It's not an especially pleasant update.
I must include a TRIGGER WARNING.
I wrote this earlier during the car ride to pick up Baby Bananaface from daycare and snapped the pictures once I got home:
It's a rainy Tuesday here in Western Washington. I'm enjoying the sound of raindrops on the rhododendron leaves, the soft petals trembling as cold drops splash on vibrant pink blooms while the hubster and I walk to the car on our way to pick up BB from daycare. My cheeks are flushed from impromptu afternoon lovemaking, my hair wet from the steamy shower I took afterwards to wash out the goo from my ECT treatment earlier in the day.
As we drive to the daycare I feel a confusing blend of gratitude, joy, and fear. My lovely afternoon followed an emergent ECT appointment because I had tried to kill myself the previous morning.
It was Monday. I drank my coffee, ate a donut, and then abruptly decided that next on my schedule was putting a plastic bag over my head, taping it shut around my neck, and taping my hands together in a towel so that I couldn't tear open the bag around my head when the end came. I made the bed, spritzed my pillows with a lavender oil diffusion, turned off the lights, and cranked up my heated throw to make things extra cozy.
The only reason I'm here writing about this is because I wanted to hear the hubster's voice one last time, or at least get a text from him. Since he didn't respond to my text I called. I tried to be inconspicuous but he caught on. He raced home, talking to me over speaker phone the entire way trying to keep me from doing what I'd already done. I knew hanging up would lead to him calling the police and not only did I not want to be interrupted I didn't want anyone breaking down our door. I yelled to the hubster through the plastic bag that I was fine and lied in a vain attempt to explain away the sound of duct tape being unfurled and then focused on slowing my breathing and calming down.
At some point the dog started barking, followed shortly thereafter by the hubster bursting into the bedroom. He lept onto the bed and tore at the bag around my face. Once he had ripped all the plastic, towel, and tape away we both broke into sobs and clung to each other.
"All I could think of was you," I sobbed, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
I could say that I've put my husband through a lot, but I think that it's important for me to rephrase that and say that my disorders have put us both through a lot.
I apologized over and over but he simply focused on the next steps: getting me on the ECT schedule as soon as possible, calling my psychiatrist, and getting back on track. I said that I didn't want to go to therapy that night and he asked if I would go if he went, I agreed. That's just how he rolls. A moment to weep and then back to business.
I can't imagine what he's been through but I'm amazed that he stays with me, that he's always focused on moving on, and that his love only seems to grow. I never knew I could love someone so much or feel so loved. It's not the same as my love for Baby Bananaface, it's a different magical thing-not the natural, biological love for my own child that yielded so easily to my suicidal impulses, but an "against all odds, nonsensical, miraculous" sort of love.
A life-saving love.
The docs wanted me back in the hospital, but I declined. I am going back in for more ECT Friday and am working very closely with my therapist; checking in by text or phone call multiple times a day to make sure that I'm keeping busy and staying safe.
|A chickadee BB and I saw when we all got home.|
I couldn't get a pic of the squirrel we saw,
he was too squirrely!
When I met with my therapist Monday night she said she wasn't convinced the hospital was the best place for me either because in the hospital I wasn't learning to cope with life or function in the real world. She asked if I could promise not to kill myself while working with her (I did) and then described the plan to keep in contact throughout the day until I was safer, saying that keeping me busy and helping me build a sense of self worth (I said I felt useless and like I was just a burden to the hubby because I didn't do anything all day) might be more worthwhile in the long run.
So that's the plan. Reintegrating chores, making dinner a couple times a week to help me feel like I'm contributing, working with my ECT doc to get me out of this slump, taper off more conservatively than before, and upping my medication. Therapy and DBT class are also part of the plan and I'm reaching out to FB friends and family to help improve my sense of belonging and create a security network to help keep me more accountable.
Day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, one thing at a time-I'm still going.