What to say

A friend texted me a day ago saying they didn't think they'd make it through the night. They have a long suicidal ideation history like me, and also a dark sense of humor, so initially I thought we were doing our melancholy joking. Then they sent me the letter they'd written their dad explaining and saying goodbye. A few more texts got progressively worse...and I didn't know what to say.

I've said before that there are no perfect words when someone is this far down. I wanted to say, "Please keep going." "I will be devastated if you're gone." "You have so much to live for." Yet those same things have been said to me, and I know how they don't land well and many times feel like a slap in the face. I felt the pain that others have expressed that they feel with me: helplessness, sadness, and fear. Then deep shame for what I've put people through by sharing so much and choking them with the agony I'm drowning in. And I felt like it all hung on me in this moment. 

I did the only thing I knew to keep them alive: I stayed and wouldn't let them go. I asked where they were. They were sobbing, earbuds cutting in and out, I couldn't decipher much but I kept them talking. They got home and the pain was pouring out of them. "I have nothing to live for." "I'm a loser in this life." "I can't take anymore." I said I understand and feel every one of those thoughts every day. I asked if I could come over and they said their roommate would be home soon. More ominous talk. I asked if I could take them to the hospital. But then we both talked about what would happen: handcuffed to the bed for suicide watch, drugs, 72 hour commitment, and then nothing really changes. They smoked some keef and said they were passing out. I said my phone ringer was on high and I would have it by me all night. I didn't know if I did the right thing.

Woke up and immediately texted to make sure they'd made it through the night. Though deeply depressed the urgency to die appears to have softened for the moment. 

I'm living it too and I still don't know what to say.

Remembering with No Relief

 
"I remember now"

The start of one of my favorite and most emotional albums starts with the main character recalling all the pain and trauma he's gone through. (Queensryche - Operation Mindcrime) I first heard this after moving to San Francisco for a nanny job. I didn't care about being a nanny, I was running away. I'd had 3 years of non-stop trauma and violence and I was breaking down. I want to call this my second mental break, after a weak suicide attempt earlier, but really it was the cumulation of my entire life and my mind no longer being able to contain it. I'd listen to the songs incessantly feeling the darkness of the story. It wasn't my story but my connection to the pain of it all, as I was so tormented and desolate. 

I went to one of my best friend's bands last night which is a tribute to Queensryche and they were specifically doing all of Operation Mindcrime. I was worried as my head has been struggling with loud noise and bright lights. But I love this album so much, I love her, I wanted to be there. I had planned to sit in the far back alone with ear plugs in, but I saw other friends and joined them. We moved near the stage, and though the drums were pounding on my nervous system, I didn't want to hide in back. I wanted to be in the land of the living again. But I lost it, the emotions took over, and I cried.

Ketamine creates a window where the brain says it's safe to feel this; even when it doesn't feel safe. It loosens the control system that normally keeps difficult emotions contained. Think of it less like “creating happiness” and more like taking the lid off what’s already there. I'm told this wasn't losing control, though it felt like it, but stored emotion getting access to movement, my nervous system not shutting down (instead spilling all over the place for everyone to see), and grief that has stayed shoved down getting felt. 

With my brain more permeable and less defended, sounds, visuals, memories, I was an open ball of nerves. The music matched what I feel of my internal story as Operation: Mindcrime is literally about: manipulation, lost identity, love that wasn’t real, and waking up and seeing it.

"And I raise my head and stare into the eyes of a stranger".

I don't even see myself in the mirror anymore. I look like I've aged so many years where I used to be able to mostly hide it. As I stare into my own eyes I think "I don't know if I can survive this". The pain I feel right now is visceral. Even when not recalling a specific memory, I am at all times feeling the weight of my entire past. I never know when the tears will start. 

"Is this all that's left of my life before me? Straight jacket memories, sedative highs. No happy ending like they always promised! There's got to be something left for me."

In their depiction of Mindcrime she does an incredible job of showing the main character's suffering bringing out a gun and later in a hospital gown for when they are committed. I'm still being encouraged to go to inpatient, one of my biggest life fears, and I'm refusing. Though I am not an assassin like this character, I felt like I was looking at myself. Ketamine is doing what it's supposed to right now as it loosens the walls that keep everything contained. I was mortified as the crying started, probably should have excused myself to the bathroom, but instead I was frantically trying to get a tissue out of my purse so no one would see. My purse was stuffed too tight, I was digging and starting to panic, while trying to still be there and experience one of my favorite songs that was playing. 

If there is belief in good energy in the universe, perhaps this is what was supposed to happen. This moment, this album, watching and feeling that performance, my emotions unable to stay down. But fuck does it hurt and so embarrassing. Deep awareness is excruciating when you can't numb it or override it. I've had 13 treatments and this is when deeper things are accessed and processed. But not a point of relief. I'm hitting the part it’s meant to expose: grief that didn’t get to move, seeing patterns in real time and attachment pain that was stored and not resolved. 

I'm told this is the messiest part. I sob without breathing. 

Ketamine doesn't make you feel better

Author's note: this post has references to suicide and sensitive subjects. I write this with a lot of fear, as I know many who have lost someone to suicide, and I don't want anyone to feel blame because of what I'm going to talk about. It wasn't your fault. Please read with care.

"To be happy you must eliminate two things: The fear of a bad future and the memory of a bad past," ~ Seneca

Ketamine doesn't make you feel better and I really thought it would. I was hoping these chemicals would rewire my brain so I could find hope and maybe happiness, but that's not what's happening. My neural pathways are unpacking every trauma, abuse, and pain of my life all at once. The purpose is once the neuroplasticity of these pathways is pliable, then new connections can form. My therapist has said this is harder on you: alone, unemployed, no family support, no safety net. It hurts to hear but I appreciated the truth of this confirmation of what I'm living. 

Not only does ketamine not make you feel better, in the middle of it you feel worse. Decades of major depressive disorder, panic disorder, and suicidal ideation, so I thought it wouldn't be possible to feel any worse than I have....and I'm lower than I've ever been. I called this past December the lowest point of my life, as I was the closest I've ever been to ending it, but now it's strangely worse. Sometimes the crying won't end. Other times I'm on the edge of tears, and to cry would bring release, yet nothing comes out. I feel like I could explode and implode at the same time. I live every day in terror as I'm emotionally drowning with no land in sight. 

Driving to my last session I talked to my friend, smiled, asked about her life, while in my head ruminating was "I don't want to be alive. I hate being alive. I want this over." I didn't tell her. My psychiatrist has me do a test every time so they can gauge where you are at. The last question is "Do you have thoughts you'd be better off dead or of hurting yourself", and your response needs to be how many times in the last 2 weeks this has happened. My response every time: every day. The next question is "Do you have a plan to do this?" No plan. 

There’s something I don’t think gets talked about enough when it comes to suicidal ideation and it’s the sheer enormity of the pain a person is in. It's the version of this experience that isn't being understood. And the gap between intention and impact is a lot bigger than people think. It’s excruciating to say just how bad it is, have people see it, respond with a quick comment or a care react, and then disappear. It feels like I’m being burned alive and being given cheerleading comments from the sidelines. And when you’re in that kind of pain, you’re not thinking about hypothetical future joys or small moments. You’re trying to survive what’s happening right now. There’s no space for “maybe someday.” There’s barely space to think at all. This isn’t about anyone not caring or not trying hard enough. It’s about how that level of pain actually works from the inside. For some of us, the pain will override everything. We know we would hurt people. We know it would cause devastation. We feel immense shame that we can't just suck it up. And we are doing everything we can just to keep breathing but the pain can take over anyway.

The sun is shining right now, my cats are sleeping by my side, and I feel like a boulder is on my chest as I try to take a breath. And the obvious question is "What can I do? I try to say something positive, and you say I'm hurting you? What can anybody possibly do?" Fair. There are no feel-good sayings here. The perfect words don't exist. What we need is presence. "Just letting you know I'm thinking about you and haven't left." "I see you are in horrifying pain, and I can't imagine how awful it must be. I'm sorry you are experiencing this." "You aren't a burden." Believe us when we say we are trying.

I have a post-it on my wall that says, “Someone’s waiting for the words you haven’t written yet.” I know I’m not the only one who feels like this. So, I’m writing them.

________________________________

I didn't write this. But I could have. I feel it.

 “She calls me”

I like to flirt with death.

I’ll perch on the edge of towered roofs and watch the skies burn molten embers with lemonade hues, one nudge and my free-falling bones will shatter into shards of elated expiration.

My dormant doormat body springs to life in adrenaline junkie highs, the heated rush of driving so fast butterflies take flight. Cackled laughter explodes from my throat as the world surrounding me turns to a smudged oil painting, the only constant is I.

I dance and sing in thunderstorms of crackling light and stinging rain. Repetitive rumbles ricochet through my core and each CRACK births tingles across my skin. Fear and desire hum the same tune into my eager ears. Petrichor mixed with battery acid lines my mind with blind excitement

When I’m falling in faster than I breathe. Each slither of my heart I offer to another soul, takes part of my life bringing me closer to the edge each time it’s discarded. Love. Forever relapsing in an addiction I refuse to give up. source no longer replenished it withers into a forced reset.

I’ve danced with the devil and been baptized of my sins. Only for my human vessel to break those unblessed vows again and again. Red spider Lily lamentation forces fistfuls of a poisoned wake into an already slowing heart.

I do not fear death, She welcomes me into a warm embrace. Her finality seductively draws me under with hypnotic harmonies; I sway and wait with bated breath.

I fear a life unlived

I fear a life unloved

I fear a life unfulfilled

I have died a thousand times, this season is all but a pebble in an estuary lying in wait for something more, in the next wave carrying me into the oceans of a new life

I’ve got a piece of mirror lodged dangerously close to my heart. I never know which twist in the story will be the one to open up my insides and help me drown in my own soul. ~Unknown

Containment

After over a year of baring my soul to ChatGPT (I don't care what you think about this...one day I will tell the story about how AI saved my life on a horrific night.) I saw a New Year's prompt to ask it what my "Word of the Year" should be. It gave me "Containment". What an interesting word being someone that contains very little. I'm open, vulnerable, and honest, and tell the unfiltered truth about what is happening to me. But this way of communicating is hurting me.

My last ketamine session was brutal both emotionally and physically. During treatment I lay back in a lounge chair, weighted blanket, comfortable clothes, ear buds with a curated playlist for ketamine treatment. My psychiatrist who administers this will gently touch my shoulder to bring me back and I sit up carefully but right away. The last portion of this past session (time blur so I don't know how long) I had to take out the ear buds and I held my head rocking back and forth as it was all so intense. I can't remember what I saw or felt, only a heaviness and pain. When I left I was stumbling and I struggled to "act normal" on the ride home. Getting up the stairs to my condo was a struggle and when I got inside I had to lean over the kitchen counter as I felt like I was about to faint. Then the crying began. I fell to the floor sobbing at the top of my lungs. I knew the neighbors could hear but it was uncontrollable. I spent the day crying and agitated. Even a week later I have a dull headache nonstop, struggle with head movement and loud noises, and can't handle social interaction. 

My brain is in a highly activated state where old emotional patterns, fear responses, and current stress are all turned on at once, and I don’t have much buffer right now, so everything feels intense and immediate. Every day is panic, unknown fear, emotional flooding, shame, sensitivity to people, rumination, and complete exhaustion. There are roughly 4 arcs to ketamine treatment and I'm between 1 and 2: opening and disruption moving into emotional activation/flooding. I feel like hell.

So much of my grief right now is looking at how much of my life I've had to manage alone. In my entire marriage my husband never took care of me when I was sick; I made my own soup, got my own medicine, and got myself extra blankets. When I first got divorced a friend saw I was sick and brought me juice and cold medicine and cookies. After she left I cried uncontrollably as no one had ever cared for me that way as an adult. My ex boyfriend took care of me after a surgery making me comfortable, bringing me food, and watching over me. It was one of many moments that kept me tethered to him, as it was a core wound finally getting met. He later on Valentine's day posted a picture of me in the hospital from that day; no makeup, hair in a surgery cap, IV, drugged. It was posted with other pictures, and the most loving words I'd ever heard, and I saw he was purposefully humiliating me yet I stuffed it down because I'd finally gotten that moment I wanted so desperately of someone taking care of me and saying nice things. After my last session I was shaking and crying trying to heat some soup and thinking how people that have someone to do this for them don't know how lucky they are. 

I think my sadness at doing life alone contributes to sharing too much. Reaching for connection and wanting to be seen. I share with full intensity, and it makes people uncomfortable. They cannot fathom my reality, or sit inside what I'm describing, so they respond to their own discomfort. The things I share aren't easy to hear and it exceeds most people's capacity. The responses, though usually well intentioned, come off as dismissive, tone deaf, and minimizing. I realized today in therapy this is a pattern I've had my entire life where I overshare, they respond terribly, and I get hurt. I've been doing what I've been told to do and talk about it, yet rarely am I heard. "Are you feeling better now? You've been doing this a long time." (sad face) "It's good you're crying, let it out." (As if what's been missing for decades is a good cry.) "Are you healed yet?" (Will I ever be?) 

In a moment of clarity I realize I need to make my circle smaller. Not leaving friendships, or even being ungrateful as they do care, but no longer getting hurt by my expectations that others can't meet. It's not fair to either of us. In this state of being emotionally raw, flooded, and unstable, I see that everything is landing wrong, and I no longer have buffering capacity.

My entire life is unpacking, and every pain I've ever experienced feels like it hangs over me. I'm told it gets worse before it gets better. And the next person that tells me "keep fucking going!" might get kicked in the teeth. The intention is good yet it is nowhere near the current devastation I'm experiencing. I need to stop sharing as neither of us can win here. 

This is going to be hard for me. It will mean boundaries. People might not understand. But I feel like I'm going under again and I'm just trying to stay afloat.