edithjones: (Default)
Well, the suicide attempt was what? Several days ago, now. It's odd that other people seem to be having more difficulty processing it that I am. Or maybe that's not odd. I don't know. To me, it doesn't even seem real anymore. It's like nothing ever happened except when I'm trying to do things and find I have absolutely no energy and then I remember that I'm recuperating and then I remember what I'm recuperating from. The liver is still sore. Funny - I never knew where my liver was before. It was just part of the tangle of organs in there somewhere. Now I know exactly where it is. It's the sore bit. Anatomy 101, learned the hard way. I was told that it would probably hurt for a week or so as it's still trying to clean the poisons out of my system. For the record, I'm still crapping charcoal.

I decided to be honest and tell Michael about what had happened. Why do I keep using the passive voice here? I decided to be honest and tell Michael about what I'd done. There. Active voice. It's very hard to use when it comes to this topic. And there I am, obscuring again. This topic. Suicide attempt. It's like people using "passing" and "his time" for "death", which always annoys me, but I'm ready enough to do it when it comes to my own suicide attempt. I'm never going to come to grips with it if I can't even use the words to say it, am I? Semantics are important.

I decided to be honest and tell Michael about the suicide attempt. MY suicide attempt. He was not happy with me. At first he was very snappy and asked questions that were very insolent and - I guess bitchy is the word - and then he got very quiet and his body language was all turned away from me, and then he went downstairs to his room and I didn't see him for the rest of the evening. However, it's a lot better than I expected. I feared tears and loss of control, but now I'm concerned because he's shrugging it off as if it's no big deal, which means he's internalizing so much that he's decided not to deal with it at all. No, he doesn't need to talk to a friend or a counsellor; it's just fine, he's not mad, he's not upset, everything is hunky dory, and I know that it's not, that it's absolute bullcrap, but Michael's always internalized because he's scared that if he doesn't that this torrent of feeling is going to come out and he's not going to know what to do with all of it. So he's smiling and in a day or two I'll be the world's best mum again and he'll be full of giggles and joie de vivre and it worries me.

In other news, I need to go back to work tomorrow. I have a five-hour shift and I need to get some paperwork done for work today and I honestly don't know how I'm going to cope with the demands of my job unless I'm very careful as emotionally and physically I'm pretty battered. I know that I'm only a shop clerk but if the store gets busy, which isn't likely, and I get run off my feet with a combination of sales and repairs, I don't know how I'm going to find the energy to manage. On top of that, it's not like I can just get there at 9:50 for a 10:00 a.m. start anymore; Mark's back to work as of today as summer vacation is over, so I'll be dropped off at 7:30 either at work or a local coffee establishment, and so I'll be all the more tired. Maybe I can do my paperwork before work.....I have access to all the figures before work because I can get into the computers - now there's an idea - and I always do my makeup before work as there's tons of mirrors there and it's a pleasure doing my makeup sitting down instead of stood before the bathroom mirror now and again. Okay, there's an option that makes today and tomorrow a little more bearable.

Journalling is a good idea. It allows me to think out loud, as it were, and get some control over my thoughts. At first I thought it would be a good idea to find friends over here at Dreamwidth but I am far less certain of that now. Maybe what I need here is just a personal sounding board. I've never kept a journal consistently but perhaps it is time that I pushed myself to do so. Here I like the interface and it's very pretty all in purple with pink icons, and I can work things out like I did in the last paragraph.

The thing I'm wondering now is whether or not my boss should be informed of my suicide attempt. There are pros and cons which I don't have the wherewithal to go into right now. But I'm thinking about it, both sides, as I go through my day, which, I must admit, has been quite sedentary so far, and has involved a lot of sleep! I wish I had absolutely nothing on my plate for the day but I must get something accomplished, although I'm unsure why. Guilt? It's the first day I've had to myself since June and I'd really like to enjoy it but I have the deep feeling that it would be wrong. What I need to do is examine my priorities and see what needs to be done versus what I think should be done and just do the necessary stuff.

Necessary stuff:

  • walk the dog
  • clean up kitchen and sweep the floor. It may need mopping.
  • ironing. Not all of it but some.
  • one load of laundry. Especially Kate's Campus Crew pants.
  • bake something for when kids arrive home. cupcakes?
  • vacuum upstairs and rec room.
  • tidy rec room.
  • can i leave bathrooms till Thursday or do I need to do them today? Main hall bathroom is okay but Michael's is disgusting and the ensuite isn't great....what to do....see how time goes.
  • make beds.

    Remember - Mark will be concerned if he thinks you're overdoing the housework - he knows you need to recuperate and he was quite firm on Sunday that you were overdoing and needed to stop. Don't do this again. Is everything on that list really necessary? Can't the rec room be left? And the vacuuming? Will the world fall apart if the upstairs isn't vacuumed till Friday? No. Walk the dog, clean up the kitchen, iron a few things, put on a load of wash, make the beds, bake something. Stop. That will take an hour or so. Let's say an hour and a half. That's tolerable.

    Time to go. Feeling headachy and I think it may be time for another nap.
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 9 p.m. and I'm home alone.

Frankly, I don't think I should be alone, but as I'm alone, I seem to be alone in that opinion as well. John's out playing poker at the rugby club, a good 45 minutes away, and Kate is still at Summer's house, although John told me she'd be home in the early evening and had picked up dinner for her, so he cannot have agreed to having her stay out as late as this. I've called but the line is busy. And still busy. And busy some more.

One of the problems here is that I don't want to be asleep when Kate gets home for fear that she thinks I'm dead. When I go to sleep tonight it's practically going to be the sleep of the dead. I've been struggling to stay awake since 6:30 now, and I'm mind-numbingly tired from the after-effects of a belly-full of pills, a night spent in a hospital corridor, the emotional anguish that has gone along with all of this, and a day spent largely with quite nasty abdominal pain. Once I take my night-time medications, I'm going to be out like a light for a good long time, I hope. All this wonderful sleep is being greatly delayed by the absence of one gorgeous and probably furious 12-year old. I'm going to call again. Excuse me, please. I hear that AFK is how this is said if one is chatting, as I am chatting with you, Mr. Computer.

Ah. The phone rang that time, the daughter was spoken with [said she, dropping prepositions left and right], and her cheerful voice informed me that she'd be home before midnight. At age 12. I have no qualms about her being where she is; Summer's parents are salt-of-earth type people and Kate is loved there, treated as a third daughter of the household. I asked Kate if she minded if I went to sleep; she did not as long as I left the door unlocked as going out unprepared to run into her friend she had not taken her key. Frankly, I'm amazed. I have an 18-year old son for whom forgetting his key could be an Olympic sport in which he could medal, and a 12-year old daughter who has one of those hiking clippy things on her backpack to which she attaches her key most faithfully, and even remembers key-related issues during a conversation on the phone with her mother. Most impressive.

In attempting to stay awake, I've managed to clean the kitchen thoroughly, except for the floors. They'll put that on my tombstone, you know....except for the floors. "I cleaned the bathrooms today, honey.....except for the floors." Luckily I have a Swiffer broom and a Swiffer mop and a son with a tenacious love for all things Swiffer so the floors of the house stay somewhat clean if they're hardwood or tile. And since we got our new vacuum a few months ago, I actually enjoy vacuuming. It's nice to have decent tools....I also love my new iron and ironing isn't the onerous task it used to be.

Now I'm going to have to pull myself down to a sleepy mood again. I tried to get myself revved up and succeeded too well. And there's stomach pain again which is nasty. I'm trying too hard not to think of what could have happened last night. There seems to be an insulating layer of shock keeping me from facing reality too quickly. I like it. I like the comfy, cosy, womblike feeling. It's like warm blankets and a cuddle on a winter's day, so cold outdoors that you can smell the cold air on anyone who comes into the house. And you slip under the blankets and the snow in your hair begins to melt and your feet begin to thaw as they warm up on your husband's calves.

I hope those cuddly winter days aren't over for he and I. Today everything was safe and good again and there was all the world of love and kindness. That hasn't been there in a while. I want to wake up in a world where that love and kindness and gentleness is still there. I still need the insulation, both the one that my body provides and the one that is given to my by his love.
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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