The Survival Instinct, Re-Thought

I have often thought, and probably said in here, that I do not understand what makes some people cling to life so desperately despite all odds against them and intense pain and suffering. They will keep going far after all their resources are exhausted, after their bodies have destroyed themselves, after all hope should be gone. And they keep going anyways. Think of the movie Castaway with Tom Hanks. He kept going, kept fighting to stay alive.

WHY?

It would be so nice, so easy to just give in, give up, relax into the blackness and let go. I would welcome that with none of the hassle. I have never been presented with that opportunity. And when I nearly created the opportunity (and nearly destroyed my family) to not have to defy any odds and still slip away, I recovered. Not just recovered, recovered faster than expected and without even the common complications. I can't explain it. Maybe it's God, maybe it's hell. Maybe my body knows something my head hasn't figured out yet. At any rate, my body fought for me but I still don't understand the instinct.

Yesterday I was blog-browsing and I was reading about the experiences of other people who, like me, are suffering from debilitating depression and some of the other mental health issues that I face too. These individuals fight the same daily fight I do. No energy, no hope, suicidal thoughts and urges, forgetfulness, headaches, pain with no attributable cause, wanting to sleep but not being able to yet not being able to be awake either, wondering if there is any point to being alive, some even have Voices or memory gaps or the other weird stuff that has had me in a tail-spin for a while now. There are people out there who feel like I do!

In my own family, my mother is a real piece of art. Some days she can't get out of bed. She can't go out alone. She cries all the time. She has some serious OCD issues going on. And I won't even go into the somatoform issues... When we talk, I know exactly how she feels. I feel the same way. She doesn't understand me, though. When I feel like giving up, she doesn't connect. When I turn up with burns or cuts, she gets angry. She doesn't get it.

My aunt is classic. She sleeps for days at a time. Also big into the somatoform issues. Anger like you wouldn't believe. I'm not so close to her as to know the extent of her symptoms but I know they are trying to talk her into the same implant that I had put in a couple years ago and we've been on he same meds, often. And you know what? She doesn't understand the depths of the darkness either.

Then there's me. If you've read my blog much, you know what a pathetic whack job I am. Not worth the oxygen I consume. Who I am is so far away from who I want to be that I won't ever get there. I hate everything about me. I hate my life. I don't see any hope for things to improve. I want to crawl into the closet, way in the back, and stay there. Or crawl into bed and let my mind drift away to somewhere better. The only light I can conceive of at the end of this tunnel is undoubtedly an oncoming train. Parts of my life make me really wish I didn't exist.

But I'm still here. I have the means, the method, the desire, the timing. I could make it happen with no difficulty at all. But I haven't. And I can't. And I get out of bed every single day. And I take care of 5 kids every single day. I run Mom's Taxi and I grocery shop and I pay bills (when I can). Every day, I keep breathing. I smile for the kids and I go to the family reunions and I keep Mom company. I put together birthday parties and I co-ordinate doctor's appointments. And I live through the parts of my life that I pretend don't exist and push over the Wall. And I stay alive. I take the bottles of pills in my hand every single day, several times a day, and I shake out only what I need and I put the bottles back. It hurts every second that I keep breathing. But I do it. I keep breathing, every single day. I keep going. I run a household.

Does that mean I am healthier than those other people? The ones who fall under the pressure of this crippling illness? The ones who have no kids and are still brought to their knees? The ones who have never seen the inside of a mental ward or felt the choking sensation of a respirator? The ones who are miserable but can't conceive of committing suicide? Am I healthier?

Or did my lack of survival instinct just transfer to a slightly different form? I can't kill myself, though I want to so bad I can taste it, I imagine it, I dream of it. But I can't. Because I have to protect my kids - from me. I have to get up because if I don't they will suffer. I have to keep going because now, while they are young, they can't go through what would happen if I give up. I am alive so I don't kill them (literally in the first, figuratively in the second).

I'm not doing as good as I need to be doing. My house is a disaster. People who hear me say that think I am being overly particular, "too hard on myself". People who have been in here understand that isn't the case. I forget things, like appointments and bills and permission slips. I don't have the energy to play with the kids, to read to them every day, to make brownies, to host play dates. I can't give baths. I can't watch the pool. I don't cook and I don't do the wash. I am wifely when guilted or coerced. I hide on my computer and refuse to make phone calls or go out. I have nightmares and flashbacks and psychotic episodes.

I'm no soccer mom. I'm not even a good mom. But I'm the only mom they have and I pull myself out of bed every day and I stay alive. Does this make me healthier? Or more stubborn? Is it that my hole is not as dark as those others with whom I sympathize so strongly, or that I stumble around in the dark anyways?

Of course, I should say that I am healthier. And I thank God for my health. And I will keep getting up every day and I will stay alive. And be grateful that I have the strength to do it. I will do that because that is what I have been told to do.

"Please God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here..."
"Please God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here..."
"Please God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here..."
"Please God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here..."
"Please God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here..."
"Please God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here..."