The Blank Pages

The Blank Pages

The reality sets in as you stare out a frosted window pane. Drifting snow up to the roofs of the cars in the parking lot. It's December 2014 and all you can think of this night is suicide.

The plan is made. It has to be solid. It has to work. My thoughts go back to my beautiful cats. What am I going to do about my cats??! It was a real problem. The only option (I thought) was to take them with me. I had to be sure that backing the car into the snowbank and sealing all the cracks would for certain end our lives, and wake up in my son's glorious arms. Seemed like a realistic plan to me. 

Pondering, and pondering those uncertain details made me concerned that my cats will die and I'd wake up. I couldn't face the possibility of killing my cats! It seems an okay plan but I can't wake up. There is No way I'm going to do something grotesque as shooting myself! Backup plan. Pills. 

The next day I walked into a hospital and said I am going to commit suicide. My son died and I don't want to live any longer with this brokenness. They sectioned me. I was transported to a facility. I was grateful. This was my last effort to see if someone could change my mind.

I stayed 17 days. It was serial. My son had been in several rehabs... I was him now. The groups, the curfews, the roommates, the rules, the medication....I can't explain how indifferent I felt. I just went about my day as I was suppose to. Not feeling anything. I was numb. I fought and argued with the counselors because they couldn't tell me what I needed to hear, what I wanted to hear. How dare they tell me that suicide is selfish!!! Fuck that! It's my choice! It's ultimately my choice!

14 days later, I was faced with the question that broke my tumultuous attitude. (Do you want help). Tears flowed from my eyes. I didn't have an answer. I honestly didn't know. But my counselor took my hand and said that all my actions pointed to YES. It turned me around. From then on, I felt like I was understood.

During my hiatus from my blog, I have been moving forward. I still have very very dark days. Some days are even questionable. Most days I try to recover from the previous day. I find, at this time in my recovery, that I can't work. I haven't worked for a year now. I can't keep to a simple schedule. Taking care of basic needs is a struggle. But I am trying. 

I continue to get up each day. Sometimes it's 4 in the afternoon, sometimes it's 6 in the morning. But most importantly, I am here and trying to discover what life is about without my beautiful baby boy. My forever 29 year old son.