Today I’ve been wanting to die. I mean really die. All day, I’ve been thinking about it. The wierd part of it all is how matter-of-fact I am about it. I have see-sawed today between moments of complete calm, during which I just think to myself that I would now like to die … and complete, inconsolable, abject sorrow, during which I sob uncontrollably.
I’m calm now … although my eyes are a bit teary, and the idea of going to sleep and never waking up feels quite appealing. It’s after midnight now here, but this has now been going on since just after lunchtime. Admittedly, I have been very low recently, and last week I called the crisis team when I was seriously considering harming myself. But that was because I was feeling trapped and no one was listening. I would have harmed myself just to get some attention – burning seemed a good idea at the time. Maybe hurt myself enough to earn a short spell in hospital, during which I would tell them how much of a struggle this life has become, and how I’m really not coping, and how tired I am from the constant effort to protect and raise my son with zero support from anyone.
I did get some help then – the crisis team visited me the next morning and went back and talked to the psych who originally diagnosed me. He apparently agreed to bring forward my review date from June 20th to April 11th. And I appreciate that.
But today’s feelings are different from those I had the other day. Yesterday, I looked at my son, just entering puberty, and realised how tall he has grown, and how he is turning into a young man – no longer my baby anymore. Then today I began watching the movie “The Way We Were” on TV. As soon as the music started, I broke down. My life just flashed before me, and I realised I don’t have any remnants of any “way I was” to fall back on – I was always a loner, but it didn’t matter, because I was always wandering the world, always moving on when things became boring or tough, never had a real relationship, never had a real vocation in life. Just ambled on through, living on my wits. Perhaps that had something to do with my illness, and perhaps that was just my nature. But when I was younger, that was just fine. I was just me.
But now I’m older, I’m still a loner, incapable of forming or maintaining relationships – but I can no longer wander the world. I miss the freedom of that life soooo much. It’s the realisation that I can never go back that hurts so much. And now, at the ripe old age of 47, I recognise that I am now hopelessly on a road to nowhere. Working in a job that fills me with dread when I think about returning to it; pinned to a mortgage and a loan; unattractive and heavier than I’ve ever been before; and living every second of my life for my child. There is no me anymore – I feel that part of me died a long time ago. Since then, I’ve just been this shell going through the motions of motherhood. A Stepford wife …. without the husband.
It’s strange to me that I can still write reasonably upbeat/unassuming responses to other bloggers’ comments on here even now, when my very fibre aches. Have I really become so adept at just carrying on? Perhaps I have.
Anyway, I have checked my cupboard, and I still have one of the tubs of 500 painkillers I brought back from a trip to the states (God Bless America!), so that part’s covered. The problem is that my boy is resistant to spending the night at anyone else’s house. My house is often full of everybody else’s kids, but it would seem that his friends’ parents are less willing to return the favour. Either that, or my son just won’t go. I asked him a couple of times if he would like to sleep over his friends’ houses, and he said he preferred to stay home. And I asked him if he would like to go and stay with Nanny for a couple of days, and he said no.
Obviously, I wouldn’t do anything while he is here and without making sure he is taken care of – but that doesn’t mean the feeling has gone away. Perhaps that’s why the calmness is so scary – because I can wait until the time is right.
© Alice through the Macro Lens