edithjones: (autumn)
So it's two days after the suicide attempt and we're getting all the fallout here from Hurricane Earl, which is pelting us with rain and a cold front, chilly enough that you need a jacket to go outside in any comfort. As it's only what? September 5, Mr. Computer tells me, it's a bit early to want all this autumn angst hanging about. But it does necessitate the pretty fall icon; there's a bright side, even if a tiny one. Note to self: look for bright sides.

Yesterday I meant to post but was feeling very distant from the whole attempted suicide thing. As if it had never happened. Honestly, I had a hard time grasping that just the day before I had downed pills and tried to end my life. I know that shock insulates you from things that are too much to handle, but I wasn't expecting that much protection. I woke up with a fresh determination to enjoy life - I mean wtf, really?! - suggested to my husband that we have a cheerful day outdoors and then maybe play some sort of game, which rather annoyed him, as he was still trying to deal with things and there I am, practically suggesting lawn bowling with Dungeons and Dragons to follow. This was after I'd been up for a bit, cleaning the kitchen, starting the laundry, dusting and tidying the living room, straightening up the front hall....all as if the day before had never occurred.

So Mark and I talked, and discussed how he was feeling - angry [though mostly not directed at me], some anger at me as I'd promised not to do this again, a promise that I don't remember, although for all that I believe him utterly that I made it, and the shock and upset that he was feeling. It was a difficult conversation, but the good that loomed out of it was that I was willing and would be willing again to be a witness to his feelings about what went on.

Mark's also got an overriding sense of WTF....how in the world did we get from Thursday morning starting out normally to Thursday night you downing tylenol? I share his what the fuckedness. It puzzles me, too. I don't know exactly how I got from A. to B. Even an hour beforehand I wouldn't have predicted taking those pills. I'd been feeling suicidal and thinking about doing it, but I always knew that I'd be able to stop myself, I have been able to for a decade now, no matter how strong the feelings have been, and sometimes they've been almost overwhelming. This time I took them and I don't know how I got to that point.

Well, yes, I do, I just don't want to admit it in case Mark ever reads this. He kept telling me when I was telling him what a bad state I was in [because I was], and that I was very suicidal, and needed his help, he told me that I was just trying to ruin his last few days before school began and he wasn't going to let me do that, and that I knew and he knew that I wasn't going to take pills. I never had before, so what was going to make today any different? I asked if he would please just hold me, that a cuddle would help me feel less alienated, and he said no, that he was sick of my manipulation, and sick of my attempts to control his behaviour, and he was going to the living room to read. And if I bothered him there, he'd leave the house. The problem was, that the more scorn he heaped on me, the more desperate I felt. I asked him, as he was about to leave the room, Mark, please, just a few minutes of hug, and he told me, only if I admitted that this whole suicide thing was just an attempt to control him. And it wasn't. I couldn't admit that. So he left, shutting the door behind him. So I took the pills. Locked the door and took them. He tried to come in when he heard the door locking and I let him in and he sat on the bed, watching me take them. About 40 pills in, I got scared, my stomach started cramping and I began wondering what the hell I was doing, it was as if I was watching myself take them and it was not pleasant at all. I didn't want to die. I asked him for help and he said what kind of help do you want, and I said I didn't want to die, and he said well what can i do, and i said please call 911. And he said, so you think you need an ambulance, and I said, yes, i've overdosed on tylenol, and he said, well, why don't you try to throw them up first, and i just couldn't believe that he wouldn't call an ambulance. I tried to throw them up but almost nothing came up, so he called an ambulance but he didn't seem to care and it was so scary. As scary as dying was the fact that he didn't seem to care.

So there you have it.

And now he's being sweet and gentle and kind but that night is a nightmare to me and probably to him, too. I hope we can get past it, both of us. And I know it's a nightmare to my daughter, and she still isn't speaking to me, which is a shame.

It has been very stressful, writing about this. I need to stop, now.
edithjones: (Default)
It's 2:46 in the afternoon here. The house is quiet except for the tapping of my fingers on the keyboard and the gentle swooshing noises of the central air-conditioning making the humidity tolerable.

Mark's asleep next to me after a night which he spent mostly sitting upright, awake in a hospital chair in a cold corridor while I, deeply dosed with acetaminophen, slept endlessly on a gurney parked across the hall. He's being kind. Very much so. There's lots of cuddles, love, patience. Tomorrow the reality of this will hit him and he'll be furious.

Kate isn't speaking to me. She's not even looking in my direction. Hard to blame her, really. Twelve years old and your mother tries to kill herself in the middle of the night? While you're still awake and in the next room? Whether she ever forgives me isn't the issue. Whether she ever feels safe again is far more important. Holy crap, that's done damage. Luckily, when John took her to the mall to buy her the final book in the Inkheart trilogy - buying her a new book as she had just finished book two last night seemed like a good idea - they ran into Kate's best friend, out shopping with her mother and sister, and Kate went home with them. I'm glad. It brings her a break from a house that must seem very scary right now, and means that she can either have a good time with her friend or have someone to talk to, or both.

I can't write anymore right now. Thinking about what this is going to do to my relationship with my daughter and my son fills me with so much fear that I can't even begin to describe it.


edithjones: (Default)

September 2010

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