I am writing this post in a few separate days as I wont to document my self and questions and thoughts that I am having without having to post it just yet. I feel that doing this will help me get through this week or at least these past few days.
48 Hours remaining:
I am laying in my bed and I can’t sleep. I go to the doctor on in three days for depression. I had swore to myself I would never take any drugs or do therapy with a psychiatrist. I don’t want some head doctor who gets kickbacks from Zoloft to recommend the latest, greatest pill popping solution. I have never felt fear about this like this before. Thoughts race through my head.
What if I get taken away?
What will happen to me?
Will it change me?
How will it change me?
I don’t want to give up my ponies.
Will my friends and family still recognize me?
It wasn’t until about a month ago that I was talking to a friend while working at a convention that I realized what my fear is. It is not the drugs per se, like I thought it was. It was the fear of being fixed. It is the fear that “Yes, I am not well” It is hard to acknowledge that you are broken.
I am still scared.
24 hours remaining:
I am in pain.
I find this a good thing. It is odd but whenever I plan on getting help is when my body starts to do better and makes me second guess myself about seeing a doctor about anything. I got the call to confirm the appointment tomorrow.
I have had such a rough day. I was woken up by an alarm call at my store at 1 am, requiring me to go check it out. I was trying to go to bed early because of meetings all day the next day. I sat in over 8 hours of meetings, along with a 2 hour car ride to get to said meeting and back. My body has been through so much stress with this meeting (lots of work changes) and with seeing the doctor tomorrow. I have been just holding on.
And then, life happens.
We are during our lunch break when my boss comes up to me and asks if I remember an old coworker. I told him I did but that I hadn’t seen him in about 2 years. My boss gave me his phone and said read this. I read through some messages from an old manager peer who was informing my boss that the employee I knew had committed suicide last week. He had sent pictures from the funeral.
That kinda tumbled my day the rest of the way down the drain.
I am now home, resting, waiting.
This final day of waiting…
I awoke to a knot of anxiety in my chest. Cold sweets and pain are my bed fellows. I have a few hours left. Even now i second guess myself. My throat and mouth are cotten dry. My back aches and groans.
And yet, I still wonder if I should see the doctor.
I am still emotionally with friends who are reeling from the lost of one of us. We all talked about how fine he was when we last saw him.
Suicide is never painless.
I am in the waiting room. They have just taken my paperwork. There were several times I almost turned around driving here.
My arms locked on the steering wheel.
My breath is erratic.
I am beyond stressed.
Oh, my dear foe. We meet again.
I promise myself, I will not cry.
We have done this dance for 15 years. At last, we will see if I can get some help.
It is time. They have called me. My last feeling is:
Too many to describe. I thought i could find one but i can’t.
Hug a pony my friends. I know mine is clutched tight. I will see you in the aftermath.