I Am Four Months Old

The holidays are horrible for many, which is why I’m  writing. This is the time of year when suicide can call us as aggressively as those retailers who scream for our dollars. All around us it seems everyone is fulfilled, joyous, full of hope for the New Year. And, here we are, none of the above. It’s hard to look forward when we can’t see above the rim of despair.

It’s been four months since I parked my car and tried to check out. Four months since I woke up and  bawled that I did. Four months. My initial burst of enthusiasm for living faded quickly; hope took a detour when the challenges I’d tried to run from didn’t go away even with my classes and mountain and landscaping therapy.

And with that came acceptance.  Not easily mind you, but somehow I realized that, this time, pulling myself up by the bootstraps wasn’t working – the damn straps kept breaking…

Now, filled with the joy of pharmaceuticals, I have a different outlook. Actually, I have no outlook. I eat, I sleep, I watch TV. I don’t leave the house. I don’t conquer the mountain peak. I don’t go to any classes. BUT, I don’t google ways to die each day either. I just “am” right now. And, for now, I guess that’s ok. My family prefers “am” to a grave site.  My friends do too. Which is what you have to believe, to hold onto, to embrace when the urges and pain and hopelessness are fighting to win. Suicide is selfish. It is mean, leaving others with guilt and loss and confusion for the rest of their lives. You may be angry at those around you - feel they’ve hurt or cheated or deserted you – but the saying goes that “success is the best revenge.” Not death.

I face my first Christmas without a tree. A season torn between family and my S.O. A pile of regrets I can’t see over. A future blurred with tears. BUT, thankfully, I don’t see death as the resolution. Drugs, counseling, reaching out – these have helped me hang on. These have brought me to ”am.”  I can worry about “being”  tomorrow. Because there will be a tomorrow. And each tomorrow is one more chance to get it right. So, give yourself or someone you love the gift of tomorrow. Reach out, find resources, check into the hospital. You deserve it. They deserve it. 

Happy Holidays. May Santa bring you and your loved ones the joy of mental health!

PS: Thanks for writing Linda. I miss seeing you, too. Make sure that life class gets done!!