Welp.

I have an ocean of emotions churning around inside of me, and yet, ironically, I’m void.

Saw my doc for the second time today since I was in the hospital.  The last time I was there, we talked about how my world was so gray and so we made some med changes.  I also started near daily yoga in there out of desperation.  I honestly can’t believe I’ve stuck with it like I have (not perfect, but definitely dedicated), but I’m grateful that I have.  Mindfulness is GREAT for depression and yoga is my mindfulness.

Ugh.

Do you ever feel like you’re FINALLY making headway in your life only to hit yet another obstacle and then another and then another?  I mean, I guess that’s basically the definition of life, itself, really.  It’s hard enough when I’m feeling good; when I’m not, it feels overwhelming.

So doc and I had a frank discussion today.  Not that we don’t always (she is a GEM), but today I told her some things leading up to the overdose that she didn’t already know—things that I’ve just realized, myself.

One: In the months leading up to the overdose (Jesus, I don’t want to share this with A-N-Y-O-N-E), there was a day I had woken up for my old job (I can’t remember if it was before or after we found out the unit was closing) and I distinctly remember that as I was walking out to my car, I thought, “I’m going to kill myself tonight in this garage [while consciously having the thought that Carolyn wasn’t due to be at home that night].”  Just like that.  Just a matter-of-fact, out-of-the-blue statement.  I wasn’t sad.  I wasn’t angry.  I wasn’t fearful.  It was just a decision that I made and so that was the plan.  I remember going to work and when people talked about what they were doing that weekend, I was noncommittal because I knew I wasn’t going to be around, anyway. It wasn’t until I was nearly ready to go home that I mentioned this to a coworker because maybe, just maybe, suicide wasn’t the best plan.  And as quickly as I’d made the decision, I set it aside—albeit it was still in sight.

Two: Going back briefly to the night of the overdose, reflection has allowed me to realize that I had just been introduced to my coworkers either that day or the day before.  It was at that moment that I realized that there was NO plan or orientation for me to assume this particular role.  It was a very, very, VERY lonely and scary feeling.  But I’m glad I finally put those pieces together.

Three:  Back to the previous suicidal thoughts … since being out of the hospital, I’ve had those thoughts, although fleeting, a few times.  And every time, they are exactly the same:  no emotion, no sorrow, no fear, no pain.  Just void.  Just absolutely nothing.  Just would-be decisions.

Jesus, I’m verbose today.  My apologies.  We still have a ways to go, here.

So she and I processed how in the past, being rejected or perceived as abandoned brought on a torrent of painful emotions and the feeling of the floor dropping out from under me.  Those intense feelings, I had learned over time, often preceded suicidal thoughts.  That made it MUCH easier to navigate, and I was really proud of the progress I made in that area of my mental health.  After recognizing that fact and being diligent about monitoring my emotions, I was able to essentially leave those types of thoughts behind.

Until now.

I mean, my God, I’m fucking 46 years old!  How is this still even a thing for me?

Anyway, back to the doc and those thoughts.  Clearly my pattern has changed.  She called it emotional detachment.  Or something like that—I don’t remember.  Doesn’t really matter.  The gist is that I have really, really, REALLY detached from what’s going on inside of me.  I didn’t do this consciously.  I wasn’t even aware I was doing it.  And as I sat there in her office and tried to talk through what could possibly be the underlying pain, tears were immediately in my eyes and I felt—only for a brief moment—I felt the pain that is there.

MOTHER FUCKER.  I AM SO G.D. SICK OF THIS SHIT.

Do you know how much therapy I’ve gone to?  Do you know how many issues I’ve worked on?  Do you know HOW HARD I’ve worked on my mental health?  And there is still so. much. pain. there.  I don’t know how to get rid of it.  I don’t know how to process it or where to put it or how to navigate this.

(Here’s a ***mega ultra secret***:  I know that much of this pain is caused by that last relationship with the dude (dude is even too kind of a moniker) who lied to me and cheated on me like it was his job.  DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THAT PISSES ME OFF? THAT HE STILL HAS ANY EFFECT ON MY WHATSOEVER?  Hey, I know he sure as hell doesn’t deserve my time or energy but I have no idea how to exorcise the pain from my soul.)

As an aside, work IS getting better.  Grateful for that.  And also I’m back to my mask of normalcy.  It’s actually just easier.  Being honest about my feelings (or lack thereof) all of the time was exhausting.

So there you have it.  No resolution to this blog because there’s no resolution in my life.  Now I’m just supposed to make sure I keep taking my meds and sit down and journal the next time I have that emotional detachment/suicidality thing going on.  I guess that means I know my next blog topic, anyway.