Where the Hell Have You Been?!

Long time, no write. Actually, long time, no post because I've been journaling a lot. Honestly, there isn't much else to do when locked up on the psych ward or sitting in a hospital bed. I'm not going to try to go back and type up all my journal entries from my stay. But I will summarize what I learned, after I give the skeleton of what happened...

When last I checked in, my world was falling down around me. I was really in a bad place in my head. Well, as you may have guessed, things got worse. Friday I tried calling the doctor for help but he never called me back. Saturday I climbed into bed and declared I was going to stay there until the house fell down or until my doctor's appointment Monday morning. That's the last I remember. Apparently I didn't stay there. Sunday everyone went out to dinner and I stayed home, having made my declaration the prior day. But I didn't stay in bed while they were gone. Honestly (and I even I were the lying kind of person, why would I lie in my own blog) I don't remember doing it, but I overdosed on something. Craig can't remember what the hospital said was in my stomach and the only thing I can think of he didn't think sounded familiar. But, (and I haven't really elaborated on this with anyone else) I am speculating that I woke up and couldn't get to sleep and wanted to take something to make me sleep until Monday morning. I probably took a bunch of Xanax. If they called it by the generic name, Craig wouldn't have recognized it. And benzo overdoses cause what happened to happen, including the "amnesia" of the event.

I'm getting ahead of myself, though. When they got back from dinner, I was on the couch, unconscious. They sent the kids next door and Neighbor-Friend came over. My pulse was at 26 beats per minutes and I wasn't breathing well. Fast forward... I ended up in the ICU on a respirator. I woke up TUESDAY morning, dazed, confused and having hurt and scared a LOT of people. And I didn't remember what happened, which sounds like a convenient way of saying I did something I'm not proud of. I wish that were the case. It would be easier, I think, than not knowing and wondering...

In the hospitals (Sunday through Wednesday in the ICU, Wednesday-Thursday on medical floor having my heart monitored, Thursday through today at a different hospital on the psych ward) a whole lot of nothing added up to a whole lot of something. I dug down inside me to try to figure out what the hell is going on. Even if I had just wanted to sleep, I had to have known that taking a shitload of Xanax was going to land my ass in the hospital, if I was lucky. WHAT WAS I THINKING?!?!

I remember how I felt before everything fell apart. I felt like I couldn't possibly do everything that I wanted to do. Even though I wasn't sleeping, I still couldn't get everything done. Even not tired, I couldn't get my shit together. I felt trapped, pressured, and inadequate. I was hot off the tale (misspelling intended) of my crushing NaNo defeat and starting to wear thin. ("Like butter spread over too much bread..." LOTR, Book 1)

The thing is, I would very much like to say it was just a medication imbalance that caused it all. At the same time, I feel the need to condemn myself entirely for it, casting blame for every foul thought and saying it is all about my behavior and my thoughts that caused everything. Looking at it rationally, I must admit it was some of each. Not sleeping at all can't have been right. And I think it led to a great many of the problems I have had recently. But the problems manifested in ways that were influenced by my thoughts and where in my head, and in my heart, that I really am. And that's not such a good place.

In all honesty, I don't think this was a suicide attempt. I think I wanted to sleep until I get to the doctor and was willing to risk going overboard in order to achieve that. It was stupid and I regret it, but I can't take it back. On the other hand, I must have known that death was a possibility so maybe there was an edge to it that was more sinister than sleep.

I did pull apart many things while I was "recovering" though. I decided that my intense desire to escape was born from fear. The fact is, for me at least, there are things far worse (and scarier) than death. And when the world is falling down around me, life itself is the much more daunting option. I was afraid, mostly of failing and letting people down and ruining innocent lives. Unpredictability seems to be one of my biggest triggers. When I need to do A, B and C only have D, E and F thrown in on top, I get stressed out. These are things I haven't prepared for and I haven't planned for and, even when they are small things, it throws me off. Being caught unprepared is one of my biggest fears in most arenas.

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ugh. i had so much to say with this but i have now been writing it for 2 and a half days. so i quit for now. maybe i will revisit it. i have learned a lot in the short time i have been home, some of which contradicts what i was going to say so i am having trouble mustering the enthusiasm i once had towards writing this post. perhaps i will just move on. for now, this is all. in summary:

i was messed up
i ODed and nearly died
i was in hospital for almost 2 weeks
i'm home now
i am struggling to find insights into what happened and why
said insights seem to be shifting like a sand dune in high wind