How do you know when things are starting to slide for you, one direction or the other?
You don’t for sure. But, the longer you live with the disease the more you sense a change.
Today is one of those days. It started yesterday, actually. All I wanted to do was go home and go to bed. When I did finally go lay in bed after dinner my wife and daughter kept coming into my room to bother me. You would think that going to bed, at anytime, would be a sign to leave someone alone. But especially going to bed before 8pm when normal bedtimes hover around 10:30. Not in my house, apparently. Not with a wife who should know the meaning of that early departure from the living room.
Today is one of those days. It started at 12:05am, the first of many times I awoke and gave myself anxiety counting down the hours until my alarm would sound. I got to work late due to terrible traffic for no reason. And I sat there all day with a pounding heart, racing thoughts, and shallow breathing. I could barely focus on anything, although I did get an exceptional amount done in my frenzied state.
Today is one of those days. The drive home was long and agitating. Jocelyn droned on and on about singing her songs and all the tractors she could see, and the moon. How could I have forgotten the moon? She was upset that I wanted to have anything on but the sound of her voice, and she insisted that I sing, sometimes demanding a new song while I was still mid-stream in the last. Normally I will happily oblige, but today it was far too difficult for me.
Today is one of those days where I am sure I will wake up much more depressed in the morning. I am certain this is the cliff I have been avoiding for months, here comes the plunge. It might simply be the shift to the holiday season. It might be the good news surrounding me about how perfect everyone else’s life is while mine is an unmitigated disaster. It might be that my wife and I are near constantly fighting these days. These are the same fights we have every year and I thought by now, our 9th holiday season together, she would understand what we do. But no, it isn’t enough, apparently.
Today is one of those days where suicide has been front and center in my mind all day long. I practically prayed to get into a fatal accident on my way to pick up my daughter. I stared at my sleeping pills and my anxiety pills for an extra beat or two contemplating if I could get them all down and keep them all down long enough to do the deed. And if not, was I comfortable with another hospital stay. I’m not that desperate yet, but if this is only the beginning it won’t take long.
Today is one of those days where I have so much to say on this blog, and so little incentive to say it. This is only going to blow up in my face. This will only cause my wife to question my point of view, and my need to publish it. It will only cause a concerned phone call from a sister or a family member or a friend. Maybe it will become subject of conversation at Thanksgiving. I don’t want any of that. I’m not even writing this as therapy (as I so often do), I’m writing this so you know. I want you to know the inside of my mind. I want you to know that someone you dealt with today probably had similar things going on inside their mind, maybe it was you?
I want you to know that today was one of those days that you figure out 12 years after your diagnosis that can tell a lot about your future. I could feel it on Sunday morning, and I hoped it wasn’t coming this direction, but it appears the plane is about to crash.
How long will this last? How deep will it go? How close to death will it take me? I have no idea. I’m equally likely to wake up tomorrow in a great mood as dead.
I’ll take the latter please.