I’ve been trying for months to figure out how to resume blogging. There’s this fear that everything I can think of to say has already been said, or else, it’s not important enough to be said. This self-imposed silence is a staple of my existence, or at least, it has been. But I’m trying to change that.
I’ve mentioned before that I struggle with depression. Back in November of last year, though, it was too much. In fact, it had been too much since the beginning of October. I kept making bargains with myself to stay alive. Some made sense, like waiting to see a new psychiatrist and start on medication again. Some were, perhaps, strange, like waiting until I finished reading the second book of this series I had started. But at the days wore on, the game of waiting worked less and less.
My meds didn’t work fast enough. My new psychiatrist dumped me as a patient after I had a medication freak out. And I only had a handful of chapters left to finish of this book I was living to read. I had nothing, or well, it seemed like nothing at the time.
So I made a plan, wrote a letter, and had things moderately in order at work for my absence. Fortunately, I also had therapy on that day and a friend who would have called the police if I hadn’t gone. Between my awesome therapist and awesome friend, they got me to the hospital.
For the longest time, one of my greatest fears was going inpatient at a psychiatric hospital. I was convinced that if it ever happened, my life would be over, that no matter what happened after it, there would be no point to existing. I’m not proud to admit to believing this. I’d never think that of someone else. But the stigma of mental illness runs deep, I guess, even if you have a mental illness yourself.
Instead of being the end of everything, going inpatient turned out to be the thing that kept my life from being over. I’m not saying that I want to do it again or that it was in any way easy, but it was beneficial for me. It was what I needed. And, added bonus, it let me face one of my greatest fears and let me triumph against it.
There’s still a lot of work for me to do, and while I’m doing a thousand times better today, there’s still the fear I may slip back under again one day. But I have tools I didn’t before, and more importantly, I’m fighting my tendency toward silence.
Oh, and I did that finish reading that book, and the ones after it. I’m still here. I don’t need to bargain for more time anymore. For you see, I have my own stories to tell, and I’m so very far from being at the end of them.