....the MI Demon bites you on the butt.

I have spent the last decade - off and on - in treatment for PTSD and Major Depressive Disorder. I thought I had healed for the most part - at least, I thought surely I would never try to kill myself again. I thought I had healed beyond the point where killing myself was no longer a possibility. I have recently learned that such a belief is born of the Mind of Fools. When you live with depression day after day, no matter how many times you tell yourself how normal you are now...you aren't. Your brain is different. Your brain is damaged and the chemistry that's supposed to keep certain impulses in check is so out of whack you don't know which end is up anymore. All you know is Pain.

On October 9th, something snapped in my brain, like someone snapping their fingers in my ear, and everything changed. One minute I was sitting in my living room, and the next, mindlessly, I was gathering every bottle of meds I had as well as two bottles of water, and headed out to the graveyard next to my house. You see, there's a place in that cemetery where at least a dozen young children...some died the day they were born - unnamed and forgotten, some died when they were a few months old, and some died in toddler-hood...are abandoned in small graves, the markings barely legible on their tombstones - well, those that have tombstones. I feel safe with them. I identify with those children. I have lived 53 years, yet they are the ones I feel closest to. No one has to tell me why. I know. Part of me envies them, and part of me understands their pain and praises God that they didn't live long enough to know the depth of what they would have suffered - at least I like to to think the possibility exists that's what they may have known and therefore explains why they died so young...thus my envy.


A five letter phrase, spoken by the only person on the planet who ever made me feel safe - "Your life is a lie" - meaning my love of 23 years for him is not real, triggered the part of me that is so damaged and sick, and I found myself sitting amongst those forgotten and abandoned babes, and swallowing dozens of pills until my stomach couldn't hold any more. I couldn't live with the thought that the the only person I can honestly say I loved more than life itself believed my love for him was a lie. After I swallowed all those pills, I really wanted to stay there with the babes, but not thinking ahead (there is no thinking ahead when you are stricken with what I can only describe as "The Snap") I got so cold that I walked the hundred yards or so back to my house, curled up in my chair, and waited to die. Amazingly I didn't. No one called 911. My body rejected the poisons I had ingested - rather spectacularly I might add - leaving me to deal with that unbearable pain - - - again. What can I say...sucks to be me.

I know things will get better, and someday I will look back on this nightmare and tell myself I'm okay, but now I will always wonder...when...........

I now realize that there is really no end to this...that there will always be triggers and that it's unfair to those I love to adapt to them.

Which leads me to the feeling I've always had since I can remember. In the end, people like me always end up the same....in a hospital, homeless, or dead.

Please, please, please! Someone tell me I'm wrong!

My world as I've known it is crumbling around me and I can't stop it.