Things got dark really fast this afternoon, and things were a little different... I'm not sure if was motherhood or the stress levels but my darkness was different. When you have an illness like I do you become familiar with it, especially with the dark shadowy bits. The dark spells have certain feelings, patterns, even a sense of "normal" after a while even though being suicidal should never really be normalized...
Well, today I was definitely experiencing my "normal" crash but there was a new element. My dark logic, when my brain starts rationalizing suicide and the depressive propaganda machine gets going, for whatever reason it latched onto an insecurity regarding the hubbo. I found myself texting him gobbledygook about how he has always wanted me to eventually kill myself, that he's wanted to be a widower from the get-go, that his whole reason for being with me involves my eventual suicide somehow. Never had this bubbled to the surface before.
In hindsight, it seems totally batshit, but at the time I thought I was unveiling some concealed truth, pointing out an elephant in the room we had neglected to address. It was so blatantly "out there" the hubs texted and voicemailed me, "You are not yourself!" and tried to reason with me, repeating over and over that I was out of my mind and not myself. It made some impact but at that point I was already breaking down, barely able to move or speak. Thankfully at that stage the likelihood of self harm also breaks down (I'm just not capable of much of anything).
He got home, fed me, and took care of Baby while I rezoned. I laid down with a book on tape in my ears, did some puzzles, rested, and then I went to the table and resumed an art project. I was compelled, it was almost unthinking. This was a bit unusual, as the project had been causing me stress, but I resumed it with a "I do what I want and whatever happens happens, if I end up throwing it all away oh well" instead of having a hard goal. With that approach the artwork became therapeutic. I still wasn't speaking or looking at the hubs or Baby, but after completing the second smaller painting, I was able to speak and make some eye contact. I was back, if only somewhat.
We went on to interview some potential babysitters, handled a plumbing issue with our landlord, and had dinner, then I discovered the wonderful comments on my blog and I cried happy tears. I feel so alone, so lonely so much of the time, so invisible. Seeing so many comments, being seen in that way, it is so anchoring. Like tethers in solid ground holding back this black balloon that was carrying me off. Thank you all, so much. It means so, so much.
I know the darkness will be back someday. I'm so tired of living in fear and fighting myself. I know life isn't easy, but I think it would be easier fighting something outside myself, something solid, something beside my own mind and body. It is so hard to be torn apart from within, so hard to grasp this slippery sickness, so hard to reconcile the urge to live dwelling in the same space as the urge to die.
But having people that understand, that share the burden, somehow that helps. It helps a lot.