No subject, well I can’t really think of one

Hello all, I think I am writing this more for myself than anything.  I feel as if I can’t talk to anyone truthfully about my thoughts and feelings as if I am going to be judged, and judged negatively.  Hard to start, what I can say right now is, that after finally seeking help I don’t contemplate suicide as much anymore.

I don’t remember when it all started. It’s not like I tripped over life and ended up in a steam pile of depression, it happened gradually.  I do remember though a few times hinting and thinking about suicide, but blew it off as stupid thinking.  I also do remember contemplating asking for help, but being who I am, I thought I didn’t need help, or I would be weak for asking to do something as simple as fixing myself.

Getting to where I was.  I don’t know, I had a good early life, not as bad as some people.  I was raised by single mother, we both struggled but I had grandparents helping with me as well.  High school was fine as well, friends and family at my school.  Post secondary was well also.  Than a year ago around this time I started drinking alcohol a lot, more than usual.

I try to think back to what started me on this dark road and I can’t find it.  What I can do is think back to when everything started sucking more than it was good.  I pretty much break my life up into 2 periods, before my child was born and after.  It happened some time after.  I was on a few different types of anti-seizure meds for RLS one which was clonazepam.  I also was in a car accident where I hit my head and had Battle’s sign, this was blown off by the Dr. as a bruise that would go away on its own.  If this started it, I couldn’t tell you.  I had also started drinking alcohol at a young age, 15.  Somewhere in this time, the seed of depression was planted, when it turned into full bloom, who’s to say, I don’t remember, I do remember though the last 5-7 years being really sucky.

The drinking started to get pretty heavy in and around 25.  I guess, trying to use it as a coping mechanism.  Along with that was seeing lots of girls.  The feelings of meaning something to someone felt good, even if it was temporary.  During this time, I do remember hating myself but not to the extent of wanting to kill myself.  That changed overtime, I started contemplating it, suicidal ideation.  I would think of how it would be okay, how everything wouldn’t suck anymore.  I also, in my messed up thoughts, I would hope that it would hurt someone as well.  That person I wanted to hurt was my partner at the time.  The mother of my children.  She was strong enough to stick through all my shit, but during that time I hurt her a lot, and in her own defense she gave it back to me in harsh words, her saying was, “if he is going to make me feel like shit, I’m going to make him feel like shit.”   I wanted to kill myself and leave a suicide note that she made me do it, so when my children were old enough to ask, my family would tell them it was because of their mom.

My ideations would be carbon monoxide and hanging.    I would have a quick flash in my mind of suicide.  I would than plan how it would happen, how I would hang myself, where I would, what kind of rope.  Or I would think of where to park my car as to die in it but have my body found as to not leave my family without a burial.  These were the only ways I would consider only because I didn’t want my mom or children to see a disfigured body.  Weird hey, not thinking about how much losing me would affect them, but how much seeing a body with a huge hole in the head or burnt up would affect them.  The closest I got though was when I would be really drunk and speeding, always with no one else on the road.  I now realize it was the stupidest thing I ever have done.  I would do it when it was raining out and really late at night.  Didn’t want anyone else around when I crashed because I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt, and if I lived through the crash I wouldn’t be saved by emergency personal.  This was on more than one occasion.

I felt really really down during this time.  But lets say, it got really bad in 2009 I guess.  This time I felt shame for my thoughts, anger that I was weak, hate at myself, useless that I didn’t do anything with my life, worthless that I didn’t mean anything to anyone, and an overall hopelessness.  Nothing gave me joy, nothing gave me happiness.  Holding my children became a chore, being around people was horrible, I socially isolated myself.  I would drink alone in my basement and the only time I seen people was an hour before bar closing and all I would do would bet 2 beers and 2 shots of tequila, than back home.  Also, were thoughts of dread, everything was terrifying to me, not for myself but for my kids.  I couldn’t stand a quiet house because I would think my kids were choking and died.  I would open up the bedroom door and their small, blue, lifeless body was lying there.  Or if they were out, I would get a phone call from police telling me they were all dead.  Things of that nature, blanket wrapped around their neck, drowned in the tub, getting hit by cars.  All these terrifying thoughts.  Only would go away when I was drinking.  This carried on for a year or so. Than the straw that broke the camel’s back, the one where I lost control and the depression which went from something that was dark and hiding in the corner to something that took over was a repressed memory.  One I had kept buried, buried for 25 years.  I was molested by an older boy.  Even now that’s hard to say (came back and deleted sexually in front of molested).  Blacking out was a common thing, I wouldn’t remember falling asleep.  I hated myself, I didn’t want to live, I wanted to give up, I wanted to not feel.  I wished that I had never come into existence.  I wished I could die and at that exact moment when I died, I was erased from history, no one would remember or know me.    This is when it was 2/3 a fifth of vodka and the 6-8 beers in 3 hrs or so.  This started last summer of 2010.

Than one night, (final night I drank)while out drinking, 10 beers and half a bottle of knob hill bourbon I drove home.  On the way my car was over heating so I decided to pull over as I thought sitting there would let the car cool down a bit.  I briefly passed out with my foot on the accelerator, and for some reason unbeknownst to me the security guard was doing his rounds at that exact moment.  He got me out of the car, I distinctly remember him on the phone to 911.  Saying to them he needed police and fire.  I looked at my car and there were flames growing.  If he had been on the other side of the complex, if I had pulled over anywhere else I would have burnt up in my car. Police came, I was booked and than sent home.  I didn’t eat or sleep for 4 days after that.  I realized that I am destroying myself.  My worst fears almost happened, my mom and children would be burying an empty casket because all that was left would be a few bones.

I decided to seek help, this is when I knew I needed it.  I now have been on anti-depressants for 8 months, regularly see a drug and alcohol counselor and take my life one day at a time, knowing that if I stay the course I will get better.  I still do have those thoughts of finding my children dead.  They don’t last though, maybe 1-2 seconds and I remind myself it won’t happen and its my negative thoughts, that it isn’t real and never will be.  The same with suicide.  I still have those thoughts, they aren’t as strong as before though.  I would have bouts of it, several times a day.  Those thoughts went from daily to I would guess weekly?  Maybe even less I would figure.  I try not to dwell on them anymore, they are just thoughts and they will go away.  I now enjoy things more, I read, walk spend time with my kids, LOVE waking up to them and giving them hugs.  They were the lighthouse in my storm.  If I didn’t hold on to them I wouldn’t be writing this right now.

Sorry for droning on so long I tend to do that.  If it doesn’t make sense in some places I apologize again, it was my thoughts straight to paper.  If I read back I would end up changing a lot of things, or chickening out and removing lots.  This is the first, and probably the last time I will go into details about my depression and suicide.  It is an ailment I will get through, I have to, I have a few good things to live for. For those who know where I have been, I give much respect because it is a dark place to be and a struggle to get out, but well worth the fight.  For those who are where I was before, please don’t give up hope.