In life
My friend killed himself in October. I mentioned it briefly, but didn't go into details. Too personal. Too close. Too many things to deal with to let them out without thoroughly going through them.
I will tell you though, that the following month and a half were the hardest in my life. I left the village the weekend following his death, and returned on the following Monday. Following that weekend, I know I was losing my mind. As everyone has had, I had thoughts of killing myself, especially in the pits of despair as a teenager, but it wasn't like that. I was constantly gritting my teeth and holding my breath, tense so very tense. I was trying to hold on to something, because I knew if I let it go for a minute, I would be lost.
The first weekend that I returned to the village, my roommate left town and I had a plan. She was to return on Sunday, so I spent Saturday ... I don't even remember what I did Saturday. I think I sat in front of the computer, trying to distract myself as I cried over the death and felt my grip on reality leaving. At this point, I did not know I was losing my mind. By Sunday, I had decided that I wasn't going to be around when my roommate got back.
My father has had experience with a suicide before. He told me that he has read coroner's reports were they express their thoughts that suicide is catching. I felt like my friend had left a blazing trail of footprints for me to follow.
On Sunday I did things that I wanted to do. I organized. I painted. I watched that path become brighter and clearer. I counted on my roommate being home around 8. I planned to leave on my last walk around 6 or 7. This would not leave my animals alone too long, and she wouldn't worry about me being gone until later that night or even possibly the next morning. My painting was taking more time than I had anticipated, but that didn't matter. My roommate returned before 5. I knew she would wonder why I was going for a walk in the dark without my dog.
It is a weird thing to know you are losing your mind. I always thought it was a gradual thing, a process that because you were losing your mind, you weren't really aware of. I was intensely aware of a slip going on in my head.
The next week was a blur. I kept busy. I tried not to think. I worked hard, harder than I usually work, to try and occupy my mind, I guess, in an attempt not to look too hard for those footprints. Then it was the weekend and I spiralled down again. It was at this point I started to realize I was going through more than mourning.
I spent the whole weekend wishing I had a gun, or trying to determine how I could get access to a gun. I didn't take my dog for a walk. I was very scared I would just lay down in the snow and never get up again.
My boss was gone. Part of the reason why I hung onto my brain so hard was because of this. My roommate/co-worker was not going to be able to deal with the repercussions. I kept holding my breath and holding on to my mind. The only person I thought I would talk to this about was also out of town. I considered going to the police, the only form of emergency social services out here, but I felt that would be like admitting I wasn't serious about it.
Meanwhile, the path burned brightly and beckoned me. Anyone who knew me well, and could have seen me at that point would have immediately known something was up. I didn't sleep and I looked it. I ate the exact same thing everyday. People would phone me and I would try to elude to the fact that I was undergoing some trouble, but of course, they all were undergoing the same thing.
I made up my mind to tell the doctor when he came up. Unfortunately, I decided this soon after he left, and he wasn't due back for another month. Finally, I broke down and tried to tell my boyfriend. I do not think he truly understood how serious I was, I just kept telling him I thought I was losing my mind. He encouraged me to seek medical help, which there was no way I could. I also tried to tell my best friend, who became very worried about me.
My boss came back so things were more stable at work and I could concentrate further on myself. I became bitter that he was able to do it and I was still sitting around waiting. I wondered if I was mourning for him or mourning my own inability to take my life.
Then, one day, something changed. It was a weekday and I wasn't sure. I had to wait until the weekend to find out. Sure enough, the weekend wasn't nearly as hard. My mind had decided not to leave my head and I felt I was going to remain sane. I still have not told anyone in a healthcare profession about this. I am not sure I want to, I don't want to have a lable as being crazy or made to take pills. I am not depressed, and never felt I was during this episode. I have been depressed and it was nothing like this.
I will tell you though, that the following month and a half were the hardest in my life. I left the village the weekend following his death, and returned on the following Monday. Following that weekend, I know I was losing my mind. As everyone has had, I had thoughts of killing myself, especially in the pits of despair as a teenager, but it wasn't like that. I was constantly gritting my teeth and holding my breath, tense so very tense. I was trying to hold on to something, because I knew if I let it go for a minute, I would be lost.
The first weekend that I returned to the village, my roommate left town and I had a plan. She was to return on Sunday, so I spent Saturday ... I don't even remember what I did Saturday. I think I sat in front of the computer, trying to distract myself as I cried over the death and felt my grip on reality leaving. At this point, I did not know I was losing my mind. By Sunday, I had decided that I wasn't going to be around when my roommate got back.
My father has had experience with a suicide before. He told me that he has read coroner's reports were they express their thoughts that suicide is catching. I felt like my friend had left a blazing trail of footprints for me to follow.
On Sunday I did things that I wanted to do. I organized. I painted. I watched that path become brighter and clearer. I counted on my roommate being home around 8. I planned to leave on my last walk around 6 or 7. This would not leave my animals alone too long, and she wouldn't worry about me being gone until later that night or even possibly the next morning. My painting was taking more time than I had anticipated, but that didn't matter. My roommate returned before 5. I knew she would wonder why I was going for a walk in the dark without my dog.
It is a weird thing to know you are losing your mind. I always thought it was a gradual thing, a process that because you were losing your mind, you weren't really aware of. I was intensely aware of a slip going on in my head.
The next week was a blur. I kept busy. I tried not to think. I worked hard, harder than I usually work, to try and occupy my mind, I guess, in an attempt not to look too hard for those footprints. Then it was the weekend and I spiralled down again. It was at this point I started to realize I was going through more than mourning.
I spent the whole weekend wishing I had a gun, or trying to determine how I could get access to a gun. I didn't take my dog for a walk. I was very scared I would just lay down in the snow and never get up again.
My boss was gone. Part of the reason why I hung onto my brain so hard was because of this. My roommate/co-worker was not going to be able to deal with the repercussions. I kept holding my breath and holding on to my mind. The only person I thought I would talk to this about was also out of town. I considered going to the police, the only form of emergency social services out here, but I felt that would be like admitting I wasn't serious about it.
Meanwhile, the path burned brightly and beckoned me. Anyone who knew me well, and could have seen me at that point would have immediately known something was up. I didn't sleep and I looked it. I ate the exact same thing everyday. People would phone me and I would try to elude to the fact that I was undergoing some trouble, but of course, they all were undergoing the same thing.
I made up my mind to tell the doctor when he came up. Unfortunately, I decided this soon after he left, and he wasn't due back for another month. Finally, I broke down and tried to tell my boyfriend. I do not think he truly understood how serious I was, I just kept telling him I thought I was losing my mind. He encouraged me to seek medical help, which there was no way I could. I also tried to tell my best friend, who became very worried about me.
My boss came back so things were more stable at work and I could concentrate further on myself. I became bitter that he was able to do it and I was still sitting around waiting. I wondered if I was mourning for him or mourning my own inability to take my life.
Then, one day, something changed. It was a weekday and I wasn't sure. I had to wait until the weekend to find out. Sure enough, the weekend wasn't nearly as hard. My mind had decided not to leave my head and I felt I was going to remain sane. I still have not told anyone in a healthcare profession about this. I am not sure I want to, I don't want to have a lable as being crazy or made to take pills. I am not depressed, and never felt I was during this episode. I have been depressed and it was nothing like this.
posted by Muss at 10:38 pm
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