What I Didn't Know

I don't know what "normal" people feel like. And until now, I didn't know that I didn't know.

I'm committed to this process of therapy, and have been medicated for about two months now. I've never been one to enjoy "labels," as they always seem like excuses to me. Sure, I was a severely abused child, but I'm not going to use that as an excuse. Sure, I've known that I'm as PTSD as the day is long, but I'm not gonna use that as an excuse either. And now that I've been diagnosed as Bi-Polar (type II) as well, I'm stuck in a place that almost forces me to re-define myself, my behavior, my whole existence. I don't want to use this as an excuse either... but it certainly makes a whole bunch of stuff in my life make a whole bunch more sense.

Before medication, I didn't know how much of my life was spent in an all-consuming anxiety that was positively debilitating. I didn't know I was debilitated. Before medication, I didn't know that most people ("normal" people) feel pretty good about themselves on a daily basis, and that most people don't beat themselves up in a constant internal litany of self-loathing. And of course, I didn't know that's what I was doing to myself. Before medication, I didn't know what "normal" felt like. I only knew what "normal for ME" felt like. And "normal" feels pretty good and pretty scary all at the same time.

Two days ago, MSU told me he misses me being "crazy." I'm still not sure what that means. But *I* don't miss being crazy. I don't miss waking up every morning wanting to cut my throat. I don't miss spending an hour every morning before work puking my guts out. I don't miss that internal litany of self-loathing. I don't miss that debilitating anxiety.

I'm not going to label myself as "bi-polar" and use it as an excuse for choices I am still responsible for. But I AM going to fully enjoy better living through chemical intervention. I might decide "normal" is boring after a while... but right now...

It's GRAND.

The Explanation - A Letter to My Mother

This is a very difficult thing for me to do, for so many reasons. Finally asking for some help was a big step... and offering my apologies and explanations to those who care about me is an important part of the process. Doesn't make it any easier, though.

I'm telling you this because I feel like I owe you an explanation for "falling off the grid." And you and I both know that it's not really a recent happenstance... I've been pretty much "off the grid" for a couple of years, more so in the last 12 months. I'm telling you this because I want you to understand that it has nothing to do with you, and I also want you to understand that this is NOT your problem and I don't want you to feel bad about it.

You already know that it's been a tough couple of years at my house. Financially, we're in ruins, and have been for about 18 months. We made decisions after John's accident based on our completely false belief that the system exists solely to advocate and protect victims and also on the bad assumption that since the perp's insurance company accepted liability 9 days after the incident, the process would happen quickly. We tried to do the right thing, pay the medical bills and other ancillary costs, until we couldn't anymore... and once we were at that point, we couldn't pay a whole lot of things because we had relied on credit cards during the process. Interest rates went up, payments went up, and we were screwed. We should have claimed bankruptcy a year ago, but couldn't - because any settlement we DID get from the accident would be attached to the bankruptcy and the lawyer wouldn't get paid and we'd get nothing. This situation remains as we speak. We're going to lose our house, we're in collections on several accounts (some of which will actually be litigated because of the amounts), and the lawyer now tells us that the most we can hope for out of the accident is $9K. I've been living under this immense pressure for 18 months, and there's nothing we can do about that doesn't screw someone else (though at this point I don't care if the fucking lawyer gets paid or not).

So, on top of that, I came to BC about the same time and had my professional life pretty much crushed by my supervisor at the time. No more teaching. No more participation in task force activities. No more of the stuff that has always made this job worthwhile for me. Then, a year ago, he and I came up with this position that I am holding now, in order to reduce the caseloads of the Community Unit after we lost several staff to budget cuts. This position is a great help to the institutions and to the community unit, but is the worst job I've ever had. All I do, all day long, is fail. I don't know any of the kids, I don't know any of their families, I don't know anything about their cases, and I'm the first stop for every case that comes to BC so I get all the angry parents, all the stupid questions, all the placement issues, all the restitution issues, and all the new charges coming out of the institutions. If there is a fight at Camp, I do 17 detention reports and 17 social studies. The Bench, which was out of control for the past five years anyway, has only increased in ridiculousness.

Thus started a weird sort of existential depression that I recognized as limiting and even debilitating, but couldn't find a way to get out of. I love my job, but I don’t get to do it. Budget cuts have forced change, but the "evidence based practice" that keeps getting tossed around like the drunk girl at the prom is never actually PUT in practice and all budget cut decisions seem to actually further negate the possibility of actually offering evidence-based APPROPRIATE treatment at a time when limited resources indicate it's really necessary. Daily, I realize I am part of a system that is BROKEN, and as such I am part of the PROBLEM, not part of the solution as I've always wanted to and worked to be. Daily, I recognized that there was no place in my life I was safe and that I hated my life with a white hot rage that had no place to be stuffed or repressed or even outsourced. I can't transfer because all transfers are frozen due to more people losing their jobs. I can't change jobs because there are none. I get collection calls all day every day, and so do members of my family as well as John's family. My marriage is in shambles, I felt powerless to even put ANY effort into it at all, and the demands from my husband made Hell encroach into my home as well. Throughout these many months, I realized that I had absolutely no control over the things that were forcing me to hate my life, hate my circumstances, hate every single moment of every single day.

About 60 days ago, I started to plan to end my life. I am heavily insured, and made sure that there were no suicide clauses in any of the policies, though my plan was to also ensure that it would never be thought of as a suicide. Once dead, my family would be able to pay off every debt, including the mortgage, and use any remaining death benefits to go anywhere they wanted, find a better life, get out of this ridiculous state. I didn't really want to die, but I just couldn't stand the pain anymore, the powerlessness, the standing by helplessly watching my life, that I've worked 30 years to build, go down the shitter because of one 23 year old negligent girl, one fucked up system that's forgotten who it works for, another fucked up system that promotes irresponsibility and lawlesssness rather than confronts it, and my own staunch refusal to "give in." I've had nothing to give my family and loved ones for months, I puke my guts out every day before I go to work, my body hurts everywhere all the time, and knew I wouldn't be missed for much more than a millisecond. My pain would be over and my family would be saved. Good plan.

About 45 days ago, my plan was foolproof and set for a date. On Easter, I did a modified "test run" just to make sure I could do it (which I totally regret now because my poor bike is all scratched up because of it). And on April 10th (THE day), I spent the day with friends and family saying good bye, then went home to have a quick dinner with another friend who was on duty. As I stood in the parking lot of Tom's Burgers there in town after dinner, smoking my last cigarette and going over my plan again in my head to ensure perfect precision, it occurred to me that there was ONE thing in my current, hated life that I had a choice about, and THIS WAS IT. So I changed my mind and chose life. Instead of purposefully blowing the hairpin turn and riding off the cliff on Lake Wohlford Road, I rode home and sobbed for hours. Choosing life was easy. Figuring out how to keep on going was terrifying. But I promised myself, in that parking lot, that ending my life was NOT an option, because it is indeed the one thing I can control in my life.

But a few days later, that commitment didn't seem so easy to keep anymore. I wanted to - shit, the least I could do is keep a fucking promise to MYSELF - but I wasn't so sure that I would be able to. I can barely bring myself to go to work in the morning, and have panic attacks on the way in. I can't sleep at night, dreading the next day. I'm ineffective at work because I don't believe in the system and I'm sick of these people, these horrid excuses for people that I work with every day. I had a complete meltdown, so complete that I couldn't even trust myself to go to the hospital, and had to call MSU to come get me just so I could be sure I'd keep my promise and not run my car into oncoming traffic and maybe kill others, too.

So, that's it. Now, I'm heavily medicated for your safety and for my own and am starting a therapeutic process that I'm not sure is going to really have any effect because, well, here my life STILL IS and here it STILL SUCKS. But I realize too that as strong as my mind is, as strong as it's been trained to be throughout my life, there is only so much that anyone can take... not to mention I'm at that magical age where brain chemistry in women starts to go a little haywire.

So for a long time, I haven't had time for anyone because I'm exhausted from the load I've been carrying and because I've been afraid of myself and my own toxicity and the potential effects it might have on others. I limited my contact with almost everyone. I drew away from my family and friends and the people who might have helped me realize what was going on with me long before I did something crucially stupid. I have a lot of work to do if I'm going to make it through the next seven years to collect my retirement (which I wholly plan to do). And I have to focus on ME, and only ME to do it. In the several weeks that this has been the case, it's already been so very hard. I didn't really realize how much of other people's shit I had taken on, and other people didn't really realize how much they had willingly dumped. Trying to get everything balanced is tough.

So that's it. It sounds really stupid and really unimportant... I guess there just aren't adequate words. But that's where I've been and where I'm at.

There is absolutely no need for you to respond unless you absolutely want to. I just owed you the explanation.

Love, Me