It’s been a few days again but I have been working on getting back to normal. Recovering from a breakdown is very tiring. I’ve had 3 days I thought about going back to the hospital. Tomorrow I find out if I get cut loose or not. Last week I was fine during physical therapy but in therapy with Monica, I fell apart, couldn’t even drive home. What a mess. I have got to stop letting others dictate my happiness. I have to get rid of toxic people. I will keep working on it. That’s all I can bring to table.
I have really been ignoring talking about this but, it may make things a little clearer to some of my friends. I’m just going to tell the story…what you take from it, I hope is something that will make you think twice about your shitty life.
On June 8th, I attempted to commit suicide. I just about succeeded. My ex husband helped my kids get to me and actually performed CPR on me until help came. I’m lucky to be here and grateful for his help. I was desperately done. I had my father’s death which did nothing but screw with me until eleven o’clock on the night they read his will. I had plans for the weekend and was pissed they were trashed by total nonsense. The pro? I punched a big guy in the face that day and dropped him. It was wrong but it sure felt good! I was in my house up the street from my ex husband’s house. My kids were giving me shit about not being happy they wanted to stay with him…the ex was not behaving appropriately and had gotten a DUI. I found out he had been drinking when my kids were there. That was wrong.
He totaled his truck so I was being decent enough to make sure he was getting to work etc. I didn’t have to do that but I did. My eldest son got in my face and told me I could take care of myself he was not moving with me as the ex needed someone to care for him. I hadn’t asked the kids to take sides and let them spend as much time as they wanted with him. This statement put me right into shutdown. My son had tried to kill himself 3 years before because of this man and he was leaving me for him? He isn’t even their father. I was heartbroken.
I had been taking shit for months and was done. I confronted the children about the situation and what had to happen. Which included leaving their brother and sister behind. I already felt like a low life. I didn’t need anymore help with that. Everyone started fighting and arguing. I lit a cigarette and went and locked myself in my room. I listened to them debate for about 15 minutes then suddenly they all got up and walked out leaving me hurt and feeling abandoned.
I adopted all of my kids and fought for each of them to keep them safe and have a family that was stable. Even through their fathers death, I never let them know how I struggled. They never went without a thing. I was a good mother. I suffered so much for them and they never knew. Between their words and actions combined with all of the other stuff, I couldn’t take anymore. My intent was to take my meds and take a nap so hopefully I would feel better. Without a second thought I did the unthinkable. I swallowed two full bottles of Valum and another bottle of pills. I was finally at peace. No more shit. I lad down and went to sleep, before doing so I deadbolted the door.
The kids came home about 4 hours later. When they couldn’t get into my room, they called my ex who came to the house and got the door open. I was laying on the floor at the end of my bed. My eye had a big chunk out of it. I was barely breathing, but only shallow bits from my stomach not my chest. My ex picked me up and took me into the living room. He called 911 and started CPR. When they got me to the hospital, I was barely there. They stablized me and took me to ICU.
They must have had trouble with the IV because being a former paramedic, I got angry and told them to let me put in because I could do it right. Later I tore it out and took it to my arm. I am a self harmer so there you go. I was trying to hurt myself right there.
While in ICU, I was very agitated for being there. I had dirty feet from wearing sandals. I kept bitching about my ugly toes needing to be done and my hair needing to be washed. I had a very compassionate nurse who cleaned me up. She did my feet and hair. She even painted my toenails. I remember none of it but I am very grateful for her care and compassion.
Most of my time in the hospital, I don’t remember. I remember talking to a couple of friends but I don’t remember some. I feel extremely sorry for that. I remember the call from NY and a call from Draper along with my sister and best friend Dena coming to visit. I don’t remember ICU, or most of the first five or six days downstairs. I didn’t even know my sister was there in ICU with me the entire time.
For the first four or five days I guess I refused to eat. Apparently, I was very funny and sarcastic. There’s a pro to every con. Funny not funny. The nurses all loved me. On the fifth or sixth day, I finally started eating. They started keeping track of how much I ate and I started going to groups. I hated groups but had to go. I actually learned some things about myself. I was there 16 days. Of that time, I only remember the last four or five days. Jeff had kindly took the kids to his house. He took turns bringing the older ones to see me. I vaguely remember only a couple of those visits.
I had to see the doctor and therapist every day. They kept trying to find the right cocktail to keep me level. On the fifteenth day, they were going to discharge me. I had to be released to someones care. Jeff agreed. About an hour before discharge, I got a call from my therapist. She told me we needed to talk and she wanted me to stay in the hospital. Our conversation was not a good one. In fact, I flipped out just like she expected. She told me that she had been getting threatening texts from Jeff a good part of the night. She didn’t disclose what was said but she thought it best I stay for a few more days.
I demanded that I see ALL of my kids. I wanted to talk to them in a safe environment, which wasn’t at home. I had to stay with whoever checked me out. I wanted to go to MY house but that wasn’t an option. The staff didn’t feel I should go home with Jeff. They had to all but knock me out that night. After my visit with the kids, I had to be sedated that night. In the morning, I saw the doctor and therapist. They asked what was different from the day before. I told them that I wanted to go home because I couldn’t fix things while in the hospital so they released me. My therapist disagreed but I went home anyway.
I will continue later tonight.
More Love. Less Hate. H