After not blogging in forever I'm about to hit ya with two. One fun, one not.
This one is the NOT one.
I've suffered/lived with suicidal depression my whole life.
MY. WHOLE. LIFE.
Occasionally, as my daughter struggles with her own journey with her mental health; will turn to me and with tear-filled eyes whisper. "how are still alive?"
Long, long story sweet child.
A few things jump to the front.
(Glances down at my scarred filled arms.)
I did whatever it took to keep myself alive.
(it wasn't always pretty)
I was lucky enough to have strong souls who hung on to my life line when I let go.
(Richard, Nola and Iona)
and those fractures souls who were brave enough to swim after me as I slipped below the surface time and time again, to grab my dying body and haul me to the surface forcing my mouth open so I could breath.
(The Children of Starr)
Opened my fractured heart to love, trust another.
(my beloved husband)
Cymbalta started in my early 50's.
(zzzzzttt...brain reboot.....)
but before all that...there was the death rewards.
Rewards for death??
HELL YEAH!
To shut up the daily manta of my defective brain, I would say. "Fine you bastard, you can die, when this or that happens."
they were different as the years went by.
Childhood ones were not worth mentioning. They got serous as I got older. Perhaps the biggy was:
You may kill your self when you reach 23.
Read here to see how that turned out
Promised my therapist Richard I would stay alive till 65. Which quieted that daily pestering from my depression. I do have patience.
And when I found out he died, I was able to not squelch on that deal and change the terms of our agreement.
I have had other till death do we part contacts, involving living things.
I can't die until so and so my pet whatever dies. I don't want them to be euthanized or be rehomed etc.
All in all, it beeping worked. I stayed alive. I was enough to stop my brain from killing me.
My brain knowing that on November 14th at 10:45 am in the year 2030 it can give up that grip on life and let go....is comforting. Knowing that there is limit to the mental pain I will endure, is comforting.
So how does it work? Like this:
Depression: ugh so tired, I want to die.
me: We promised Richard we would stay alive until 65.
super depressed brain: done...so done...
Me: 65!!!
It gave me something to hold onto/counter back with.
So what brought this up?
Sometimes my choices for self-preservation have unexpected side effects. My guts just burps them up for things not that do not need them inserted.
Case in point, September 25, 2006 a little past 5 am, my daughter came into the world and as the nurse was handing her to me, her wet umbilical cord trailed against my naked body.
My damaged mind's maw wrenched open and whispered, 'now you have stay alive until she is 18'
A warping of the stay alive code by my brain in an attempt to cast a dark shadow over the experience.
and just that fast it became canon.
It gave my mind ammunition to counter with.
depression: 18
me: 65
it: 18
me:65
The ground I call out 65! from is higher and more powerful than the 18 it squeaked That fight faded off in no time.
I'm in no danger. Never have been. However, that fraction of an instant of self-sabotage my brain coughed up showed up the other night. Working nights has always been a double-edged sword I balance on. Tired, fatigued sleepless brain matter is ....gushy...my feet sink in and that line between here and there blurs.
Perfect place for my depression to whisper things to me.
your daughter is turning 18 in September...
18.
Me in my brain: "YEAH? SO WHAT!!"
18
my sleep deprived night shift brain: Do you really think I am lusting to check out over a fricking number?! Do you think I would EVER allow you to harm my children?! That I would want to inflict that pain on my loving gentle husband??! I got shit to do in this life man! shove that 18 straight up your ass!!
your physical pain would cease...
you're kidding me, right?! My 83-year-old great grandma used to get on the floor and do the Chinese splits in her polio braces. My Daddy use to haul fridges around with a broken back. I didn't miss a day of work when I got crushed in a car, or even when I broke a rib at work.
You think physical pain is any comparison to the mental pain I've endured? jeez man I eat that stinking pile of horse shift you serve up every day. My therapists have reinforced my will power with earthquake and tsunami protection.
nothing hurts my children.
NOTHING.
even me.
Suicide would do irreplicable harm to my family.
Depression: someday death will come for you.
Me: Yeah? you can expect me to rear back my polymyositis riddle leg and kick it in the teeth.
(Cymbalta joins the chat)
Cymbalta: what the flippin' blank man? I fixed the chemical imbalance and inserted sunshine and roses in your brain, where did this weed come from!
Depression: Still here ma'am, just have to wait till the sun goes down to open my flowers.
Cymbalta: looks like she just yanked you out and tossed you in the trash.
Depression: she can pick the visible weeds, but my roots run deep.
Me: maybe so depression. but I have always grabbed your roots and weaved them into a rope. Only time will tell if I plan to use to hang my self on or climb it to freedom.
For now, I use it as a lasso, I swing it hard over my head and look for the next available anchor beyond 18.
