Thinking is good, right? Sure it is. OVERthinking, however, is self-destruction.
I’m good at overthinking. I can overthink anything and everything and honestly, it’s exhausting, self-destructive, and unproductive. For a little while at the beginning of this calendar year, (2016) I kept sort of a mini-journal on my phone and I noticed that doing that helped me to NOT overthink things and it gave me an outlet to vent so I didn’t just bottle things up. The thing is, I REALLY hate typing a lot on my phone. That fact, along with a series of ill-timed physical health issues as well as mental health issues, led me to stop writing in that mini-journal which exacerbated the mental health issues.
I finally cracked last week after about a year of mentally torturing myself.
I’m not sure I’m quite ready to talk about what led up to me finally breaking down because it’s all still very hurtful and confusing. And ultimately it doesn’t matter. It’s done. For good or ill, it’s done. I drove off people that I loved and depended on. They’re gone. It doesn’t matter what the “whole story” is whether we’re talking about what led up to me losing it or whatever happened to trigger the breakdown in the first place. I can’t change it. I can’t fix it. I can’t even REMEMBER what the proverbial “last straw” was because I was so wasted. None of that matters.
What matters is that last Tuesday, August 16th, I deactivated my Facebook account and left work with a plan to kill myself when I got home. I wrote “the note” and emailed it to someone I was convinced was the only friend I had left in the world, took some sedatives, downed some Scotch, and sobbed on my bed waiting to die.
Since that person IS actually my friend, he made sure to get in touch with people that could help and soon my father, mother, and son were aware of what I’d done and they called 911. There were cops, paramedics, etc. and I was taken to the Emergency Room where they made me drink charcoal (not recommended; it really tastes awful) and after being stabilized I was transferred to the Behavioral Health Center, placed on a 72-hour hold.
I came home on Friday and you know what? I’m not doing that ever again. I don’t want to get that low again, I don’t want to go back to that place, and I never want to hurt my family and friends like that again. I do, however, have to deal with what I’ve done. Not just the suicide attempt but what drove me to it in the first place. Writing might help me figure things out better. Only one way to find out.
So why a blog instead of a journal? Because I’m not the only person that has to deal with mental illness. All too often, anyone that has to deal with this stuff feels alone and they don’t want to talk about their mental health with anyone because they’re afraid of how others will react to it. They know it’s okay to talk about having diabetes, cancer, asthma, and a whole host of other types of illness but there’s this stigma surrounding MENTAL illness that keeps them silent. People are afraid of what they don’t know and/or understand and the only way to combat that is to talk about what it is that makes them afraid and educate them. There’s also the chance that someone might benefit from reading whatever I write. If I keep everything to myself, nobody benefits. Hence, the blog.
Additionally, I’m not planning on spending any time on social networks in future. Facebook, specifically. There are people I’m in contact with on Facebook that I’m sure are concerned that I’ve sort of “disappeared” because I was ALWAYS on Facebook for one thing or another. This way, they know I’m still around. I’ll post this link on my Timeline and after that, I’m not logging in again. I just can’t handle it mentally and emotionally. I got to a point where if someone I cared about didn’t “like” or “react” to something I posted, I was convinced they hated me, particularly if I saw that they’d “liked” or “reacted” to something someone else posted after I posted whatever I had posted. Yeah. No, thanks.
I’m also ignoring my phone, for the most part. Constantly checking my phone to see if I’d received any texts was just as bad for me as Facebook was. I have a landline and email. I can make do with that from now on.
I don’t want to risk driving myself to another breakdown and I know that if I just try to “pick up where I left off” after last week, that’s exactly what will happen. I don’t exactly know how to explain HOW I feel better after coming home on Friday. I only know that I do in some ways. It still hurts that I’ve hurt and lost people I love and I’m sort of afraid that I just haven’t been “hit” with all of the emotions from that but somehow I feel like I may be more capable of dealing with it. Key words “may be.” I’ll take what I can get for now, though.