Long story short, I'm okay. I have a new understanding of life-- especially my own. I learned a new appreciation for my husband-- which is probably easy to do when your spouse abandons you in the hospital, but you know what I mean. And I found or refound my love or maybe new love for my father. My relationship with him has been weird since he left my mom almost ten years ago. But he was there for me. He visited me in the hospital when I had no one. He picked me up when I was discharged and didn't have a ride. He believed me. I'm not sure who believes me when I say that I don't remember much of what happened or what I did. But my dad believes me.
This all began when I thought I was depressed and sought help for that. They said my depression stemmed from my endometriosis and all of the trauma it was causing to my body and my brain. Fast forward and they now say I wasn't depressed. I was misdiagnosed. I was mismanaged and mismedicated.
I just want to move on. It's all another feather in my hat. Probably not the prettiest feather but I'm not looking to hide it either. My surgery has been moved to April 25th. I just want to get this done and feel better and get my life back. Not even back on track-- just back. I just know that once that happens and I feel better everything will get better.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
found or refound
Friday, April 19, 2013
I was okay
Everything has been going extremely well.
I haven't wanted to jinx anything, so I've just been chilling. Living under the radar even. I deleted my Facebook and it was one of the most liberating things ever. Almost as liberating as actually telling certain people that, "You're not welcome in my life anymore. At all. Ever."
It's a good feeling. Living for myself that is. Not worrying what someone is going to think or say-- not that I truly worried before but there was a lot of consequential drama of course.
It's been two months since I went crazy-- except I don't really say that word anymore. Two months since I was hospitalized. When I became an adult I decided to stop throwing around adjectives like "gay" or "retarded" because there's nothing cool about being a jerk. In the same fashion, I stopped calling people crazy when I had a) seen what that word really means up close when living with people who were truly struggling and b) used every ounce of my being to convince everyone I loved that I was okay and that I was suffering from side effects of anti-depressants.
It's tough. But that's life.
Friday, April 5, 2013
not a coincidence
So much has happened.
I tried to kill myself twice... once at the end of February and again at the end of March. It's such a strange strand of events that I guess ultimately don't matter. But you know I'll tell you all about it at some point.
I'm home. I'm alive. I slept the night without my husband which was foreign. Every little noise was a big noise and I'm surprised I finally drifted off. I woke up super early because I was meant to wake before the sun and watch her as she rose.
My husband has asked me to move out. But for now I'm doing regular housewife things: laundry, eating another bowl of cereal just because.
This is the view at my desk in my office/craft room. I keep staring at his organs and paying special attention to the extras that I have and he lacks. I'm thinking about my surgery in 30 days. There's so much to think about but I can only do what I can do.
I woke up to my all-time favorite song on Pandora already playing, Mazzy Star's "Fade into You." I woke up smiling, knowing it's not a coincidence. I woke up remembering that moments before I was meeting David Bowie at Disneyland and talking about my bi-eyed dog at home who is named after him.
That was a dream of course-- but I'll take what I can get. I don't have any anti-depressants in my system or the subsequent side effect nightmares (or side-effect botched suicides either), so waking up smiling is just that. Waking up is just that. I've been home from the hospital for a little over 12 hours. I'm alive. I have a peace I can't even describe but will try to later.