Famous Last Words

I wrote this yesterday.

"I'm just going through the motions. I have nothing to live for. When I was low and feeling depressed, I had something to live for. Now I don't. I just can't see a way out other than to take my own life. I don't want to make a spectacular statement. I just don't want to live anymore. The best things in my life have been taken from me and no matter how much I beg I'm not getting them back. I've tried reasoning and pleading but nothing works. I wish it didn't have to be this way but I don't want to continue with the life I have left."

And then I saw this photo of my boys.

I still feel depressed, I still feel suicidal and yet...

And yet...

Letter from a breaking heart

To those who know,

It's obvious that a line has been drawn and that sides have been taken. It's obvious that you would choose the side you're on, why wouldn't you? But there's a difference between being supportive and offering support.

If I were about to cause irreparable harm, I'd like to think I'd have someone on my side. Not to agree with my actions, but to make me see sense. Some things cannot be undone.

At this moment, it's not too late. There is still a chance. There is still hope. At least, there is still hope in my heart but time is running out. Once the damage is done... It's done.

The consequences will be particularly devastating for someone caught in the middle, someone with no choice in the matter. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. Ever.

I've been shying away from the reality of the situation but very soon events will come to a head and the repercussions will be tragic, indeed. It doesn't have to be this way.

I'm on my knees, begging, please don't allow this to continue. I've been through this once already and I'm dreading the prospect of having to go through it again.

Yours, most sincerely, a breaking heart.

Day 134: Frustration

Three weeks ago I was expecting my psychologist to give me a solution for my depression. Maybe not the final solution but something, at least, that would get me on the road to recovery. It didn't happen. We spent that session going over what I'd been talking to her about for the previous month or so.

Two weeks ago I knew that I was going to get an answer in one form or another. Again, it didn't happen. This time it was because my psychologist had phoned in sick. Fair's fair, I suppose. Everybody gets ill from time to time. Frustrating, though, all the same.

Last week I had high hopes that my time had come. I'll give you three guesses what I'm going to say next. (In fact, you don't even need three guesses.) That's right. For the third week in a row, it didn't happen. On this occasion I simply got a phone call letting me know that the session had been cancelled, reason unknown.




What makes this all the more frustrating for me is that she is a trainee psychologist. I originally believed that I was assigned to a fully qualified psychologist and that the trainee was going to sit in on our sessions to gain knowledge and experience. (We all have to start somewhere.) But after a couple of weeks the original psychologist stopped coming to the sessions. Hmm. So where was she when the trainee cancelled our sessions two weeks in a row? Could she have not stepped in to tell me what surely must have already been discussed between them?

Next week, who knows?

Day 98: Definition of a mental breakdown

This isn't my personal definition of a mental breakdown but it made a lot of sense when it was told to me recently.

"It's the realisation that the life you thought you were going to have isn't the life that you're living."

I heard this from someone who had suffered from depression at some point in his life. It's quite surprising, once you open up and admit that you have a problem, how many other people have had similar problems in their lives.

If you're keeping your depression, or any mental illness, to yourself, may I suggest that you share your problem with someone. It won't halve it but it does lighten the load ever so slightly.

Day 18: Losing my rag

After speaking to my GP, regarding the side effects of my medication (a zombie-like state), he agreed to reduce my dosage and has referred me to someone who will be able to sit and talk through my problems with me. The meds are helping and the prospect of having someone listen to me gives me hope for the future.
Today, however, I lost my temper for the first time in weeks. Not with anything in my own life but with a complete stranger's neglect of her own child.
I was furious.
She had left her boy, about 6 years of age, outside a shop and out of her line of sight. I had seen a passer-by question the boy about his mothers whereabouts and then proceed inside the shop to question the mother. Having been given a (seemingly) satisfactory answer, the passer-by continued on her way. My wife and I weren't convinced, though, as the mother didn't leave the shop and the boy was still out of her sight. So, we decided to wait a while to ensure the boy's safety. Minutes passed and she still hadn't left the shop.
At this point the boy started to wander off without the mother's knowledge. I stepped forward and told the boy to get back to his mother. I found her inside chatting to (I can only assume) her friend, blissfully unaware that her child had moved off from where she thought he was.
I let rip.
I can't remember the precise words I used but I called into question what would happen if somebody tried to take her child, reaching out and holding her son's shoulder. She wasn't in the least bit fazed by an angry stranger touching her boy. I would have had someone's arm off if they had tried to touch either of my children. I gave her the bollocking she deserved, backed up by my wife, who managed to keep her anger in check much better than I did.
Seething, I had to walk away. You can only do so much and you can't reason with the unreasonable.
The moral of this tale? If you have to ask...