One week, two days

I am one week and two days out from my suicide attempt. A week ago today, I woke up in the ICU having no clue where I was. Then, it slowly dawned on me that I had failed at taking my life but I had done a good enough job to end up in the ICU. I was terrified.

I haven't stopped being terrified yet.

Last week was the most traumatic week of my life-attempted suicide, ICU, involuntary commitment to a mental hospital, and release. I hardly know if I am coming or going or staying still. I am so overwhelmed that, at one point, I turned to a friend in the mental hospital and said, "Oh my fucking God, we are dead. This is purgatory and God is playing a joke on us." I was only half joking. I just couldn't imagine that I had managed to take a terrible time in my life and make it infinitely worse. I couldn't believe I was in a mental hospital, in a lock-down facility with no rights. Confined for my own protection. No drawstrings, no privacy, no razors, no pens. Just me, twenty other patients and whole days stretching in front of us. Trapped. Bored. Alone. This had to be hell. My life was not so bad I deserved this ninth circle of the Inferno unless I had actually killed myself.

I was wrong. I was in Recovery and Stabilization. It should have been called "Scared Straight for People that Self-Destruct."

It was madness on a level I have never seen. A writer's dream. A chance to take a deep breath, get medicated into submission, then released into the big bad world again.

I was released Thursday and I stayed in bed Friday and Saturday. Sunday I finally left the house briefly. Today was the first day I have been alone for any stretch of time and my terror overcame me this morning. I was shaking in the bathroom terrified I could not make it. Terrified I would be scared to leave the house. Terrified I would end up watching endless stretches of daytime tv and start quoting Oprah.

I made myself stop shaking and I took the kids to school. I went to Sonic, my safe place and ordered food and sat and ate. Nirvana. Route 66 diet Coke. I will never underappreciate Diet Coke again because the damn mental hospital was on state cuts and didn't serve caffeine to the loonies. Ugh. Torture.

After that, I drove to my first of two therapy appointments this week and I had time to kill. So I sat in the car and read. Then, got extremely paranoid and jumpy as a police car pulled near me and a policeman got out. I thought, oh fuck. He thinks I am trying to kill myself. How could he think that? I am outside. I can't go back to that hospital. I held my breath and released it when he went to the car next to me to get a diaper bag out of it.

Maybe it was good I was going to therapy. I don't think I am dealing as well as I could be when one police car makes me want to run.

Therapy went well.  I emoted all over the place in the office and it is amazing the couch and the kleenex box survived and the therapist survived. Then, I decided grooming was in order. It struck me in the mental hospital that I tried to commit suicide with my roots showing and my toe nail polish all chipped. My freaking toenails were like velicoraptor talons. Not really, only one but Lord knows I wasn't allowed clippers. I could slit my wrists or something. So, in retrospect, there were several bonuses to surviving. It would have been embarrassing for the pathologist to comment on my roots or my toenails to the morgue attendant. Self-care is important.

The hair cut and the pedicure took all afternoon, thank you God.

The staff kept asking me questions, being friendly and trying to learn their clients. What do you do? Well, I have no idea. I am having an existential crisis right now is what I wanted to say. I just said, "I used to be a teacher." How is your week going? Fabulous because I just got out the state mental hospital. A prisoner on suicide watch admired my toes and it scared the hell out of me. He said I could break my pinky toes and set them straight. I just nodded and moved. Instead, I said, "Fine so far." Enjoying the day? I am not sure because I am scared of the hours until I pick up the kids and I would like to stay here all day and hide in your massage room. Is that possible? I was a good girl, though, and said, "It is gorgeous outside."

I desperately wanted to blurt out "I tried to kill myself last week." I don't even really know why. I just felt like I was trying to act normal when I feel the least normal, the least sure of myself than I ever have. I thought they have to know I am off. They can probably see the damn sticky hospital tape residue on my skin. That shit is impossible to get off...they should use it for the space shuttle or something. I resisted the urge to be confessional. I don't always have to be a drama queen. Sometimes, I can act normal even when I feel horribly unnormal. It is called being an adult.

Then, I sat at the park and read People Magazine and thought vaguely that Prince William should always wear hats. He is balding and it makes him look like his father. That is unfortunate except when you are heir to an entire country. People magazine is always such drivel about people that I give less than a flying fuck about that reading it eases my mind. I figure I lose a few brain cells every time I read it and I could stand to lose a few brain cells. Fewer brain cells to think would probably make a happier me.

After that, I picked up my kids. My youngest got in the car and said, "Mommy, I didn't expect you to pick me up. I thought you would kill yourself today." Oh, baby. Destroy me with your innocence and your fear all at the same time. I wanted to cry but he has seen enough of that side of me. I just smiled and told him it was not going to happen again.

He needs therapy. He is hiding Advil, Tylenol. Clarintin and every other pill from me. I am not even sure where he is putting them but the child is terrified. I made him terrified. I shook him from what little security he had and rocked his world. The therapist said it is what it is. None of us grow up without trauma. His is because of my actions. We deal and we move on. Sage and wise advice. I have enough to crucify myself so I am letting that piece go. No reason to feel guilty because I can't change the past. It has happened and we will deal with it.

So, what did we do after I picked up the eldest? We went to Sonic. I guess it is my whole family's safe place.

And, most importantly, I made it through the day. I only have five more to go. Two of those will be with my boyfriend so I am down to three. Two of those days I have appointments so I am down to one. Completely and utterly doable. I haven't broken it down and analyzed it or anything. Why never. Not me. I never over think stuff.

It is now 10:30 and I am exhausted. I am going to consider one week, two days successful. I am on my knees but, at least, I am not on my face. Good signs, my friends, good signs.