Tag Archives: Mental Health

The slow fade

It doesn’t feel slow to me.

It feels like I’m being pulled in by the undertow over and over.

Miles out.

Into a dry ocean.

My thoughts are duller and they no longer fall over each other. There is starting to be space between them.

The level of oblivion I have towards daily life is something I have to try to sneak outside myself to measure. I have stopped cooking. I seldom use the car. I have stopped engaging with others unless I am directed to or am scheduled to. I know that there’s a lot of home improvement that I want to happen, but either it can’t happen soon enough or I don’t have faith it will happen at all.

The emotions I feel the most are impatience with myself for not being able to do anything right and regret when I hurt people.

The collection of memories and facts I’ve forgotten has outgrown its habitat. It needs an island of its own.

I sound like I’m drunk and people on the phone who don’t know me are put off by it.

And my brain is too thick with obstacles, too sick with HD, to be written about with any great insight by its owner.

What other people see is a slow fade.

But I can’t describe how fast I am becoming an empty vessel.

A remnant of myself, clinging to stay, bobs up every now and then.

Like a cork in a turbulent, empty ocean.

 

Not my day to die

Yesterday I was thinking, as I often do, about how much better it would be for people who love me if I wasn’t around.

Sometimes just trying to function day to day with HD, I screw up things around me so badly that the only way I can see to make the pain and shame of it stop is to end my life.

But then my son texted me.

A troubled friend of his (who I will call Jake) had spent some time in a psychiatric hospital. Four days after being released, Jake was able to buy a shotgun. (Welcome to the U.S.) After an agonizing, nightlong search, Jake was found in a car– where he had killed himself.

Suddenly everything became real.

I set aside mentally minimizing  the impact my suicide would have on my children.

Thoughts of how Jake’s family and friends will be permanently scarred by his death edged out the rationale behind my plan.

I know that, despite the many roadblocks in his life,  Jake had a life ahead of him that had worth and now that is gone forever. So now I grieve for Jake who, through his own pain, may have bought me some time.

Because, even possessed by a monster, I am forced to admit that I am still worth something to someone.