I had a difficult week last week. I slept more than usual, I had less motivation than usual, I cried a lot more than usual. I was short-tempered and sad. I felt defeated, ashamed and disappointed in myself, from my therapy appointment early Monday (which I almost missed because I was sleeping) to an interview I had late on Friday. In fact, I had to sit in the parking lot to settle myself down on Friday because I was fairly certain I wasn't going to come off as confident that I would be an asset to just about anything.
Even my blogs were more morose than usual, and frankly, they're not usually very uplifting. I wrote two on Friday, when I felt completely at the end of my ability. My therapist insisted we gauge my suicidality this week. While I maintain that how I was feeling on Friday was, at most, passive suicidality, I was surprised at the reaction of so many people who read those blogs. I went back and read it myself on Monday, with my therapist, and I think I was surprised at how dark my thoughts had become again.
I have contemplated no longer existing. I do not believe I'm capable of taking my own life. My three children would never forgive me or understand how I could leave them. I couldn't make my family, my husband, question what they could have done differently. I simply could not knowingly miss the things to come for my babies. Yet, I have contemplating no longer existing.
What does it mean to be passively suicidal? If I were being chased through the woods by a bear, maybe I would just stop running and give in. If I were hit by a car, maybe I would not fight as hard in the ICU. Maybe I would take risks. I don't know. I've never been in one of these positions and I hope I'm never put to the choice....because I don't know what my decision would be. I want to believe that I am past the worst of this and that I would die fighting for one more second of this life with the people I love. But that double-edged sword requires that I stay in my own body and own mind as well.
It has been difficult lately. I thought I was doing so well and yet so many people are so much more concerned than they had been when I haven't even realized a shift in my mood. The more I talk about it, the more aware I am that this is a setback. I know the psychiatrist will be concerned. I know my therapist is concerned. I know my closest friends are concerned. Somehow, I'm not concerned, other than it means I'm not better yet. Trying to get better has just been so hard and sadly, unrewarded.