Setbacks

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.