Pain of Regrets

I can’t stop crying.

Every time I think about this one significant person in my life, I bawl.

I cried for hours yesterday and cried even as I drove to and from work.

There are so many regrets in my heart. So much pain.

I can’t bear this burden by myself but I have to. It isn’t fair to share it with anyone else.

I hope I’ll be fine in time. People say that time heals all wounds – it’s a lie. Time just heals over the wound and numbs the pain but the wound is still there. It’s always going to be there.

I contemplated checking in to the Emergency Room last night as I drove home. It’s hard to remain rational and calm when you’re hit with so much pressure, pain, realizations and regrets. I wanted to get wasted after work – after all, it was the 4th of July, which meant that consuming large quantities of alcohol would’ve been a socially accepted norm.

I wanted to get wasted with the intention of poisoning myself, hence why I contemplated the ER. I would rather leave this world and escape this existence than continue to push through this pain. It’s been 6 months since I slipped back into another depressive episode. I’m worn out. I’m also tired of hearing that I’ll get better – that things will improve.

It’s hard to believe and it’s painful to hear. Perhaps everyone else is right but consider my current pain. How do I get through that?

A Life Saved

I would’ve died if not for S.

I know that statement is dramatic but I am person who quite enjoys adding dramatic flair to the things I say. In any case, dramatic or not, it’s the truth. I’ve been struggling really badly as I’ve mentioned in my previous post so I came up with a plan.

The plan involved alcohol and it involved a large quantity of it so that I could poison myself, fall unconscious, and just die from the effects of alcohol poisoning. It didn’t specifically involve any actual time or place I’d do it so it was a rough plan at best.

Still, S was concerned because a plan is a plan. On Wednesday’s session, he told me to promise him that I would neither buy nor consume any alcohol. He also said to me at the end of the session, “So it seems like it might be good to meet tomorrow”. He usually leaves it up to me whether or not I’d need a second session that week – I almost always say yes because I’m so dependent on him to keep going – but this time, he made the call himself.

I had nodded.

“You think so?” He had asked for confirmation.

“Yeah…” I said before hastily adding, “Probably…” I wanted to see him. I didn’t think I’d be able to get through the night if I didn’t have the hope of seeing him today in my mind. I was going to drive to the liquor store after our session. I felt desperate for an escape. I was hurting too much. I couldn’t bear it any longer.

“Okay… We can agree to just be okay between now and tomorrow?” S asked again.

“Yeah…” I whispered, looking down on the ground the whole time. I felt ashamed of my desire to escape. I felt ashamed that I’m trying to push away the very man who is trying to help me – the only one right now who has any idea how to as well as the one I am the most severely dependent on.

I told him that today in our hour and 45 minutes long session. He definitely has good intuition because he had responded with, “Yeah, I felt like since we talked about your trauma, you had been very distant with me…”

I then admitted that I had been trying to push him away more actively than I have been. I told him that it was because he had seen me at my most vulnerable when I talked to him about my childhood trauma and so now I felt too ashamed to face him anymore. I felt like I had to pull away because I didn’t deserve to face him. I felt like he would be disgusted with me. Who wouldn’t? It was such a shameful experience.

S assured me with no uncertainty that he is there for me. That he does really care. He told me, even during yesterday’s session, that I am not a burden and that he does care and does worry about me. He told me that I seem to forget that very often but no matter how many times I forget that, he will keep reminding me that he’s there. I bawled when I heard that. The amount of concern and love he showed me touched me.

He also told me that I’m at the stage where I really do need him and that it was ok for me to be at that point. I told him that I felt bad because I always seem to go over time lately. I’m almost always taking up 10-20 minutes extra. Today, I took up an extra 55 minutes.

“It’s time well spent,” S said. “It’s time you need and I’m glad to provide it. We’re not wasting time. You’re not wasting my time.”

I felt much better about my guilt after hearing that. It’s so easy for me to get caught up in my own anxiety. It was so easy to hear the critical voice and be afraid of what the critical voice could make me do.

Yesterday, in the midst of my suicidal despair, S told me that, “I think you have a lot of potential, and the ability to create a lot of good in the world. And I think you probably already have. I think if you would have died, it’s not just that people would feel bad, it’s that your presence would no longer be here and you wouldn’t have the positive impact anymore that I believe that you do have on people” It has to be one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. I felt so touched.

“And I meant every word,” S said today when I mentioned it again. I told him that it was hard for me to register such kindness and tell myself that I deserve to hear it because the critical voice tells me that not only do i not deserve happiness and peace, that I also deserve punishment and pain. I told S that whenever people praise me, they are all empty words. It’s hard for the messages to sink in but some do stick around and I do think about them again later down the line.

Anyway, we did talk about a lot more things during the session – things I’d have to hash out more on when I’m more awake, less upset, and less exhausted. Hopefully tomorrow I’ll be able to post a “Thought From Therapy” post. For now, I just wanted to point out how amazing S is (I know I say it a lot) and how he has saved my life more than once.

Sure, I may not have died from alcohol poisoning had I really went through with my plan, but at least he cared enough to make me promise not to even attempt it. At the moment, it’s the only thing standing in the way between me and the bottle of liquor I could easily get at CVS, any grocery store, or any liquor store. I thanked him and told him how grateful I was for him. He smiled and nodded. It felt good to tell him that.

I didn’t know how much I needed help and it’s still hard to accept that I do but baby steps, right?

When I Stood On The Top Floor Of The Parking Garage

After the incredible session with S on Monday, I had one that I felt really unsatisfied with on Wednesday. I was unsatisfied because I was in a confused state of mind so for the first half an hour, we talked about something that I didn’t feel was very important and didn’t hit the points that I wished it had which unfortunately, because I was so confused, I wasn’t even sure what points I did want us to hit. I also felt unsatisfied because with only 20 minutes left, I had remembered an 8-year-old memory and had brought it up. It was something that had impacted me so much and had devastated me so badly 8 years ago that I had buried all the memories connected to it for that amount of time and had never thought of it again until Wednesday. Because we only had 20 minutes, after I had explained all kinds of details to S, we didn’t have time to process any of the information that I had presently. We briefly talked about how disappointing people had been towards me then and how cruel what they did to me had been.
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A Struggle Of Identity

As many of you who have been reading my blog for the past 4 months or so know… I’ve been struggling terribly this semester. The semester ended last Friday and I’m still struggling – now this time, more fully with my own emotional turmoil and mental issues since school’s finally out.

Note: This will be a lengthy post with a lot of ramblings so congratulations if you manage to finish reading this.

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I Had A Plan

I woke up this morning with a semblance of a plan. It wasn’t a good plan – not the kind where you plan for a holiday/vacation. Not the kind where you plan to conquer the day. It wasn’t the kind where you were hopeful and happy. Not at all. Far from it.

I woke up this morning with a half-formed plan to end my life today.

As I lay in bed, groggy from the 4-hour sleep that I’d had, I thought about the Calculus final exam that I had to do at 3.30pm today. I felt more hopelessness heap onto my already full plate.

I thought to myself, “Maybe I’ll do it today. I’ll write an email to everyone who matter. Tell them I’m sorry. Tell them I love them and that I hope they’ll forget about me” – even as I type these words, tears spring to my eyes. I know I can’t do this to people, yet I also can’t stop this despair that I’m enveloped in. I don’t really want to leave the people I love – yet going through each day is getting more and more difficult. More and more painful.

I thought to myself, “I’ll go up to that parking garage that’s across from CAPS after Calculus. Then maybe I’ll just end this suffering…”. It all seemed logical, in my grogginess. It wasn’t a plan backed with real intention because if it was, I’d have gotten up then and written the email. Yet, instead of doing that, I fell back asleep – my mind and body exhausted.

The shift I had from 3.45pm to 4.15am the day before had taxed me mentally and physically. At the end of the day, the restaurant I worked in had been filled with drunken “amateurs” as the bartender put it. Right before we closed, someone had decided to puke all over the door of the women’s bathroom, the floor and even the toilet. It turned out that since I was one of the closing servers, it was my job to clean the disgusting mess. I don’t think I’d ever felt so defeated and broken until that moment.

I thought about how pointless everything is in my life, how painful my memories are, and how triggering everything I am experiencing is lately. Something even more drastic than just cutting off 10 inches of my hair had just happened on Monday and though it’s already Saturday, I have yet had a chance to process the event. I don’t think it’s even really sunk in yet. However, throughout the day, I’ve had brief moments that triggered a landslide of negative emotions.

SH, someone I met over the Internet because of our mutual struggle with suicide, had recently volunteered to be my “human” – someone he says, who listens without judgment, who provides what a therapist/psychologist provides but instead of only an hour a week, every day as needed, someone who is just there to help and support. He checks in on me almost every day, usually with a simple, “You ok?”. He keeps me accountable lately.

He tells me that what I’m feeling is normal. That it’s to be expected. It is a fresh wound. A wound that I haven’t even acknowledge is there yet, let alone treat. S had been helping me talk about some of the things that this wound entails but I haven’t yet allowed myself to look at it. If I don’t move too suddenly, I won’t even notice the wound there but sometimes I forget that it’s there so I accidentally jostle it and blood gushes from it, hence the triggering moments throughout my day.

Tonight, I accidentally found some photos of a time when things were a little simpler – times when I was momentarily happy – and I jostle the wound again. It reminded me of the plan I had this morning. It makes me cry to think about it. It makes me cry when I back myself into a corner and convince myself that I’m better off disappearing from people’s lives. I don’t really know why I cry. I just know that I hurt so much that I can’t stop the tears.

As I sit here with my tears, heaviness in my chest and pain in my broken heart, I remember what S said to me on Thursday as I sat in his office; at that time, I was also telling him how meaningless everything seems to be for me. I told him how afraid I was to lose him, to lose the attention I get from him every week. If I can lose this one thing that I thought I’d have for many more years to come, what more him? I remember now what he said to me.

He said, in his gentle, kind voice, “Jules, I don’t know if this makes a difference but whether you’re sitting here or whether you’re out there, I do care about you. I do feel connected to you, you matter to me. And even when you’ve graduated, even when we don’t see each other anymore, you’re still going to matter to me…”

When I heard that on Thursday, I couldn’t stop the tears that came. I can’t stop it now as I remember his words. As I think about this anchor in my life, I realize that there is the slightest glimmer of light in all this darkness. Even if I have to rely on him to get back up, I think I’m going to do it. I have to.

Although S has said that he cares for me many times now, I still don’t take his words to heart. There’s always some kind of doubt attached to it; part of it has to do with my own critical voice who tells me that I’m pathetic for relying on my psychologist and not someone closer (like a family member or a friend for example) and part of it has to do with my own fears of putting trust in someone who might/could leave. After all, things happen. At any moment, anyone can leave. I’ve experienced this at least a dozen times over now – people I thought I could trust, people I did trust, just up and leave. Now, the latest tear in my heart has left me with a gaping wound – a wound I can’t fill back up.

Anyway… I had a plan this morning. I didn’t go through with it. I don’t know if I’m thankful or not at this moment that I didn’t make that drastic and permanent decision to end my life. At this time, I just know that hearing S’ voice in my head telling me that he cares for me is helping just that little to calm me down.

If only hearing his voice helps lessen the pain and suffering I’m experiencing.

Tired of Not Being OK

It has been a difficult day. I’ve been struggling with my program all day and I don’t even know what it is that I’m really struggling with. I just know that I know what I want to create but I don’t know how to go about it.

My Computing Professor told us before that when we say we don’t know how to make something, it’s because we don’t really know what we want to make. I’m pretty sure I know what I am trying to do but I’ve had moments where I’ve wondered if I really do.

Of course, all day today I’ve been questioning my place in Computer Science and whether I can cut it. If I am struggling so hard in this class (which is the beginner class), I don’t know how I’ll survive the next Computing class because that’s actually a weed-out class.

I texted the friend who is responsible for influencing my decision to go down this path and he told me that the project that I’m currently working on, “Cryptography”, was also the same project that made him wonder if he was cut out to be a programmer/computer scientist. It made me feel a little better hearing that because he is, aside from my genius husband, the most intelligent person I’ve ever met. He’s so much more talented than I am in the field of math and computer science. So to hear and to know that he had such a hard time with this project a year ago when he took this class, is comforting. Now, he’s one of the best in the program.

This friend of mine, C, tells me that that he believes that I can do it and that I am smart enough to get through Computer Science. Of course, this puts a lot of pressure on me. And today I realized that this is also tied very closely to my problem with shame. I suddenly realized today that I probably feel a different kind of affection for S because he’s the only person in my life who doesn’t have expectations of me. As much as I love the people who make up my support system, I have a self-perceived impression that all these people have expectations of me because they often tell me how much they believe that I can do it. This is related to the shame because I feel ashamed knowing that I don’t believe in myself although they do. I also feel ashamed or at least, I would feel ashamed, if I don’t live up to said expectations. It was an interesting thought – and one that I am looking forward to sharing with S when I see him next week.

Anyway, Hubster told me to take a break from my programming project and go to bed. He said that perhaps sleeping on it will help. I’ve been frustrated all day and earlier when he and I were at the hardware store, I kept looking at all the sharp implements that were in the store and was absentmindedly noting the prices. There was a pocket knife for sale for $4.99 and I remember thinking to myself, “Wow, that’s a pretty cheap and sharp looking knife. Cheap way to go I guess…”.

When I caught myself thinking that, I remembered my verbal promise to S that I would call the crisis line or 911 if I am at the point of harming myself. It was a strong reminder for me to not do anything rash. Still, while I know it’s silly to want to end my life over something as insignificant as a college assignment, at the same time, I can’t help these thoughts. I can’t stop them and I can’t escape them. And no one is more frustrated about it than me.

I am tired and no amount of sleep or rest can heal that. Sure, there are moments of color and some brief moments of what I might describe as “happiness” but there is also so much grey and darkness that these moments of color are too fleeting to grasp.

I’m struggling. I am tired of saying that. I am tired of saying that “I’m not ok but I’ll be fine” to people. I think I lied yesterday when I told S that I was feeling hopeful. I really don’t feel hopeful, no matter how much people tell me that things are going to be ok or that I’ll be ok.

Lowest Point

Well tonight I hit my lowest point. I don’t remember a time worse than this or a time where I had actually contemplated writing a note.

Perhaps it’s time for me to answer my BHM (Behavioral Health Measure) questionnaire with a “Moderate” risk under the “How high is your risk of suicide?” section. I’ve always put my answer at the “Low” to “No Risk” sections. I’ve never contemplated writing a note before.

Tonight I did.

Tonight so many things came together to kick me down and I think it’s largely because of some miscommunication and misunderstanding on my part. It’s like my brain, which is already in a depressed state, jumped straight to negative overdrive and stayed there all night.

I am still in that state but a little past wanting to actually kill myself. I’m back in the passive suicidal mode where I want to die and wish I was dead but am no longer contemplating writing a note and things like that.

The thing is, the people I complain to all the time have heard it so much that it’s become possibly grating to them. “Oh here we go again. She’s suicidal again.” – if it isn’t, then at least that’s how I perceive it to be. If I had a loved one who kept going back to the suicidal mode, I would be annoyed to at some point.

I won’t kill myself tonight. But I sure wish I was dead.