I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t some level of depressed in my life, but I’d be lying if I said there weren’t also moments of complete contentment. This struggle between trenches and peaks is becoming too familiar, but I’m getting better at it. The world keeps throwing harder and harder things at me and I keep getting knocked down… but guess what?
I’ve been working out. Training my body and mind. I might fall to the ground pretty hard sometimes, I lose my balance, get confused about where I am in space and time. But my arms are stronger, my legs are faster, and my heart recovers more quickly.
I keep fighting to move forward and I don’t even know why or for what. But maybe I’m not as weak as I sometimes convince myself. Maybe I have always been a fighter.
***
Right before Christmas my cat of fourteen years died leaving his sister and I with fond memories but heartache at a time I was already anxious. I had no idea how the holiday would hit me without my brother (and now without hers). They both filled a space in my life. They contributed to my history, my sense of identity and now I would never see either of them ever again. That’s a hard thing to live through. Suddenly the iron supports that served to hold me up were gone. Only fleeting memories and transient feelings to prop me up for the rest of my life. I can still see Falco’s eyes as the vet took him back, “please don’t leave me…“. I don’t know if I can forgive myself for not staying with him till the end, for letting R convince me I was too weak to endure it. He has no idea what I’m capable of enduring. I wont make that mistake again.
After that day I started my vacation from work. So I busied myself with Christmas errands. I ensured the twins got at least one big thing they wanted this year. My mom asked me to help her do some shopping and errands. I never want to, I hear my parts telling me to say no, but I agreed. I walked around with her, pretending to care, quite numb. I helped her get prepped for a small gathering on Christmas eve. I think of these interactions like currency. A shopping day buys me a few days of not responding to texts. A dinner, maybe a few weeks of not seeing them.
Christmas Eve is when we celebrate. My brother, SIL, their kids, and the twins came over for food and family time (that phrase disgusts me). As usual, I was in charge of entertaining the kids so we brought games and later I played volley ball with them all. I’ve had to play this role since I was a kid. Safely entertain the other kids Jess – so the adults can be left alone – keep them out of trouble.
It’s fine, I don’t mind spending time with the kids. Better them than the adults, am I right?
My mom was weird that day. Something was off about her. I didn’t pay too much attention to it. The evening was short which was perfect for me. Christmas day I went around and delivered gifts to the twins and to my brother’s kids. Felt a little like Santa, I didn’t hate it.
On Sunday after Christmas I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. I got through the holiday. I didn’t have any major panic attacks and Christmas Eve was even somewhat pleasant – I was okay. I’d spent the requisite time with family so I earned myself a long break from them which was the biggest gift for me.
A few of our friends had asked if we wanted to play pickle-ball to burn off some holiday calories. I like them, but we always tend to get pretty trashd together. Amy’s dad committed suicide a few years ago, and she was caring for his dog. The dog passed away just a few months ago. We are both familiar with the pain that brings. So part of me thinks she likes to get super drunk because she ends up sharing more with me and I respond with a lot of empathy and love, especially when I’m drunk lol. I don’t mind it, I’m glad she can feel like she can open up even if she has to be drunk to do it. To be honest, I feel similarly.
We played some pickle ball and then started in on the shots. I knew I was in trouble after the second beer and third shot. But I didn’t care. I wanted to forget about the whole year. I wanted to forget everything, everyone. I took some strange videos of that night that I don’t remember at all. But the videos exist. I sound wildly different. My laugh is different. It’s not me.
And when I got home? That voice that had been whispering in my ear for months, “cut yourself, it’ll feel good, hurt yourself, you deserve it“. In my severely inebriated state, I finally lost the will to fight.
Darkness took the opportunity. She found her opening. I was so drunk when we got home I remember stumbling upstairs laying down for a moment and then getting back up. I walked into the bathroom, found a razor, and slashed into my arm four or five times drawing blood before I realized what I was doing. I dropped the blade and cried to myself “No… please…” rubbing my eyes and trying to figure out what the hell I was doing. I was so confused. I had my phone on me and apparently I snapped a photo and sent it to my chat group.
They know I struggle with self harm, so I received nothing but compassion for which I’m eternally grateful. Later, when I read what I wrote, what struck me was how my writing… my voice… in the chat.. was not me either. Hilary told me it sounded like she was talking directly to Little who had woken up scared at what was happening. Little asked for help and then to cuddle. That’s all she wanted, to cuddle, to feel safe, because I made her not feel safe. Me, I did that.
This was not okay. The next day I couldn’t do anything expect look at the slashes. One of them will scar badly because the edges did not close. I might have needed stitches. Too late now, I get to live with a permanent reminder of my weakness.
I had resisted for so long but that night I failed. The disappointment stung. I felt it deep in me and it created such a painful sadness. It felt like I was back in college, ashamed of myself after my suicide attempt.
Recently, I came to the realization that Little doesn’t really trust women to protect her. To her, women, like my mom, are emotionally erratic, submissive, weak. Women like me, get abused, held down, fucked without consent, beat. Why would Little ever trust women to protect her? If I wanted to feel better, I would need to show Little that I was more than that; I could make better decisions, I would get stronger, and I would demonstrate through consistency, that I am capable of caring for her, for all of us. That was the plan…
But this was proof that in fact, I’m no better than the female caretakers she had her life. I had made an intentional decision to lose control which resulted in us hurting ourselves. I have no one to blame but myself, because I knew better and didn’t care. I’m still kicking myself over it. I’m sorry I failed you, all of you. Don’t worry, the scars will be there to remind me.
***
A couple of days later I sat on the couch, staring into space. The one day I had where nothing social was scheduled and I took the opportunity to disassociate for hours that day. I was really affected by that night, by the lack of memory, by that burning desire to hurt myself. What did it mean?
I sat and started into emptiness while I considered that night. Darkness just wanted attention. She had been screaming for my attention for months and I never listened. I ignored her because I didn’t want to admit that my parts – their thoughts and feelings – mattered. Because admitting that is admitting how fractured I am. Admitting DID. It means I can’t just move on with my life like always. Her desperation led to this, but that realization didn’t help me feel much better.
In that moment I felt myself falling, deeper and deeper into the abyss. I hit the bottom and a voice erupted from the darkness – You will never be okay. Kill yourself. Please just finally do it.
And I was ready to listen. I started to get up off the couch with tears in my eyes and with every god damn intention in the world of ending my life and then…
The system did what it does best. Reality slipped away.
I was watching an episode of Star Trek TNG, a show I’ve watched through probably 5 or 6 times. It’s a comfort show I let run in the background. When I woke up, I realized the show was suddenly jumped forward – was I asleep? No, I was sitting straight up with my feet on the floor and my eyes were never closed. I just lost the time. I disappeared and was no longer in control. In my mind I was in my closet, on the floor, like I used to when I was a kid to feel safe.
I had blacked out. No alcohol, real blackout this time. And it wasn’t me anymore. AC was driving. All the feelings of self-loathing and hatred, of pure despair and hopelessness, of intent to die, vanished. I felt almost nothing.
AC was somewhat disoriented. I had the day off. It was not her usual role to be awake and to be asked to deal with difficult feelings. After she got her bearings, she wasn’t sure what to do so she sought expertise – how very professional of her.
With some hesitation, she wrote to the only person available that could help at that time, Nichole. She explained to her that all these lingering feelings of misery and self pity were not in her wheel house. AC guessed that the very real harmful intentions expressed before she woke up led to Host pulling the proverbial fire alarm. Host made an executive decision to put AC in the driver’s seat – possibly she knew she’d reach out to Nichole as it was AC who initiated that contact in the first place.
AC didn’t know what to ask for, but she figured Nichole might provide some strategies that might help to keep me from imploding once she eventually receded back into my mind. Nichole was pretty helpful, but to be honest, I think sometimes the system just needs to make someone aware, to bear witness. A lot of times, that’s more helpful than anything else. Writing that message, an email or a text, it creates a pause for us to consider the situation and then to analyze the feedback provided. It’s all pretty logical and a very good distraction. And it worked, we calmed, and eventually I returned to the front to try again.
***
I have so much respect for AC. She’s so smart and calm and I just feel like a miserable fucked up failure. I can’t seem to be consistent, I’m erratic and broken and feel too much. I try, I fight, but I keep making dumb decisions because I am so desperate to feel better and not sad anymore. I’m so tired of feeling sad all the time no matter how hard I try not to wallow in it, it’s always there.
My friends say they see it. They see how often I struggle with being sad. But they’re so kind they have told me they admire the way I fight not to be that way all the time. That I strive to support those around me, to be playful and sweet and kind, even though there is a deep existential depression that has rooted itself in my heart.
And they’re right, I don’t want to feel this way, I just do. I’m not sure it’ll ever go away. I am starting to think, that if I want to continue living, I’m just going to have to make peace with the fact that I will always hold this pain in my heart. It’s not that I don’t hope for more. I have powerful moments of gratitude, love, and hope and I try to share that when I feel it.
But there are still many tough moments ahead of me. On one of my vacation days I went to my brother’s house to pack up some of his clothes and this weekend I’m doing a final walk-through with the twins and Casey.
I find that these painful experiences are affecting me less. But I don’t know if that’s because I’m getting stronger or if it’s because I’m more accepting of the pain. There is no escape without pain.
***
The first week into 2022 and I was informed a friend died a few days ago. I remember writing in a draft post I never published, What fresh hell will 2022 bring me?
Is that being negative? Hopeless? I don’t think so. I think it’s just my reality. And the only thing I know for certain is that I am getting stronger, it’s just that some days I feel like it’s not enough.
Earlier this year, my friend who passed away had reached out to me after my brother died to offer his condolences. He explained he’d lost his brother back in 2015. He loved the artwork I shared and said some of them made him cry. It was high praise that my work evoked that in someone. And when I saw him in person we talked more and I gave him such a big hug. It felt good to feel that from someone who really understood.
That’s where I find my hope. I know that whatever I endure, I learn from. I consider it fully and strive to understand all aspects – the pain and the hope. And if my life has any meaning at all, it will be to help others around me in getting through these moments because the reality is there will be many in this year and in the next and beyond that. Covid has made sure of that.
I’m not giving up. I know it might not mean much. I know I’ll keep making mistakes, but that’s my promise for today. For those that love me, no matter how broken I feel, how much pain I’m in, for you, I won’t give up.
Happy New Year