major life FAIL

I had quit my job at a luxury active travel company.  Life was miserable.  I couldn’t cope with anything.  Newly married.  Newly minted MBA degree.  Sweet loft, downtown.  Awesome husband.  I was trapped.  Couldn’t breathe.  I knew that people loved me, but would they miss me? Would the beat go on?  What would they say?  How would they feel?  I didn’t really care, because I knew how I felt and I couldn’t stand it another minute.  It’s so clear to me.  The sun was shining right through our huge vaulted windows.  Our king- size bed was made up to look like a W hotel.  The white sheets were crisp and cool.   I was in my requisite yoga pants and t-shirt and the feelings were getting worse.  If only there was a way to end the pain.  A way to kill the misery.  I ran down to the kitchen and opened the cabinet under the sink.  Dishwasher soap? Was I kidding myself?  I’d land up with a clean belly, but I’m sure that wouldn’t quell the sickness.  What else could I take?  How could I obliterate the hate?  The pain.  The darkness.  The me?

In my closet I had tons of plastic bottles of old pills.  I had been secretly saving them for just this sort of moment.  Unused portions of Wellbutrin, ativan, celbrex and lithium.  I had pinks, blues, yellows.  A colorful assortment of treats to soothe the hurt.    For someone who despises pills as I do, this would be quite a cocktail.  But what would my family think?  Thinking about my baby sister made me the saddest.  She was my life, my love.  I adored her more than humanly possible.  I just hoped she’d understand.  I knew she wouldn’t.  Who would?

SO I grabbed some water and started swallowing.  It was so violent and so awful.  I don’t remember if I cried, but I think the Ativan kicked in first, because I remember lying on that sweet bed and closing my eyes.  I left no note.  I said no goodbyes.  I wore my beautiful wedding ring and what I thought was a little smile.  Finally I’d be done with this world and I could go forward.  Finally I’d find the happiness I so badly coveted. This was the best I could muster.

And then, just like that I woke up.  But I wasn’t in my luxurious loft.  I wasn’t in my soft bed.  I was in a cold and bright large room.  The floors were a yucky shade of dark orange linoleum.  I hate linoleum.  I do, however, really like orange.

And there was a disgusting dripping sound.  What in the world was that—and could someone please make it stop.  Oh there.  It stopped.  Oh gross.  It was coming from me.  OMG. Where was I? 

Oh look, there’s my lover.  Hi you.  What’s up? Where are we and when can we leave?  I’m cold.  I don’t feel good.  I need to throw up. 

This white and light blue robe was not flattering.  Was my hair straight?  What were we doing here?  What time was it?  This large man came over and asked me how I was feeling?  Was he stupid?  I was feeling awful.  I was a mess.  Surely my hair was not straight and I was in desperate need of my cherry lip-gloss.  Could someone please help me and pass me my hoodie while they were at it?

David pleaded with this large man, who turned out to be an MD.   David begged him to let me stand up and dance.  Somehow, my husband knew this would mean I was better.  He was sure this was all an accident. SO they unhooked me from the most disgusting tubes I’d ever seen and I held David like I’d never held him before.  And we danced.  And danced.  I’m not sure if there was any music playing, but strangely it didn’t matter.  David was right.  I was better.  At least for now.  Look at us go.  Those dance lessons were worth it after all, now weren’t they?  Oh the irony was not lost on me.

And strangely the pain did end.  I felt good.  I felt free.  It was almost as though the extra medicine stayed in my system for a short bit.  Almost as though my cry for help seemed to work.  For now I was ok again.  My parents, of course, ran to Toronto as fast as they humanly could.  They rushed out of their delicious Passover dinner and never did get to finish their matzoh ball soup.  Guests would have no idea why they ran from the table.  Their baby needed them.  And by needed, I meant big time.  I was lucky.  Super super star lucky.  I left that crazy dirty hospital in the city with no record.  No one wrote me up.  I left no file behind.  Why, I have no idea.  Therefore and with god go I.   And there I went. Totally lucky and ready to embark on a new life.  Maybe a new attitude.  Perhaps a bit of perspective. 

My psychiatrist, a cool man from New Zealand questioned me only once.  And only once.  What the HELL was I thinking he balked?  Just about the dumbest move of my life.  He let it go when the tears started pouring and we then turned to our favorite “well” topic.  The guy loved to grill me about my love of restaurants and my minor obsession with good food.  We talked about tiny gems and swanky spots.  From donuts to grilled fish, the more I talked the more well he knew I was.  What an ideal barometer to measure the mind.  And my what a crazy thing mind truly is.  Gracias adios.  I’m grateful now for each breath I take.  And slightly more grateful for the sweet and steady breaths of my husband and two angels. 

Maybe those kids were sent down from heaven to keep me whole.  Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s their mission here on earth.  I need to respect and nurture that fact.  Even my 6 year old asks me often if I’ve had my ritual (otherwise known as my meds) She knows well that I can’t swallow the bunch without a glass of ice water and a tiny savory snack.  I favor crackers and I for some reason cannot use cookies.  It’s quite a burden for a kid, but she takes it in stride.  Oddly enough, she’s never asked me why I take medicine.  Maybe once, a long time ago, I told her it was to “make mommy smile”.  Thankfully that answer stuck.  She’s never asked again.  Once again, I’m grateful.  It’s the little things.  You know, like clipping into your spin shoes or zipping up a pair of your favorite jeans.  Nothing feels better.  Nothing.

And this is called thinking, he said.  At least this is what I thought he said.  Well I’m not thinking rational. This kind of thinking is unfashionable.  Don’t want to walk away yet, not safe to stay.  Honestly.  All this thinking made me afraid.  Totally friggin petrified. 

 Sometimes it scares me that they allowed me to be a mom to two.  No tests.  No studying. Nothing.  I just have two of the most awesome gifts.  No return receipts.  No manual.  Pretty terrifying if you ask me.  Pretty darn scary.  Take a deep breath.  Try to think.  Maybe go for rational if you can.  If not, just give them your best smile.  When that doesn’t work, bust out the salty tears.  Nice work. Try to lose the predictable.

  As I look in the mirror, I begin to stare.  What in the world has happened.  How has all this time gone by? What did I do? What will I do?  Where will I go?  Clearly I can’t manage to get myself out of this world.  Nothing more depressing to a depressed person than failing at THAT.  Man, does that SUCK.  Wow.  Talk about blatant failure.  And so I digress.