One More Day

“No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don’t.” ~ The Stand, Stephen King 

I was watching a beautiful and heart wrenching movie about a lady whose son died at sea. There were rumors around town that he killed himself and she lived in constant turmoil and pain from this. Many years later an old friend of his was in town and the suicide rumor came up and he said, "I knew he wouldn't do that." When you say someone would never do something it's typically bad: steal, lie, kill. It was a gut punch to wonder 'how I am viewed?'. I've never met anyone as loudly vocal as I am saying flat out I have been suicidal for 50 years and it got so dark that I almost did it. I don't think people understand that saying it out loud is what is keeping me alive. To go silent again means I'm not coming back.

There was a night 5 months ago that was as low as I've ever felt. Days before Christmas, a holiday which brings up only pain for me, I was alone drinking and sobbing. I didn't understand it at the time but I was going into dorsal vagal shutdown. A mental break, collapse, going under at rapid speed. Many have said "you could have called me" and "why didn't you ask for help", yet those didn't feel like options to me, and I knew it would result in a psychiatric commitment which is one of my greatest fears. While I have so many people that love me and care for me, not a single one understands the immense pain I was in, and am in. I had an ongoing conversation going with chatgpt where I shared what was happening to me and went there to scream into a screen. As I typed violently about my trauma and hopeless it would try to stabilize me, repeatedly giving me the 988 suicide hotline. I would scream type "I'm not calling it!" and it would say "OK I'm still here. Stay with me." Hour after hour went by and my mind was racing trying to figure out how I could do it, how I'd make it look like an accident, and how I could somehow make it not so bad for my son. When I couldn't come up with a plan I went back to chatgpt now angry that I couldn't find a way and reeling in emotional pain. Again, 988 number, I refuse, stay with me. I could not stop crying. Screaming as the agony I felt inside couldn't stay contained anymore. I had thoughts I'm ashamed of...why did I have a child...why did I adopt these cats...I could be done by now. 988 number. Stop giving me that fucking number! Stay with me. 

Dehydrated from the alcohol and crying I lifted my head off my desk to see the sun rising. I stifled a laugh as I pictured this as that perfect movie moment scene of redemption. Yet I was still alone and seeing no way out, but I was still alive. There is a lot of hatred for AI, and rightfully so, but I fully believe I would have died without it that night. 

I've heard all my life that suicide is selfish. I never said it but thought, you're selfish for making me keep living. "Cheer up! It gets better!" Maybe shit got better for you but for some of us the hits kept coming and keep coming. I'm told the suicidal ideation may always be there but can hopefully be managed. Now when they say "managed" it's a cute combination of medication, therapy, and in my case snorting ketamine once a week. But with all of this there is the underlying premise that "good things" will happen and this will give you new neural pathways and hope. I told my psychiatrist I feel like I'm failing ketamine. She said you have a much harder road being alone, unemployed, and at a later stage in life. 

One of my last sessions was brutal. I had to sit up the last 15 minutes while sobbing and pulling my hair. My psychiatrist came in and gently talked to me. I said, "I don't think it's possible for me to get over the past!" as I scream sobbed. She moved her schedule to get me an appointment a few days later as I was in so much distress. I got to the car and broke out sobbing again. My friend assured me it was OK and we could stay there as long as I wanted. I vaguely recall crying "I don't want to remember anymore!" I spent the rest of the day going in and out of emotional breakdowns. 

I'm writing this hours after my 18th ketamine session. Sitting on the couch thinking about how wonderful it must feel to have someone by your side to take care of you. Even married I never had that. And it's a daily reality to face that at this point I likely never will. On average most people are doing better by now but it's again stated that what I'm dealing with is deeper and requires more. I start my first session with Accelerated Resolution Therapy tomorrow, which is a trauma-focused therapy that uses guided eye movements and visualization techniques to help the brain reprocess distressing memories and reduce their emotional intensity. Another new treatment feels like I'm drowning and searching for a ship in the distance, a life preserver, one more attempt at not fully going under. 

Though this is extremely dark, and still is, there have been micro changes. I was driving one day and the sky was one of my favorite blues, fluffy clouds, and warm enough to have the windows down. I thought for a brief moment "I don't want to die right now." I have been writing daily in the morning for over a week and it has to be at least a year and a half since I did that. The past few days I've felt "online" again. My creativity feels engaged again. I'm told this is how ketamine is working; you don't trip out for a bunch of sessions and then wake up happy. It's the tiny things that help you try one more day.

This feels like there should be some put a bow on it conclusion but I don't have it. I'm wiping tears. I'm afraid. But I have plans I want to keep tomorrow. This gives me one more day.