So I currently have some things that are boiling beneath the surface. I’ve been on leave due to an injury, and for that time I’ve been staying with my mother. When I was working, I lived in a different city than she does. I happened to be “luxuriously homeless”; I was fortunate to have a friend who let me stay with her for a while, and I lived in my car before that. Being put out on leave from work came at a perfect time, because my stay at my friend’s house was about to end. We’d agreed upon a certain time, and I didn’t have a place of my own yet, so it was only right that I had to go. I had been falling apart for the last year and a half. Many nights after work (and sometimes during breaks) I would go out to my car and just sob. I’ve cried plenty in my life, but I’d never wept as I did when I was faced with the fact that I was “home” once I’d sat in my car. Everything else was pretty shitty as it were, but that put me over the edge.
We had been dealing with my teenaged niece getting involved with a guy who’d end up pimping her out, and her eventually disappearing. The bright side is that she checks in every once in a while to let someone know she’s alive. My sister (her mother) and I had a falling out, partially because she’s always been a toxic and domineering force in my life. My dad lived in the same city, but I couldn’t live with him. It was easier not to try and get help from him. I didn’t grow up with him, so I’ve not felt that sense of support from him. The only place that I knew I’d feel at home was with my mother; she lived about a hundred miles away. I was planning to suck it up and make the hundred mile commute back and forth to work from her house, when I was told that I’d be taking a leave of absence from work. That threw me for about a week, because I’d just made a plan that might work. It felt like life had thrown yet another wrench in my machine.
The haze that I’d usually walked through life in had grown so much thicker. I’d started sleeping in my car again, because I didn’t want to burden my friend anymore with putting me up. Whatever shit that I’m in is on me, whether it’s due to my mental health or not. I’m not even sure if my mental health caused my problems or vice versa. During the last week of May, I was done. Suicidal thoughts are nothing new to me; I’d made peace with the fact that I was finished. I had some prescription Ultracet for my work injury, some prescription acetaminophen, some ibuprofen, Benadryl, some other pills I’d read up on, and I’d done enough research to know what otc drugs I could add to the mix to make sure it worked. I told my friend I’d be back in about an hour, because I didn’t want her to worry. I drove someplace that would take someone a while to find me; I wanted to be sure that I wouldn’t be found soon enough to be revived. I sat there for hours. I looked at the bottles, I’d imagined and rationalized the pain that would occur, I wrote a letter… not a goodbye letter, just a letter that would explain to the police that there was no foul play. I didn’t want anyone incriminated for a clear suicide. I don’t know why I didn’t do it; I think that part of me hoped that someone would sense that something was wrong and save me. I think that part of my self to self conversation was “Life isn’t clean like it is in the movies. People don’t always pop up at just the “right” moment with just the “right” words. Sure if you cultivate an environment where you can be saved, there’s a good chance for someone to stop/rescue you. But I wanted to be alone; I’ve always been that way. So if you’re the only person you’re reaching out to, and you’re not going to save you, what are you going to do?” Then my mind starts firing away: Okay, I can do A, B, and C. If that doesn’t work, then there’s this. I can push through this. I can make something else happen. I was anxious as hell; all I knew was that I needed more than anything to get home. I needed to be safe, so I left for my mom’s house. I prayed and begged that the car wouldn’t stall as it had the week before. I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving until days after I’d already left. When I’d gotten to her house all I could do was lie down. My body didn’t know what to do with a sense of safety and unconditional acceptance. I could sleep until noon without feeling like it might get me put out; my friend never implied that I was a problem, and they were absolutely amazing, but my fear stemmed from my personal anxieties. They’ll never know how much I truly appreciate them.
I’ve been at my mother’s house for approximately a month and a half, and I intend to stay with her and my younger niece. This is a different niece than the one I’d mentioned earlier. This niece is my daughter by law, because my mom and I adopted her after my brother (her father) took off. I want to be more a part of her and my mother’s lives. I’m planning to make the commute to and from work, and I have a plan that I think will work.
Here is what this post is all about: I’m scared. I don’t want to end up back where I was. I’ve made some positive strides since I’ve had some time to regroup. I’m looking for a job that’s closer, but I’m also looking for a job that I actually like and affords me consistent meals that aren’t in a plastic wrapper. My car is making a weird noise, my car note is past due, my credit is shit, and I’m not so sure where to start (or how to start). I’ve seen firsthand that things ALWAYS work for the best, but a lifetime of having to be hyper vigilant and lack of safety has ingrained itself in my body as trauma. I’m doing everything that I can do to make things work (maybe I’ll have some Reiki done). I’ll keep making any necessary adjustments. I’m pretty sure that I’m ready to learn life in more pleasant ways. On some level I trust the process, but on another level I need help beyond me to really feel okay in it. I’ve been alright, and I’ll be alright, but I needed to express my fears.
Disclaimer: I am in no way claiming to have a terrible life, as I understand that many people have it so much worse. This is simply how my particular circumstances have affected me.