I can remember the first time I feared looking into the mirror; it was the time when the band Green Day began topping the charts. Nirvana inspired a grunge look that represented the freedom of words in our generation, old knit sweaters, loose fitting pants and band stamped t-shirts. It was the time that Face-To-Face had our attention and a little-old band named Sublime was gaining population in our small High Desert. A lot of us junior-highers attended their concert at the San Bernardino Fair Grounds, it was awesome and I was on a high (not just because of the pot) I wanted to fly. I was only in the seventh grade and I began my road to promiscuity, my high feeling made me feel invincible. I was out-of-control manic; I had no idea that my behavior was impulsive and tied to Bipolar Disorder. I wanted everything I could get my hands on, but when I looked in the mirror I seen it. I seen the hate in my eyes for the first time, after seeing that aggressive look I became depressed and hated my life, I tried not to show it.
As my depression set in there was a shot heard around the fans of Nirvana, the lead singer Kurt Cobain shot himself in the head. In a documentary I recently watched Kurt express how he was Bipolar and began cleaning himself up, but shortly after that he fell for Courtney Love. Kurt’s desire for the wild punk-chick turned his life back to drugs, putting Bipolar in the back of his mind. The Bipolar mixed with serious drugs put the deadly disorder in back of Kurt’s mind, but the torment seemed to be too much. Some people could sense his troubles. For the Nirvana-Unplugged show on MTV Kurt wanted white Asiatic lilies and candles all over the stage, the producer said it would look like a funeral, Kurt said yes like…a funeral. That’s what I wanted! I wanted to leave…to have a funeral.
Every person who is completely depressed and preparing to leave this earth by their own hands leaves clues behind, whether they are discrete or obvious. My signs were obvious to me but not to Rick and his brother, I believe they thought I was just all talk.
I am completely scared to write this, I have never written about this. My heart is beating intensely, my head is light, my hands are shaky and my eyes are welling up with tears. I am so afraid right know. But if I keep this inside I am not sure I will ever get it out. I am only three months away from the date I began taking my meds, even more difficult this is the exact time that I first started feeling very depressed, I suppressed it with everything possible. I would clean the house in the morning watching the clock, when the clock came to 11:30 it was lunch time. Lunch time was okay to have my first glass of wine, which would end up being the first glass of a bottle that would be empty by the end of the day. I wasn’t a wino; I loved the tastes, the sweetness, flowery merlots and beautiful sweet white wines. I also loved wine because it didn’t give me a buzz the way liquor did, I rarely drank beer which was either a Corona or Guinness. By 3:00 in the afternoon I would be buzzed and I only had two glasses of wine left in the bottle, I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t take the pain away. No weed for me, I could no longer be enticed by the smell.
At one point I completely slowed down on any alcohol or toxic waste, I focused on exercise and Yoga. I would run on the treadmill for 45 minutes, do strength training for 15 minutes and do Yoga for 20 minutes. I felt really good, healthy and strong; I was confident and loved my healthy body. I slowly began to lose confidence while I ran on the treadmill. It wasn’t an outward confidence pertaining to my body but to my mind. I started cutting down on my exercise especially when I began to cry as I ran on the treadmill. I felt like there was someone running right behind me but I was too afraid to look. From that time on I felt like there was always someone malevolent behind me just waiting for me to turn around.
At one point we had friends over and we were having a good time, I was trying to put my depression away, I was pretty buzzed and I freaked out in my mind. I thought the tap on my shoulder was one of my friend’s touch but I turned and no one was there. I turned around and I felt utter fear, fear that made me run, and I literally ran. It was a cold winter night, without a sweater I walked out of our garage and down the side walk. The neighborhood kids asked where I was going and I calmly said I was just taking a walk. As soon as I turned the street corner I ran, and ran so freaking fast that whoever was chasing me couldn’t keep up. I picked up a huge stick and began walking fast I was ready use that stick to hit the bastard that was chasing me. I ran about two miles to my sister’s house; it was about 10:00 pm. I was freaking out and said someone was chasing me in my head; all I wanted was my dad. My sister called my dad and he was there to see things I don’t remember doing. I was so bad that I was all over the place mentally. I only know what my sister and dad told me, I was saying that I was possessed by something. Meanwhile Rick and our friends were looking for me, my sister called him and told him I was there with her and he couldn’t pick me up. Of course Rick was pretty pissed that he couldn’t get his wife home. The next morning I woke up on my sister’s couch wondering how I got there. My dad wasn’t mad he was just worried that something could’ve happened to me running in the street late at night and alone. I was shocked that I finally turned around, and I felt what was there. I had no idea that in severe depression Bipolar can produce delusions and hallucinations.
After that episode, things became pretty intense the notions of suicide were more intense.
I would ask what the best way to die would be. I didn’t want to drown, I’ve always been afraid of drowning and I refused to give in to that self-fulfilling prophecy. I would say I didn’t want to slit my writs because I didn’t want to see all the blood. I didn’t want to jump off of anything because my splattered body wouldn’t look very pretty. Hanging would be good, but if I hang the rope really high when I jump my neck would snap and I would probably die instantly; but it would be more of a horrific scene for the one who found me. My sweet obsession was so intense, my Prozac kicked in… kicked in… the wrong way. With any mental disorder there is no clear treatment, therefore someone like me would have to take meds that “might” work. If that drug didn’t work I would have to wean off one drug and slowly introduce a new drug into my body and mind. The label on all anti-depressant pill bottles state that one of the side effects “May increase the risk of suicidal thoughts or suicide.” Nice label, I was not interested in the label nor was I open to any of the suicide gateways I mentioned, I found the way I wanted to do it, I would overdose. My body wouldn’t be bloody, I wouldn’t be hanging or floating in water, I would simply look as if I just fell asleep.
My kids were rarely home, I was so out of it that I couldn’t take care of them at times, they were with my mother-in-law, days, then weeks.
On Monday, June 7, 2010
I didn’t plan that day, but I knew that morning I was going to kill myself. I called my mother-in-law and asked her if she could take my little girl to school and keep my sweet boy for the day. She asked how long should she keep them and I told her, for as long as she could. I kissed my babies good-bye held them tight and told them how much I loved them. In my mind I wasn’t saying good-bye for the day, I was saying good-bye forever.
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