friends or any of that kind of bullshit.  I want her not what she left in other people.  That' is one of those lame answers.  It's supposed to comfort me, but it doesn't.  I don't want to see the "legacy" she left - I want her.

I'm so lonely inside.  It seems she's pulling farther away and she needs to come back, I want to find her but I don't know where to look for her.  No one sees my pain.  I'm guessing they think there shouldn't be any pain now.  But they don't know, they don't get it.  Or they tell me it will get better.  No, it won't get better.  She's gone, it is what it is, but nothing is going to make that better.

My anger the past two weeks has been directed at other people, I find that shifting now to Jackie.  Why didn't she go to the doctor that morning?  Maybe the clot was too big and it was too late anyway, but how do we know, she didn't go. 

I wanted to go first, because if I went first I wouldn't be left with all this pain now.  Selfish of her, always having to be the first.  That's what happens with the oldest. 

I just wish I could find her.  Does anyone know where she is?

Monday

My Sister

Today's blog has nothing to do with me but everything to do with my sister.  She died, Tuesday, August 16, 2011 way too soon.  I had the honor to say a few words about her at her funeral and this is what I said.

My life forever changed, Tuesday morning at 1:10 a.m.  Those words from my niece Stephanie, “I have some bad new” “my mom died” will haunt me forever. How? Why?   It was too soon, we still had years, she must be wrong.  Those were my immediate thoughts.  The shock as the words sunk in.  And I soon realized that this was the thought of so many other people.  The outpouring of love and support that all of us have received this week  has just been overwhelming.  We know how much Jackie meant to us but we never realized Jackie meant so much to so many people and how many lives she touched.    

I want to thank all of you from all of us, from Stephanie, Lauren, my mom, Dave, me and my brother Jim.  You just don’t know how much it means to us. 

I’ve had the honor of knowing Jackie my entire life, not that I always thought it was such an honor.

I asked my mom for a memory of my sister and she tells me the one that stands out for her is Jackie dancing through the aisles at Jewel.

My brother Jim remembers Jackie’s generosity.  Inviting him to her house for Christmas so he wouldn’t spend the day alone.  Jim’s wife Sheri telling Jackie she collected a certain type of nativity set but was missing some pieces and Jackie dug out her set to give to Sheri.  Minnesota may be known as the home of 10,000 lakes but not one Portillos.  So out of the blue Jackie sent Portillos tamales up to Minnesota.

My husband Nick’s favorite memory is every Christmas she would make him his favorite cheesecake.  In return he would make her biscuits and gravy every mother’s day.

Or her compassion and fierce loyalty.  Last year when our cousin Mary Therese was slipping away  there was my sister, every day whether MT was at home or in the hospital, praying, hoping and comforting her until the end. 

For me it was her sense of humor.  As most of you know she could be so quick with a punch line.  Sarcastic, but never mean.  I’ve tried but I could never quite match her wit.  It could occasionally get us in trouble.  One year Art made us apologize to our mom for the teasing we gave her one Thanksgiving.  If we didn’t we wouldn’t be allowed back for another Thanksgiving.

One of the better stories is one I don’t even remember.  When we were little she would take the pacifier out of my mouth at night so I would cry and my parents would come in upset at me. That was until the day they caught her taking it out of my mouth.

You know her being the oldest I would sometimes get jealous.  She was  the girl who never had to wear hand-me-downs.  She had all the “firsts”. Her baby book was full, mine almost empty.  But at some point  my older sister changed into being  my big sister.    

We both had two daughters, but she was first there too.  When I had Nicole, as I like to remind Nicole, I went through hours of backbreaking labor.  After I had her I called Jackie from my hospital room and asked her, why didn’t you tell me it was going to be this bad?  Her response was, mom told me not to. 

But I looked to her when I had questions, needed help, didn’t know what to do and she was there.  In the past ten years especially, she would just know it was time to call me, when she knew I needed to talk or to yell at me when I needed to be yelled at. 

But it wasn’t always the important things either.  We would text each other during Nascar races hoping our favorite driver, “not Kyle or Kurt” would win or discuss this week’s episode of Survivor.  Would Gene and Shannon stay together on Gene Simmons Family Jewels?  She and our cousin Mary Therese even took me to my first Springsteen concert.

Don’t get me wrong, she was my sister, and yes I would get mad at her, we’d have the occasional fights, but they never lasted long.  And no she wasn’t perfect.

There were actually two things I knew of that frightened Jackie – spiders and roller coasters.  There was a time when we lived next door to each other, Stephanie wasn’t all that old and there was a spider on the living room wall.  I got a frantic phone call from both of them to come over and kill the spider.  Being the good sister I was, I did.

My last conversation with Jackie was about me going to Disneyworld, an addiction fondness we shared.  She offered to come with me.  I told her I didn’t want to go with someone who would get off of Rock and Roller Coaster and cry for 15 minutes.

We all have our favorite Jackie stories I’m sure and they all bring smiles to our faces.  She was a daughter, sister, best  friend to many but most importantly a mom.  Stephanie, Lauren – you know how much your mom loved you and I know the last thing she wanted was to leave you.  She wanted you both to be happy, safe, loved.

And Dave.  She dated you for quite a while before we even knew about you.  That’s how much she loved you, she wanted to protect you from “the family”.  But sorry, you are now part of “the family”.

She loved her nieces and nephews too.  She was so generous with them and  took great joy in teasing all of them and teaching them about life, in her own little way.  Anytime something would happen in Nicole or Carly’s lives their first question was, you’re not going to tell Aunt Jackie are you?  But of course I would, and they really wanted me to.  When I asked Carly and Nicole  for memories of their aunt they kept giving me stories that are well, better kept in the family. 

It’s going to be really strange not having her there at family parties to liven up the place.  The hole she leaves is tremendous.

The last gift my sister gave me was a single rose for Mother’s day.  I found this poem and I’d like to credit the author, but I don’t know who it is and I did have to change the word mother to sister, but it works:

If Roses Grow In Heaven

If roses grow in Heaven Lord
Please pick a bunch for me.
Place them in my Sister's arms
and tell her they're from me.
Tell her I love her and miss her,
and when she turns to smile,
Place a kiss upon her cheek
and hold her for a while.
Because remembering her is easy,
I do it everyday,
But there is an ache within my heart
That will never go away.



Thursday

Tim

posted 7-7-11

My kids have some friends who kind of blend in with the crowd.  They can be over at the house mutliple times and I still have to ask who they are. Or I recognize the face but don't remember the name. 

Tim wasn't like that.  I still remember the first time I met Tim.  Carly was in 7th grade.  I went to pick her up at school.  Not even sure why I was home.  Maybe I was working from home that day.  Doesn't even matter.  What I do remember is Carly walking up to the car window and pointing out her friend a few steps away.  She told me this was her friend Tim.  I'm the mom who is always giving rides.  And Tim needed a ride.  Tim's mom was going to pick him up at the mall but could I drive Tim to the mall.  A little skeptical, his mom is picking him up from the mall?  They both swore to me this was the honest story.  So I drove Tim to the mall.

I didn't really see Tim again until Carly's freshman year of high school.  Tim wanted to date her.  She said yes.  Her first boyfriend.  For valentines day she made him a chocolate chip cookie in the shape of a heart - last time I saw my heart shaped cookie pan.  Unfortunately the romance didn't last much longer than the cookie - and I never did see my pan again.

One of Carly's big problems with dating has been she's friends first and then the guy will ask her out.  She's always afraid that it's not going to work out and it will  ruin the friendship.  Or she's afraid they are going to break up with her.  So what happens is she says yes, panics, breaks up with the guy and then it takes months before the friendship can begin again.

That's what happened with Tim. From what I knew they didn't talk all that much after that.  I'd occasionally ask where my cookie pan was and she'd tell me she'd ask him.  Tim started to date another girl a little over a year ago.  A romance that lasted and Tim was happy.  And from what I know Tim and Carly did become friends again, even if it was just a hello in the hallway in school.

It will be 2 weeks ago this coming Monday that Tim sent Carly a friend request on Facebook.  They had been friends on Facebook at one time, and then they weren't.  Not sure why the request at that time, guess we'll never know why, but Tim wanted to be friends.  Carly didn't see the request that night.  We were on vacation and she didn't have her laptop with her so she wasn't glued to a computer. 

Tim never woke up that next morning.  No one knows why.  17 years old.  By all accounts a great kid, great son, great friend.  And like that he was gone.  Swim team, band.  I'm sure a great future. I'm sure he thought he had a great future. 

How does that happen?  Why does that happen?  So many unanswered questions. 

And I cry.  For him, for his family, for his friends.  It's just touched me, and scared me.

A 17 year old shouldn't go to sleep one night and not wake up the next morning.

Friday

What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up

posted 6-10-11

What an innocent question to ask a young child.  I know  when I was young most of the answers would be fireman, nurse, teacher, policeman, doctor, astronaut or lawyer.  Now the answer might include youtube or reality show star.  This age of instant gratification or entitlement has tainted our kids.  They don't get the sense that they need to work for what they have, that things are not just handed to them.


One job no one wants and no one wants their kid to have is the job of President.  It's become such a thankless job.  The country is so divided that you can't win, no matter what you do.  There is always going to be the other side that will not for one moment acknowledge that something you did was right or good.  You didn't vote for the person who won, then he's not my president, he's your president.  That's  not how it works but thanks to the 24 hour cable news shows every step a politician makes is watched under a microscope.  And these aren't news shows, they are opinion shows.  There are many great men and women out there that would make great leaders but choose not to run because they see what a rotten job it has become.


What has become of us as a nation and what are we teaching our children if never can we come together as a country as do what is best for the country?

Saturday

Electric Shock

Electric (or electricity) - The physical phenomena arising from the behavior of electrons and protons that is caused by the attraction of particles with opposite charges and the repulsion of particles with the same charge.

Shock - The sensation and muscular spasm caused by an electric current passing through the body or a body part.

Therapy - Healing power

Let's put that all together, "Electric Shock Therapy" (or ECT for short).

**the administration of a strong electric current that passes through the brain to induce convulsions

**a therapy where electrodes are placed on or near a patient's ears to pass high level electricity through the brain; producing convulsions with therapeutic effect.

**Electrically induced seizures

Ok - I think we get the idea. They put these things on your head, knock you out and then send electric shocks to your brain causing a seizure. And I signed up for this, for three different series of treatments.

One thing they claim is typically, patients do not remember their ECT sessions and the main side effect is temporary loss of short term memory. Guess I wasn't typical. I remember. People think I don't, but I do. Especially that once you wake up you discover that you have wet yourself. They don't tell you about it and it's extremely embarrassing.  Just writing it here is embarrassing.  The first ECT nurse told me she'd been doing this for like 15 years. She must have known this was a side effect. Why didn't she bother to mention this little fact. Somewhere in the middle of my second series of treatments a new nurse took over. I let her in on little side effect. By the time I came back for my third series (a glutton for punishment), she was telling all her patients about this side effect and warning them to get pads, or depends so that it wouldn't be embarrassing for them.

So here's the drill.  You get to the hospital at 6 in the morning where you are greeted by the ECT nurse. You change into your gown. It could be just you or up to half a dozen people joining in the fun. My motto was the less people the better. But that was strictly for selfish reasons. I hated having to wait. If I could have chosen I would always be first, but they liked to mix it up a little. That to me was one of the worst parts - waiting. I could be there for several hours just waiting my turn.

So they take you downstairs into one of the rooms they use for recovery. Half the place has people coming out of surgery and the other half was us. They start an IV (or in my case 3 or 4 nurses would attempt to start an IV - I don't have cooperative veins). By my last series they just put in a central line for me so they didn't have to bother. Especially after I had a vein blow just as they were putting me to sleep.

Then you wait and wait. Finally it's your turn and things start moving quickly. They put those little pads all over you to monitor your heart rate. They use this goop and put this thing on your head. They take one sock off of you. During the seizure the only that that moves is your foot (so they tell me). It's their way of telling when the seizure is over to watch the foot. They knock you out do their little dirty work and the next thing you know they're waking you up.

Then it's back up to the ward for you. They give you a little breakfast, have you get dressed, the psychiatrist comes in for a little chat and off you go home to rest. And two days later you come back and repeat the whole thing. This usually goes on for about two weeks.

Now when I say I remember everything it's true. I remember everything about the procedure. I remember my sister picking me up during the first two sessions (bless her she'd stop at Dunkin Donuts and get me coffee on her way to pick me up). And my mom picked me up during the last sessions.

Another crappy thing about the procedure. They won't let you drive home after. Now I say I remember everything, but that in no way means I was able to drive after. And if you didn't have anyone to drive you home, you had to do the entire thing as an inpatient. Two weeks in a psych ward. They wouldn't even let you be in a regular ward. You had to be locked up with everyone else. That would have been a deal breaker for me.

So did it help? The first time I'd say, yes it probably did. People noticed a difference. I seemed to be able to concentrate better. My mood was better. But it only seemed to last a few months.

I mean I must have thought it had done something or #2 and #3 would have never happened. But I didn't seem to get the same effect for #2 and #3 that I did the first time. It was disappointing.

I met people who had been coming once a month for years for what they called "maintenance". I did not want to become one of those people. The last time I went I absolutely hated it and couldn't imagine why I had agreed to it again. But I guess I was desperate and desperate people do desperate things.

There really were no after-effects for me.  I was back to my old self in a couple of weeks.  Well there was one after-effect.  When I forget something my husband blames it on the shocks. I've come to think that the things I don't remember never happened and he's just fucking with me.  It's been a couple of years since my last shock and he still likes to blame things on them.  That's when I know he's full of shit.

Friday

The Cutter

Been around any high school kids lately? A strange phenomenon has taken place. Kids these days cut themselves. Most aren't serious and it seems more of a fad than anything else. But don't be fooled, there are serious cutters out there. How do I know? Well at age 40 I became a cutter.

Now the "proper" term is self injury. That could be anything from cutting, burning, hitting and a list of other methods to physically hurt oneself. But why would anyone do this? It may amaze some people but there is both a physical and mental release to it. Your emotions become so wound up that you feel like you're going to burst. And making that one cut, or many cuts, releases the tension and moves you back down to a place where you can manage your emotions again.

I already know this paragraph is going to be extremely disturbing to some but it's the truth.  I remember the delicious relief I felt with each cut. The sense of calm as the blood ran down my arm or leg. The release of all that was bothering me, released by me, of me. As short a time that it was, for me it worked. And I didn't just scratch, I went for the vein.  I wanted to see that blood shoot out.  And I would continually poke that same vein for days with a pin to get the blood back flowing.  A lot of the time the bruise it would cause would blend in with my skin.  Other times it didn't.  That's when I had to deal with the consciences.  Some people were repulsed that I could do such a thing.  There was name calling, accusations.  It was not a pleasant time.  Certain people looked at me with disgust.  I actually had a psychiatrist tell me at the time that if I cut myself she would refuse to treat me.  Such arrogance on her part.  So much for healing the sick.  Needless to say I never bothered to visit that woman again.

For many there was just no understanding. The idea of purposely hurting oneself was just so foreign an idea to them.  And that doing it made me feel better?  We don't always understand the actions of others but what right do they have to judge us.  Was I cutting them? 

I did meet people who had empathy for what I was doing.  It pained them to see me hurting myself.  They genuinely wanted to help me.  It is the people closest to me that didn't or wouldn't understand.  But then how could they. They weren't in my head, they didn't understand my thinking, my rationale, my right to relieve the pressure and pain any way I could. They didn't understand I had no other release but the release from within myself.

And no this isn't a suicidal tendency and I wasn't doing it for attention.  And I am sooooo tired of that doing it for attention shit.  There are still many in the medical field who think this.  They refuse to educate themselves. Especially people working in emergency rooms.  So many people don't get the help they need because of the medical communities ignorance and/or hostility towards them.

You will find most cutters to be woman - mostly in their teens and 20's, but I have met woman older than that (hey I didn't start until 40).  I was actually surprised to find out how many there are out there.  These aren't people who just scratch the skin.  These are deep cuts, as deep as the wounds inside us.  And remember, scar tissue doesn't tan, so these leave scars to remind us of our stories the rest of our lives.  And we all have a story, each different than the others but all with the common bond.  We just want the pain to go away.

And the relief it brings is only temporary.  We all know it's just a matter of time before you need to do it again.

I've read quite a few books on this subject and other psychological disorders and there is one book that I can  highly recommend for anyone who is a cutter.  The book was recommended to me by a very kind psychiatrist (one who didn't judge).  It's called Bodily Harm:  The Breakthrough Healing Program for Self-Injurers.

So the question comes - do I still cut?  Rarely.  The book Bodily Harm helped in many ways and I have been through a therapy called Dialectal Behavioural Therapy which has all but removed my desire/instinct, not sure what you call it, to cut myself.  In teaching me new skill in learning to cope with emotions I don't get to that level where I would want to harm myself.  I notice the signs of distress coming on and if I'm really being mindful will have done something to relieve the pain before we reach the cutting point.

Thursday

So maybe it won't be an everyday thing

When I first envisioned this blog I thought it might be something where I could frequently share how I feel.  That I might share it with a few people at certain times.  Unfortunately I have not kept up with it.  But then that  might not necessarily be a bad thing.  I probably don't have to write down everything happening in my life.  I think it would just be depressing to look back at later.

I feel so stuck in my life.  Nothing has changed in years.  Nothing looks to be able to change for years.  I ask myself how did I get here, how do I get out of here and no answers come.  Therapist after therapist and no answers. 

I keep hoping for some kind of enlightenment, but no such luck.  So I keep going on...

Tuesday

My Suicide Attempt

I attempted to kill myself on Thursday, November 1, 2008. While I felt suicidal during the day I never actually thought I would make an attempt.

The normal routine is I would feel suicidal, my husband would take me to the hospital, I'd spend a few days there until the feelings passed. So why was this one time different.

My husband insisted that I planned it. Except I didn't. I always promised if I was going to do something like this I would never do it if one of the kids was home. I didn't, one daughter was home.

A lot of what I did became about other people. How what I did affected them. Because it's always about other people.

I came home from work that evening. It had been a rough couple of months. One daughter going through a rough time. She had been in a day program, briefly hospitalized and then back into the program. The program was really a waste of time and did nothing but put her way behind in her school work. Her boyfriend at the time broke up with her while she was in the hospital (what a guy). She had to be pulled out of school for treatment and that wasn't helping at all. She had drivers ed first period so on those days I would drive her to school and then pick her up after drivers ed and take her to the day program then off to work. Later I would pick her up and take her back to work with me. She'd hit the conference room floor and slept while I worked. After the day program she went into the aftercare program. For this I had to drive 15 miles to pick her up after school, again drive her to the aftercare program and then pick her up after work and drive her home.

This was my life from August through the end of October. There were also psychiatrist appointments and therapy appointments, not just for her but for myself too. Now I don't want anyone to think that there was any resentment towards my daughter for any of this.  I love my daughter, was extremely worried about her and would do anything to make her pain go away.  It hurt so much to see her this way.  But I was tired - physically and emotionally drained.

And there I was in the bedroom, just swallowing handfuls of pills. I didn't feel like myself at the time. Almost detached. A very strange vibe. But I remember 3 times I took a handful and 3 times I swallowed. Don't remember much after that. Bright lights from the bedroom and kitchen. Should have just layed on the bed and gone to sleep but I didn't. On daughter was home, no one else was. Someone they did find out, damn cell phones, don't know if I called or or my daughter did, don't remember. And my daughter won't talk about it so I don't know.

But I think I figured out more of the why as more and more distance has come between the attempt and my life now. It was the perfect time. On daughter was ending her aftercare and would be back in school full-time. She didn't need me anymore (at least not for transportation). My life which had pulled me back and forth for so many months was now coming back to me. Maybe I felt my purpose had been serviced.  It was time to go.  And if there was going to be a time, this was it.

The anger directed at me during and after this was enormous.  My husband tells me I argued with him at the hospital. I guess I'm suppose to remember all the details, since according to him there were no drugs in my system (there were). He talked to me like I was some coherant normal person. Didn't he understand what I had just done? Didn't he understand that the pressure, the stress, the constant worry had done this to me. But no, it was all about how this affected him and more specifically what I had done to him. And of course it was a shameful secret that should be kept from others.  They might think bad of him otherwise.

They like to say I'm the focus, the center of attention, but really I'm not. I'm the center of what can she do for me. I'm the center because someone needs to do the laundry, the grocery shopping, pay the bills. Someone needs to drive me here or pick me up there.

They can't be ready to leave for school when my husband wants to drive them for school, so I have to drive them to school. He'll drive them to the doctor, but as a favor to me, not because they're sick. Why should he clean, it's not his mess. Those aren't his clothes. She found a way there, let her find a way home (meaning I'll have to go pick her up).  And my all time favorite, "when I was their age..."

So the after effects were how could I make this up to him, how could I get him to trust me again, not what can he do to help me, to make sure this never happens again.  Sure he'll ask me what can I do?  But how do I know what he can do.  I don't even know how to help myself.  Why doesn't he see that?  Why doesn't he find out for himself how he can help me.  Isn't that what other people would do?  So now I have the burden of helping myself and telling him how to help me too?

So now I more or less just keep my mouth shut about it.  What they don't know...

Monday

Suicide - Selfish? Coward? Brave?

Many times I'll read a column in a newspaper soon after a suicide is reported.  The people who I have known killed themselves fall into two categories.  The first being someone who is ill and sees no chance of his/her health getting any better.  In their mind rather than going through any more pain, or bringing any more pain to their family choose to kill themselves.  The 2nd group of people would be those suffering from a serious mental illness.  These people have usually coped with this for quite sometime and at some point just cannot take the pain any longer.


Back to these columns.  Many times what I read is how cowardly the act was.  And  how it was the most selfish thing a person could do.  They focus on the people left behind.  Spouse, parents, children.  And why I feel overwhelming sympathy for anyone who has gone through a situation like this I would ask that these columnists put themselves in the place of the mentally ill before making any judgments.


There are many of us out there who have spent years looking for answers.  Been through any kind of therapy recommended.  Spent years trying various drugs in order to get the symptoms under control.  No one wants to be suicidal.  It's a horrible feeling.  That you feel so much hurt inside yourself that you can no longer go on.  That you finally come to the conclusion that the only way to make the pain go away is to end the pain.  This is not an easy decision to come to.  And as you are coming to it you don't see it as being a selfish decision.  Your sense of what is right and wrong is not the same as others.  You no longer have any common sense.  Your mind is telling you what it thinks you want to hear.  You believe that you are doing others a favor by killing yourself.  They will no longer have to worry about you, take care of you, deal with you.


Coward?  Nope, it takes a lot to actually make that attempt.  When you're doing it, you're looking at it as all or nothing.  It's a life you know you are taking.  And you will be changing the lives of many other people.  It also helps (hurts) that your mind is egging you along, taking you to a place you never knew existed.  One where everything that seems wrong suddenly seems right.  One where everything makes senses even though it doesn't.  There is a sense of peace that comes over you, you are not frightened.


Brave is the person who while feeling all these things can call out for help before it's too late. Many people can't do this.  They aren't treated seriously.  They are told they are looking for attention or that they should just snap out of it.  Or they are told other people have harder lives than you do.  What they don't understand is it's not a matter of if your life is perceived as being better or worse than someone elses.  That's not how it works.  This is a disease in your mind. It's not something you can control and turn on and off whenever you feel like.


It's like any other chronic condition.  It can be controlled.  For many it can only relieve the symptoms for a short time.  Everyone is different.  I can go months keeping the suicidal thoughts in the background.  They are there but they are not controlling me.  Other times they seem to take over pushing all logic aside.



Sunday

Who Am I?

As I write this I am a 47 year old mother of two. Both girls, 18 and 16. I've also been married for almost 20 years.

My oldest just graduated from high school - barely. School was always hard but she never quit. Until the end of her freshman year of high school. Then it was like she didn't care anymore. So over 3 years of I don't care anymore was tough on everyone. I'm still not clear on everything that happened that caused all this I'm just happy it's over. Next stop beauty school.

My younger daughter is now a Junior in high school. She falls under the "doesn't apply herself". I know she can do better she just doesn't put the time in. I was the same way, but I see more potential in her than I ever saw in myself, so it hurts to see her not doing the work. She's also a very sensitive, artistic girl. Quiet for the most part, you just never know what's going on inside her head.

Then there's my husband. When we were dating he once told me that why he could love me he would never be in love with me. Well, that changed for him but unfortunately I went from being in love with him to just loving him. Five years into our marriage we experienced something together that broke me and there's just no going back, I've tried.  There were reasons for staying together, reasons to not. I think in the end it came down to the girls. He claimed he would never abandon his children (who was asking him to abandon them?) That he would get custody and whether I believed it or not, with my mental health history, was it worth the chance? All I know is it would have been ugly, and expensive and I don't know that the situation would be any better now if we had divorced. Life is not as easy as a made-for-tv movie would have you believe.

I work. For the same company. For 22 years. Enough said? Actually they have been very good to me. I've met a lot of people as I've wound my way through the mental health system and many are out of work, on disability or are unable to continue with the treatment for lack of insurance. Of course there's a flip-side to that. I've given them my heart and soul never wanting to let them down. So you give you take.

That's the short story. I think if you keep reading you'll find out so much more.

Saturday

What I Want...

I want...

...someone to love me
...someone for me to love
...someone to watch my back
...someone who accepts me unconditionally
...someone I can trust

But it's too late for me now.  I had my chances I just didn't know it.  And now the window has closed, the chapter is over.  It hurts.  To know what love feels like but to not have experienced it in years. 

Foolish choices that can't be taken back.  A life wasted.

So we come down to the question is it better to have loved and lost or to have never loved at all.  This is not a love between a parent and a child or close friends.  This is the love between a man and a woman, or a woman and a woman, or a man and a man (I think you get what I'm talking about here).  It's the amazing closeness that these two people feel for each other that cannot be described.

If you have never loved then you have missed out on one of lifes great emotions.  A feeling of euphoria, of well being, of calm.  It is the greatest feeling I have ever known.  Which makes it all the harder when that love is gone. I know what it's like and I miss it terribly.  But to have never loved at all?  I think my life would be even emptier to have never had that experience.  But it also makes me wish for it again but feel that my time has passed. I didn't realize what I had when I had it.  I should have nurtured it, not taken it for granted.

Friday

I Feel

I'm not quite sure where I found the below.  I thought it important enough at the time that I copied and saved it.  I do wish I could remember so I could give credit where credit is due. I changed a few of the lines and added one or two.



I feel this quiet desperation.

I feel like I'm folding back into myself.

I feel I have put decisions in my life off so long that I have done damage not only to myself but to those around me.

I feel I lose no matter what decision I make.

I feel I can't put these decisions off any longer.

I feel I had my turn and I fucked it up.

I feel my past has already made the decision for me.

I feel the need to run, to hide.

I feel a yearning to be taken care of that can never be satisfied.

I feel I put other people before myself.

I feel other people don't put me before themself.

I feel my needs are not as important as other peoples.

I feel a slight arrogance on your part to decide whether or not I needed your help.

I feel my kids don't need me like they use to and that hurts.

I feel diets make you gain weight which is why I'm calling it healthy eating from now on. I feel oreos should be healthy eating, but it's not.

I feel it's too late for me but not for my kids.

I feel scared. I wish I felt nothing, but I don't.

Maybe the important part is, I feel.

Thursday

Why Blog?

I would think this question goes through every bloggers mind. Maybe we believe our story is so interesting  we want to share it.  Or a friend says you should write a book about your life. Yet we (ok I) don't know any book publishers.  And really, interesting enough for a book?

Some people blog for causes, politics, diseases, crime, etc. Or that desire that someone will find our blog, read it and it will change their life. You know, an ego thing. Who knows what drives each person to find a blog site and start writing. But here I am. I have no idea if anyone other than me will ever read it. Or if someone who knows me will read it and be shocked, disgusted, amused. Who knows. But here it is for all to see.


Wednesday

Random Thoughts...

When I'm driving somewhere or just thinking (of which I'm accused of doing too much of), I can come up with so many things to write about. But when it comes to sitting here, keyboard ready I freeze up. What happened to all those witty things I was going to write. All that advice I wanted to share? Maybe I just have too much in my head and it all wants to get out at the same time.


People think they've understood what I've gone through.  Sorry,no you don't.  I don't even understand half of what I've gone through.  So you've had a random thought here and there.  Maybe you cut or burn or yourself just to see what it's like.  Or maybe you've gone through more treatment than I have.  But we're all different.  I can understand some of what you've been through  but I don't know what led up to your illness grabbing a hold of you just as I don't understand how mine grabbed a hold of me.  That's for science to figure out and while they have seen the difference, they don't understand the differences anymore than you and I.

 I've recommended ths blog to several people.  Actually I accidentally included a few people on faceblook I didn't mean to, but I figured most people ignore those kinds of posts anyway. Right?

So at this point, who sees it sees it.  It's not like I haven't already heard that soft talking behind my back "shh do you know what she's done".   Or when I hear one person ask another how I am, it always "she's good".  Because we wouln't want to speakthe truth now.  How would that reflect on the person being asked?  That it's somehow their fault?

I'm classified as severely depressed.  Also been told I have Borderline Personality Disorder, Bi-Polar or just Severe Depression with suicidal tendancies.  This means I can't just take a few drugs and call you in the morning.  In fact drugs are not cures.  Never have been never will be.  Drugs can help control the "situation".  They can help level out hormone levels in your brain.  But they are not going to cure you.  And for the majority of people  they do absolutely nothing.  So don't believe all these tv commercials you see.  That little frown with the rain doesn't suddenly turn to bright skies and a yellow smiley face.  I had those commercials.  It's amazing how people feel if you put it on TV people will believe it.

You know sometimes I am just so tired. Getting out of bed is a struggle, but I do it (most days).  Because if I don't do it, well it'll be all the easier the next day not to do it.

Now crying - that's good.  At least I'm releasing emotions instead of holding them in.  But crying makes people uncomfortable too.

Cutting myself to relieve the pain.  Sorry that one makes people uncomfortable too, so not a good thing for everyone else.

And yes, there are many days, too many days, when I think why can't I just die right now.  Why can't the pain just leave me.

I've tried every treatment, program, doctor, medicine that's been offered to me and yet where am I?  Some days feeling worse than the day this plague hit me.  I just want to go home, if I only knew where home was.

Because staying here just seems like I'm diappointing a whole lot of people.