It started yesterday afternoon. It wasn’t a bad day. I thought if I just lie down I might have the energy to go to the shop and clean before we got on the ferry at 3am. I even bought our ferry tickets the day before knowing I wouldn’t want to deal with it early in the morning; the idea of being up at 3am was weighing on me. The shop not being cleaned up and everything I hadn’t completed was all settling on me.
The house was quiet at 5pm. And at 6pm. I set my alarm for 8pm. “I can wake up and go to the shop at 8, clean and head to the ferry,” I told myself. My body said, “NO”. My body, which I hadn’t asked much of the past two days, began to feel like lead. I sent the message to my mom, “too sick to make the ferry,” in a few more words. I can’t look back at the message because a fight with Yancey then escalated.
I screamed at him, the primal scream that leaves your throat raw. I threw my phone at the timber wall of my room. It bounced off, unbroken. I stormed out of the house, down the steps, to the edge of the property and threw my phone as hard as I could towards the beach. It landed 8 feet from me just below the tree line of the beach. I stood still for a moment, disgusted, I couldn’t even throw it to the beach. It was raining, that would do the job.
Crying, yelling, feeling like a failure for not being able to control this, to get through it and get the kids to the ferry. I hadn’t thrown a phone since 2012. The pressure in my head caused me to rock and beg, “please, just break.” An aneurysm, anything, the pressure built further. Lying down sent shooting stabbing jolts from above my ears to my crown. Sitting up felt like I was trying to get to the bottom at the deep end of the pool. The pain was unrelenting. I thought, "I should go to the ER." When I did sleep for a few minutes I woke up crying. Around 4am the ferry passed by the house, the familiar humming of the engines as it passed sent me into another round of quiet choking sobs.
Around 5am I thought I should let Yancey know about the phone. I went upstairs to Miranda’s room, “what’s your code,” I whispered to her. I put the code in. Five minutes later I couldn’t recall the code, I asked her 3 more times this morning before saying, “please write it down.” I also had to write down a phone number because I couldn’t remember the seven numbers from looking at a text it was sent in to typing it back into the phone, though I tried several times.
With another phone lying by my head the texts and phone calls began again. We fought again. For hours. It doesn’t matter what we said, as always we are both at fault. I screamed again. I set Miranda’s phone on the bed, and kept screaming. I hit my bed with my fists, I stood up on the bed and swept all books, magazines and glasses off the shelf at the head of our bed. A vase with paper flowers from mothers day hit the wall and shattered.
Glass was all over the carpet and sprayed into the hall. I stopped screaming. I picked up Miranda’s phone and walked to the living room. Merrick met me at the bottom of the stairs. His eyes ringed with red splotches from crying. He had come in my room when he woke up and wrapped himself around me. Tears fell on my cheek, his tears, mixing with mine.
“I am sorry,” I said, “it wasn’t about you guys, I just got sick and it’s hard for me to travel.”
“I know,” he said. I wrapped my fingers around his and felt ill for his disappointment. “I love you,” he said again leaving my room. He was likely red eyed over missing the trip, not because I was screaming or breaking things, but part of my wanting out is because of what the kids have to witness and experience with me.
“Here,” I said to Merrick, handing him Miranda’s phone, “please take this or I will break it,” I turned away grabbing the broom to start cleaning my room.
There isn’t a feeling I despise more than losing control, more than breaking things. It snaps me out of the anger for a moment, the anger having snapped me out of despair as well.
“You feel better when you are angry,” Yancey has said many times. Meaning, I get mean and angry and fight to avoid feeling bad. He is right. Today I understood something new. Despair, stress, suicidal tendencies all rob energy from me. Anger must have a chemical reaction that pushes adrenaline through me because I do often believe I can do anything at the same time I am threatening to leave him or just being cruel. For a very short time there is actually relief from the pain, while I am causing more for someone else.
And so the cycle runs. The house phone rang again. Lying in bed, alone in the house I knew if I didn't get up and answer it he would send someone here. His parents had already picked the kids up.
"Yes," I said.
"I just want to know you are okay."
"Yeah, if I was ABLE to kill myself I would have done it a long fucking time ago," I said and slammed the red receiver down.
It has been a good run of not feeling this bad. It hasn't happened like this for a long time. I can speculate why but the truth is it just happens. It happens if I am drinking, sober, abusing medications, taking none or taking the one that has worked best for me, which I am and will continue to take.
I don't have prescription medication at my house which could be used to O.D. I am terrified of dying, of actually hurting myself. But I am not scared of falling asleep forever. I am a spiritual person and that thin thread of believing I don't have the right to take my life is always there, no matter how badly I want to end the pain forever. I research things like, how much tea tree oil is lethal, but again, that's not an appealing way to go. So you could easily say I live in the "Desire for Suicide" or suicidal ideation, when I feel desperate or extreme mental anguish.
Don't worry if you don't understand, I am sharing for people who do. Since I have a fear of dying painfully I usually decide, "I will starve myself to death, slowly, without telling anyone." But rather quickly I realize I am really very hungry.
I have been questioning if I am strong enough to keep the shop open, and truly hope I am. It feels humiliating to be here. I feel ashamed when I can't keep this from happening. I do everything in my power to navigate around feeling this way, but since I went to the Doctor in April I have known that there are things in my life that I have to address. I have been isolating, I have been feeling crushing failure as I work to be more present at home and things at work give out.
It has been a rough day. The worst kind of day. Something must be changing or I wouldn't have the ability to write. I've learned riding out the storm is preferable to fighting it and although I wish for a permanent solution to severe temporary pain, I am not capable of it, it seems.
It's easy to say "fall down seven times, get up eight." I don't know what the answer is for anyone else. Today I'm wondering, "what can I do differently to be well." No one can answer that for me either. It's not cancer. It's not diabetes. I don't actually know what it is and I am 100% sure no one in a white lab coat or title "Dr." does either. It's not logical someone who lives as healthy and clean as I do would have a brain which backfires so severely or a body which fails so easily (and this is with the benefit of LDN, I cannot imagine where I would be without it).
Truth is its a problem I can't solve today. It feels like a mean joke to be good at something, but not strong enough to maintain, which feels like the pattern and one I desperately want to break. Right now though, I am like SUPER hungry... I suppose that is a good thing.
I laughed a little today at comics new to me on nedroidcomics/Tumblr, which I stumbled across and was thankful for while heading to www.123rf.com for the images in this post.