Two steps backwards...

So, here we are, a couple days past my big post. When you research how to write a blog about about suicide you come across all sorts of resources. Good and bad. Resources none the less. I have enough of a clinical background to know that certain guidelines should be followed when writing about topics that may be triggering to some. I wanted to be mindful of those who may have untold stories. While this is my narrative; I am not unique to this situation. There is not right or wrong time to open up. Frankly, I am still shocked I started this blog, yet here we are, about a month into it. If my prior post resonated with you and you found it helpful, i'm glad. If you read it and thought I always knew she was a little off center. Well, okay. Glad I could confirm your opinion of me. Go ahead and check that box off. With that being said, I will continue to be sensitive to the experiences of others. My story with suicide will unfold over several posts over time. As no one thing lead me to that path. No one blog post is going to explain it all. I guess chapter one was more cliff notes than novel.

My posts are not designed for anyone to actually take my advice. If you read my prior post, clearly I don't even take my own advice. Remember that friend I told you about, they threatened to call the magistrate. I had to google what a magistrate was and this particular friend doesn't make idle threats. So, off I went, to the psych ED. If I had taken my own advice, Id be writing a very different blog, probably focused on shoes, art history, or English literature. Instead I went about things the hard way. In the long run I will (hope) acknowledge that was for the best. Right now, I am still more of magic 8 ball; better not tell you now, dont count on it, ask again later.

I thought this post would be light in nature. Some kind of Mom story on how to keep your kids entrained during a pandemic when everything is closed, one child is special needs, and your husband is immunocompromised. I have no idea how to keep them entertained. Fortunately, we have a wonderful nanny who is "way cooler" than mom. My husband, I make him stay in a bubble. I watched him almost die three times in 2019. 2020 will not be repeating that for me. As magic 8 ball would say; my reply is no.

In addition to a diagnosis of anxiety and depression, I also have PTSD. This was also told to me prior to my suicidal ideations, or well, if being honest during them. Again, I wasn't really believing any of this, refused to accept it. I was "fine," I "had it," I "got this."

Due to the extremes I went, I am on various medications in addition to talk therapy. I can promise you one doesn't work without the other. While my medications help with some aspects, they are not a golden ticket. My anxiety can run rampant. Physically expressing itself. Fighting off anxiety while working all day is exhausting. I have various methods to try and break the cycle. Some days they work, others they don't. For me it is still just as easy to fall back into the mindset of "I got this," and "i am going to push through this." Intellectually I know this is not healthy or ideal. However, I struggle with the mindset of if I give in and call time out, I am going to seem weak. That I am letting my invisible illness win. When I know, in reality, my physical expressions of anxiety are because i'm not doing anything to quell it internally. I'm not being kind to myself and my needs.

Weakness and failure are big triggers for me. I have always considered myself strong, successful, independent, sarcastic, confidant. Somehow I have lost the ability to see that in myself. Eh, I know the sarcasm is still there, some days. Losing my confidence and the ability to believe what people see in me was a shock to my core. My list of adjectives these days does not mirror the ones above. I feel I am introverted, weak, insecure. This all goes back to If I was strong enough or confidant enough I would not have gone down the path of suicide. My therapist does not agree with that statement. She is protective of me and doesn't tolerate my self-deprecation.

Rebuilding ones confidence is not easy task. I also still live in a bit of fear, still waiting for the other shoe to drop, again. I am not usually a half glass empty kind of person. My illness has brought that out in me.The last 18 months has brought that out in me. Having an immunocompromised husband and pandemic is terrifying to me. With everything he and I went through last year, COVID is not going to get the last laugh. However, I can still see with every single vivid detail the three separate times I thought would be my last times with him. Those are sights you don't forget. All the times my sweet little's would ask me if daddy was going to die; you don't unhear that. I would have preferred murder hornets, godzilla, or whatever July has on deck for us, over a pandemic. How does one let their guard down with all that baggage?

As failure is not an option again this time. How do I figure out the right balance. What does failure mean this time? Failure where? Work, home, children, husband, myself? In theory, I should be top of the list; if I am not cared for, the other items on the list will suffer. However, like most mom's I am back at the bottom of the list. Whether you work outside or inside the home; we are at the bottom, next to the forgotten toys, lost shoes, and stale goldfish.

In the midst of a very tear filled therapy appointment today, I asked when am I going to feel better? When will this end? Will i ever get over this? She says I have made loads of progress since we started meeting in November. I don't see it as much; reference my list of adjectives above. I guess I can only hope and shake my magic 8 ball and believe that "signs point to yes."