I got up. Thoughts, questions started running through my mind. I have already e-mailed my minister and asked to speak to him. I know he has this important event to attend today and the chances of his being in his office today at the church are next to nil. But I will phone the church later and see.
My DMH person is coming at 9. If she shows, that is, and doesn’t call me saying she’s sick. There’s kind of a 50/50 chance of that happening, cuz like I said, the DMH folks ain’t the most reliable around, even though I’ve got the best one of the bunch supposedly. What the heck am I going to say to her?
I can be all pissy and mad, tell her how much life sucks, and get all complainicky. I can bitch and moan, and actually, that would be quite boring to her I think, or to anyone. I don’t want to be repetitive and drive her crazy, do I? I’d drive myself crazy talking in circles like that. I’ve done it in the past and I don’t want to do it again.
Of course life sucks. She doesn’t need me telling her that. No one needs my little reminders right now.
So what do I say? I’ve eliminated the bitchy and moany persona. I’m not going to sit here and cry the whole time she’s here. It truly does not feel all that good to “let it all out” to her or to anyone, ever. Cuz I’m never really open about stuff. It’s not like there’s any human on the planet that knows half the crap that goes on in my life. Not you guys, not anyone. What the world sees is a sliver of the pie.
So another possibility, one I’m not going to do: Fake her out. Tell her everything’s fine, tell her a bunch of lies, and send her along her way. Although, about an hour ago, while sitting on the can, I did toy with the possibility that maybe this would be a decent idea.
Why? She doesn’t have the power to “section,” but you don’t tell someone, anyone, that you plan to kill yourself real soon and expect not to get coerced into some kind of “more supervised form of care.” Now, you guys know that kind of situation would royally suck for me, and I’ve gone over this in my mind, of course, that it’s something I desperately need to avoid. That type of situation, namely, getting policed, is only going to make me worse. A lot worse.
Which brings me to a royal Catch-22. Or so I was thinking as I sat on the can a bit ago.
I sat and let out some piss and shit.
And then it suddenly dawned on me that maybe I am suffering from depression. Not to add another dx to the mix, but just sayin’, that might be why I want to kill myself. Maybe it’s not “logic” after all.
Maybe there are a lot of people out there who think it’s “logical” to kill themselves, but they are really suffering from depression. Is this some weird form of depression that I haven’t known about all this time?
You know, for I guess not quite a year now, I thought killing myself was the “logical” choice. I have believed this 100%. I thought my situation was such that suicide was the best answer. Was this thought process some weird manifestation of illness, of twisted thinking?
Back in the 1980’s and early 1990’s I knew of one or two cases like this. And guess who it was that tried to argue with them. Well, you can’t talk someone out of it who thinks it “makes sense” to off themselves. Cuz they ain’t budging. Or so it was in these cases. I never found out the outcome. I don’t know how or if they ever got better.
From what I know of depression, it’s one of those bargain illnesses like the flu. First of all, there are plenty of therapists that treat it. I mean, doesn’t every therapist treat depression? No therapist treats eating disorders, they won’t touch eating disorders. Insurance covers it. There are pills and pills for depression. There is vocabulary for it. There are a zillion support groups you can get into for depression, and treatment for it does not cost an arm and a leg (unlike eating disorders treatment). You don’t need a zillion specialists, there aren’t wicked bad medical consequences, and you don’t get called a “skinny bitch” for it either. You are even less likely to drop dead of depression than you are of anorexia nervosa. It’s treatable and people get better and people understand it and forgive you. Sort of.
Yeah, sort of. I think I feel blessed. It’s like getting the flu. Remember my bargain illness, how great the flu was for me, even though I was flat out feeling like crap, how I thought it was terrific compared to anorexia? Some ailment that’s understood.
Not only that, but with the flu, I had to ride it out. A few days of crap and it was gone. Depression, you don’t ride it out…It lasts a long time but it’s supposedly treatable. I can do something about this.