I had a good morning getting the kids off to school, I wasn’t anxious or overwhelmed, which makes me happy and fearful. After yesterdays breakdown I am trying not to think of the possibility of me falling slowly down into a low. I am not willing to give into depression, nor am I going to sit back and let it rule me. Although I sound so positive about staying high I cannot seem to lose some irritating thoughts…
When my depression started setting in and making itself comfortable in me I tried to suppress the pain. It was February and all I wanted to do is get rid of the chase. Rick and I had a beautiful bar we set up and we loved it, friends and family would come over and we would all have a great time. Of course there was some times where I would breakdown so bad that I would enjoy wine with my lunch to get me through the day. I smoked weed, but it had to be top quality herb or I didn’t want it. I wanted weed that was sweet when it was inhaled, the type of weed that would let me be energetic. I hated weed that was skunk crap and tasted like the bottom of a bong after too many uses; I hated the way nasty weed suppressed me and made my depression worse. The weed was good for a while but it wasn't good anymore, even when I was manic I feared everything and I was paranoid out of my mind. But drinking was awesome for me.
However, alcohol has turned on me several times; I have had several cases of alcohol poisoning. My first incident was in seventh grade, I flipped out at a party and I ended up being put in the shower. At that time the girls I hung out with (from color guard team) didn’t really seem to be there for me, I was easily given over to whatever made me feel good even if I ended up being the joke. At one point I liked this guy who dated one of the girls in the team, she knew it and she told me that he wanted to be with me and he really liked me. As we all hung out this chick said the guy is coming over and wanted to hook-up with me. Sure enough he showed up and we went into the bathroom to “hook-up” which was just “making out”. The chick said yeah it was fine, I should totally do it, she encouraged me to do it, and I was surprised that she was really open to me hooking up with her ex. When we were in the bathroom we kind of just stood there looking at each other when we leaned in to kiss that chick flung the door open with all the other girls crowded around the door looking at us. The chick said that she didn’t trust me and that I was a hoe and slut, I wasn’t a real friend to her. I was confused that she would completely set the whole thing up and completely encouraged me to “go for it” then turn on me. I still hung around the girls because a few of them were actually my friends. I drank and numbed what I felt: shame, betrayed, the joke and valueless.
The next incident happened when I was fifteen, I was at my boyfriend’s house, and it was just pure partying. We just drank and smoked weed, I didn’t care that I was getting wasted, I don’t even think anyone else cared either. I ended being put in the shower and was put to bed. But the next incident was the absolute worse. After Rick and I left a church that fell apart and a place where we fell apart. I wasn’t talking to anyone, not even my mom, dad or sister. I got into an argument with my sister on the phone right before Rick and I were leaving to a friend’s house. I took a couple of shots before we left, I was broken and my depression wouldn’t go away. At our friend’s house I got completely wasted and stoned that I lost it. I was incoherent and wouldn’t stay awake, they stripped me down and put me in a cold shower (it was especially cold because it was winter). I was so gone that Rick and some of our friends took me to the ER which was about three minutes away. I was put on some type of heating something, I don’t quite remember, it turned out that I was borderline hypothermic. I was told that while the doctors and nurses were working on me I kept saying that I was sorry, that I was sorry for everything. I don’t think I was sorry to them I was sorry for some other reason. The nurses and doctors are assholes when it comes to fixing someone who overdosed on something. Even when I overdosed seven months ago, the nurse didn’t pull that catheter out gently, it hurt badly and I wanted to punch the bitch. The worst thing about the last incident was that my kids were there; the older kids were keeping Audrey (5 years), and Noah (2 years) occupied. I felt like shit for putting my kids in that environment. I still feel like shit for that and I don’t think I will stop feeling guilty for that.
I didn’t understand why I would get so severely depressed and intensely manic, my kids witnessed that and at one point they were in the path of my psychotic tornado. Rick was working out of town and I was so low, the kids were out of control (they were just being kids) and I was so angry. I went into their room and yelled at them so aggressively. I leaned over my two year old little boy and yelled at him holding him by the arms. I didn’t hit him, I never hit my kids, nor will I ever hit them. After I flipped out I caught myself and felt even worse, I felt like running onto the freeway that was only a two minute walk. I went outside and hid on the side of the house with a liter of Bacardi, I called my mother-in-law and asked her to pick up the kids.
Not too long ago I was spying on the kids when they were supposed to be sleeping in the fort they built, when Rick told them to go to sleep Noah got emotional (of course he didn’t want sleep). I was still in there when Rick left; I heard something that made me so screwed up. Noah told Audrey as he was crying, “Audrey, when I was a baby…when I was two mom got really mad at me and yelled at me. She was mean to me.” I felt like shit!
Audrey said, “Mommy loves you, she is in your heart and she will always be there. Don’t worry you’ll be okay. Here hold your bear.” I broke, I broke down, how could I deserve to hear that I am in his heart when I broke it? That is one of the worst regrets I have in my entire life. I went in my room and did what relieved my pain, I pulled out a straight razor and slide it lightly across the three cigarette burn-scars on my ankle, burns I did in my black-out. I put my sock back on and took my Seroquel and went to sleep. I tried to talk to Noah about it the next day but any time I try to talk to him about something like that he makes jokes. I just try to tell him as often as I can that I will always love him. I hate me for that, I hated me so deeply that prior to my first suicide attempt, the thought of hurting my kids so much- threw fuel on my death-fire, they were better off without a screwed up mother.
I never knew that all of the said incidents were results of my depression, a depression that cut deep and started the first thought of suicide as an adult. The first time I thought of relieving my soul from me.
I love my babies and I will never compromise their safety and I will never take them for granted, they inspire my survival!
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