An Open Letter to the It Notebook

Dear It Notebook,

Okay, okay, I made a mistake.  I thought that yesterday, the day that my teeth were extracted, was as good any time to end You.  I thought that having my teeth extracted symbolized something.  I figured that I was really happy to lose these teeth, that it would improve my life to have them out of my mouth and out of my life.  So this meant something.  An ending.  It, too, is out of my life now.  Or maybe it is.  So with It being out of my life, and these teeth also out, I was going to end You.  I thought these things as I was coming home from the dentist.

Then, I went to go pick up my laptop from the laptop repair guy.  My gums were still bleeding.  I thought about all my losses since December 21st.  Even my laptop had crashed.  I went to the library and worked on my depressing novel about an anorexic woman who loses everything and then commits suicide.

And now, I had lost It, and I was losing You.

Since January 28th, I have written in You every day.  Some days, I have spent all day writing in You, dear Notebook.  You have kept me going.  You have been there when no one else has been there for me.  There were days when I was unable to do anything but write and pet Puzzle.  I directed all my writing into You.  And yesterday, and last night into today, my plan was to end You and concentrate on my novel about a woman who loses everything and then ends her life.

And so, last night, my desire to end my own life got very strong, and I did not realize that that losing You was the reason.  I did not realize that because You have kept me going for a month now, I still need you desperately to continue to nourish me and sustain me.

I did not realize that losing five teeth was not a completely joyful event in my life.  Wasn’t I in fact losing a body part?  I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye to my teeth, because they were taken from me, as is the custom.  Losing teeth is a form of amputation, isn’t it?  Teeth are living tissue, and five of them have been taken from me.  So maybe thinking that this loss had to mean I needed to end You wasn’t a good idea after all.

So I apologize.  And getting You back again is a relief to me, as is writing this letter to You.  I now have a reason to go on.  I’ll never neglect You again.  I’ll never abandon You again.  I am not ready to end You just yet.

Today, my T sent the police to my house.  I ended up at the ER and got evaluated.  I had sent her an e-mail last night that got her worried.  I’m sure we’ll come to an understanding tomorrow, when I am at her office.

I wonder if she’ll just lecture me, or if she’ll hear me out.  Probably if I write her a letter explaining the reasons why I wanted to end my life, and bring it in, she won’t read it.  This letter to You explains it well enough.  Why should a T lecture a patient for being suicidal, I wonder?  Or for sharing this desire with her T?  She was acting appropriately by sending the police.  I just wish she’d talked to me first.

I had sent the e-mail last night at 10pm and she left a message for me this morning, at maybe 11, to tell me she’d sent them, with a “pink slip” and that they were on their way.  I had gone to the library to work on my novel immediately after going to see my primary care doctor to get weighed.  I received a call from her on my cell phone, while I was at the library, saying, “Where are you?” and I told her.  Maybe she thought I had gone to the library to escape the police–???  We agreed that I would see her tomorrow and she would call off the police.  Then I sent her another e-mail saying, “I want to make sure you’ve really called off the police, so it’ll be safe to go home.”  I guess she didn’t understand this e-mail, because she sent the police back to my home, and I got transported to the ER.

I have come back to You, dear Notebook.  Forgive me for wanting to end you.  I wanted to end my life because I was going to end You, and not the other way around.  A writer is a writer is a writer.  When a writer ends a writing project, she experiences a huge letdown.  Even a writer not prone to depression can fall into a serious depression after completion of a major writing project.

You, dear Notebook, have kept me going for the past month, and I do not want to end You now.  I do not want to end You for quite some time, I know now.  I am not ready.  I am not ready.  I am not ready.  I am not ready.  Thank you for being there for me during my darkest days.



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