The Journey of a Survivor

The past couple weeks have been very difficult for me. I just got home from the hospital this evening. I see my psychiatrist and therapist tomorrow and I am anxious…I don’t know how much the hospital told them. I feel a little embarrassed and ashamed about the things I have done over the past couple weeks—especially the suicide attempt. I feel like a failure for not succeeding. Although, I know the people around me are thankful I am still alive I am not sure if I am thankful.

My meds are kicking in and I feel a little less depressed and my intrusive thoughts and obsessions have been curtailed—good or bad, I am back in reality. However, I don’t have very much hope that things around me are going to change for the better. I just don’t know how I am ever going to navigate through this world—how I am going to deal with the stress of life. I feel like just hiding out in my house forever.

My pdoc has finally got my meds right, but I am struggling to stay on them. Before, I had a conversation in my head—I obsessed about it—it started back in 2005. It is the same conversation over and over and over. I wanted the conversation to end because it was taking over my life. It never gave me a moment of peace and quiet—it was constantly going on in my head. Anything that took my attention away from it caused me great anxiety. Sometimes, I stayed awake all night long just so I could engage in the conversation—I felt like I had to have it.

Now that the conversation is gone, I miss it. It provided me an escape from reality. Now, I feel like reality is constantly in my face and I can’t get away from it. I no longer have the ability to just focus on my obsession. Before, I had a focus—a constant focus on my obsessive conversation—my mind had a purpose. Now, my mind is bouncing around like a ping pong ball on steroids.

Even though the conversation was irrational, it gave me hope—hope that I would someday be cured of my depression and anxiety. Now, I have very little hope that I will ever recover from this. It feels like just being alive is torture and I am never going to escape it in this lifetime.

It is tough for me to deal with getting better. In some ways I am suppose to be recovering from my mental health issues—supposedly making progress, but I feel like I replaced the old struggles with new struggles.

So, I am at home. I have the freedom to decide if I really want to continue to fight this battle for my life. Do I want to stay on my meds or even just exist? No, right now, I am not really suicidal, so don’t worry about that. I am in control of my impulses and will not do anything drastic, but, the suicidal ideation is alive and well. Nietzsche said something about letting the thought of suicide carry you through the dark nights. I guess that is what I am doing. No matter what, I do have an option—an escape.