A short time before Keith and I got married, I had a severe depressive episode and attempted to kill myself. Keith saved my life and I was transported to the hospital where I stayed a week, then to the nuthouse for a week.
Not many people know about that incident. It’s a time of my life I wish I could forget. However, I can’t escape it because it’s still a very real part of my every day existence. I struggle with suicidal ideation more than I like to admit.
My husband’s death changed my outlook on suicide for a short time, although I had hoped it would be permanent. Understanding what it’s like for the love of your life to simply, “check out”, made me despise suicide, and eventually led to me feeling very angry with my dead husband. I felt abandoned and was utterly shattered. My husband was gone almost a year when I met my boyfriend and I thought I was doing ok. I had no clue what was coming.
For some reason, the beginning of year two without Keith triggered something in me and I have been practically bedridden ever since. That was in November.
It’s been 8 months and I have rarely left the confines of my bedroom. I feel like I am a slave to my emotions and cannot control them. I cry at the drop of a hat, then I can turn around and be as mean as a striped snake. That’s not me… I’m not mean, I’ve never been mean.
Today I was laying in bed feeling particularly sorry for myself when I had a thought. I am going to take back my emotional freedom. It’s mine to do with what I wish and I want freedom. I feel so silly because I have known all along that I have the power to create emotional harmony within myself but the epiphany had to bitch slap me because that’s how I like it. I like the rough stuff. I’m taking the power back damn it. I’m fucking this duck!
My poor, poor boyfriend. Why he loves me or even likes me is a mystery to me. He gets incredibly frustrated with me and I don’t blame him. If I’m alone with me for more than five minutes I’m wanting to pull the escape hatch myself but I can’t escape me.
He doesn’t really understand mental illness and although I’m trying to help him, I’m having a breakdown at the same time. So imagine me reading a well written article explaining how to train your Manic depressive, in a shirt, no pants, wild hair, possibly a hint of mustard on my lip and stopping every couple of minutes to ugly cry. It’s not pretty. He doesn’t run for the hills either. He really listens to me blabber on and tries to understand. He loves me and assures me all the time he is not going anywhere.
I need to get my emotional freedom back and realize my man is not leaving. He’s definitely not leaving the planet until the universe calls for him. I deserve happiness. I have to tell myself that over and over. I deserve happiness…