Today was a hard day, as I was compiling information to file my taxes I began writing my social, then I realized that I forgot not only my social security number I also forgot my driver’s license number, Rick’s social and the years my kids were born. All of this information is something that I could always remember when filling out papers for something or another. That is something very disappointing to me. Another devastating thing is that I kept thinking I needed to get all of my 2009 papers together; I was a little confused that all the receipts I filed are from 2010. I stopped and sort of freaked out inside, I looked on the bottom right hand side of my computer and seen 1/31/2011. I melted as if I was a chocolate bar on the hot-paved side walk in the middle of summer. I double checked the date on my phone and realized it is 2011, what the hell was wrong with me? When it was time for me to help my kiddos with their homework I got lost, I organize their homework so much that OCD takes over me. But not today, I messed everything up just by opening the homework folder; I had to step away when my kids asked my simple questions. I finally pulled myself together and pushed through the day.
I wanted to jump out of my skin, I would have said, “I wanted to jump out of my mind!” but I already did that and the results were very negative. Am I going out of my freaking mind or is this another result of my medication. Maybe this might be the result of the traumatic blackouts or is it the initial heart-shock of my first suicide attempt.
Suicide was familiar to me in so many ways. One of the biggest heroes of my life is my dad; he has been there for me in so many ways. He is always there for me and never judges me no matter what and I judge him not. Everything my dad has done negative or positive always outweighs what he has been through and what he has survived through. I want him to always know that he is someone worth living like. He knows what it feels like to want to exit life earlier than destined…he too has faced the same pain. It was around winter time that I was running around “the Mesa”, an area where several of my friends lived. I remember hanging out in the driveway of one of my friend’s house. My friend’s family member came out and handed me the phone telling me it was my mom. I thought that I was going to have to get me ass home, but it was completely different. My mom sounded shaky and intense, she told me my dad had an accident and she gave me an option to stay with my friend or stay at my aunt’s house. I chose my friend’s house, I didn’t know what happened but I knew something was intensely wrong; I was so worried and scared. I sat behind my friends garage smoking a cig, I wasn’t shivering in the cold winter air anymore…I was nothing. It turned out that my dad’s accident was not an accident; he shot himself on the chest, very close to his heart. My brother found him and that is all I know… For many years that accident was just that an accident, until my not so much of an accident. My dad was there for me, he walked through the door of my room at the psych ward and I knew he once knew what it all felt like. My dad was the only one at that point who could say he knew what it all truly felt like. He is my Daddy and I know I will always be his little girl… I am happy he never left me and I never left him.
However, watching my family walk through my psych ward door was bitter-sweet, I loved seeing them there but I know they didn’t quite understand why I put myself there. My depression loved me and I was falling in love with it…
This is where I started my Bipolar journey…
In May we had a huge island themed party, I made four birthday cakes and worked my ass off getting everything ready. We set up the pool, put up a beautifully decorated canopy, set out the tiki torches and of course decorated the tiki bar. Rick built this huge brick grill and he prepared all of the meat and I made all of the drinks for the kids and for the adults. We went totally all out for this party. It was awesome we had so much fun everyone came through and brought different sides and drinks. We must have had over three trash cans filled with beer and coolers. The kids ran around in bathing suits enjoying the water, music and fun. Rick and my brother hung a huge drop-cloth from our bedroom window up stairs and put on a UFC fight using a projector. The whole thing was awesome, I was fine until people I didn’t know started showing up, and I pretty much had a panic attack. I asked our cousin if he could tell them to leave, especially because they didn’t bring any beer, they just wanted to bum off of use. I especially don’t like people I don’t know around my kids at my house or anywhere.
When it was time for everyone to sleep or should I say pass out, I was still wide awake wondering why in the hell I was still awake, at that time I was taking Ambien, so popped one and finally knocked out around four in the morning. That three day weekend was awesome, our cousins, whom we love more than anything, stayed with us all weekend and hung out with us; my kids loved them being there with us. I will always remember the fun, the excitement, love and sheer joy of living life. I cannot explain how much our fun we had at our beautiful Christmas party and up until after Memorial Day. After that is when my life started to go to hell, those memories are memories I will hold dear the events afterward would change my life so much so that I didn’t know who I was.
I started a journal when I first started Prozac and Ambien, I seen hope at first but slowly I got worse. I began to tell Rick and his brother that the highest point of the house was the chimney and if I could jump and land on something just right I would die. I would ask myself if I could reach the beam in the living room (about twenty feet high, maybe more); I wondered if I could screw in a hook strong enough to hold a rope; but not just a rope, me hanging from that rope. I would imagine what it would be like to just dangle; I wondered if I would die instantly having to jump so high to hang-would my neck snap? Or would I hang watching the aerial view of the living room fade slowly away from my eyes. I didn’t think of slitting my wrist, yet… The thoughts got so strong that I feared nothing, I was romantically involved with suicide and I wrote in my journal, “Suicide Looks beautiful”.
I was consumed with suicide and I became very depressed. One of the most difficult nights was when I went one night without my Ambien and I freaked out. This is where writing about everything becomes very difficult, I have never really read this journal I am about to quote out of and I just hope I can make it through this.
My penmanship is chicken scratch and it is disturbing to look at.
June 6, 2010
“Don’t want to but I need to, I want to fucking jump out the window, I want to fucking DIE. It’s 2:21 am, I wanted to drink my wine, get merrily advantage of by “friends”. I smoked weed so it would help me sleep but without Ambien I feel like a suicidal Insomniac. I mean I am practically writing in the dark right now, I have little light, but enjoy light to shadow my hand as it dances psychotically across the page. Fuck this I want my Ambien.”
This is all I can write… until tomorrow.
If there are any typos please forgive me, I cannot read what I just wrote.
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