Thursday, December 9, 2010

Just give up

The next day, I decided to drop chemistry, too. I wasn't prepared for my lab. If I wasn't going to get near-perfect grades, it seemed like maybe it just wasn't worth bothering right now. Everything felt like an uphill battle at my big state school. My professors didn't appear to care about anything (other than their workload and trying to avoid contact with students). I felt completely isolated in all of my classes. I wasn't having fun. I gave up.

I drove back to my big state school one more time to fill out more forms, to pick up MiniMan's things from daycare, to attempt to tie up all the loose ends. MiniMan was beside himself about leaving daycare. I remember when I first started going he would cry when I left him in the morning to go to classes. That day, he instead cried when he couldn't stay. He still talks about his friends from daycare practically three months later. I feel guilty taking all that away from him, knowing he'll probably never see them again.

After I stopped going to classes, I felt even worse. I was able to get a lot more sleep, but half the time I would spend the greater part of the day curled up on the couch, crying, while MiniMan watched TV. My husband would come home from work and MiniMan would walk over to him and say "Mama sad." The first emotion he had learned was sad.

Since I'd been a teenager, I had always had issues with depression. Some years were more difficult than others, but I was always functional. I hadn't taken antidepressants for years until just recently. Things had been okay. I thought I knew how to keep my emotions under control. I thought I knew how to kick myself in the butt when I needed it, and get myself out of a funk.

This time I couldn't do it. I don't know exactly why. I stopped showering. I stopped eating. I wore my PJs all day long. The only thing I could muster up the motivation to do was feed MiniMan and change his diapers.

I fantasized about my death constantly. It just seemed like such a relief to turn off the switch. I imagined death as a comforting void. Black, silent, empty. Nothing to worry about, nothing to be happy about: no more thinking. Would I jump off a bridge? Poison myself with carbon monoxide? Slit my wrists? I have a weird anomaly: a superficial artery on my hand that I had always thought would be interesting to slice. But I don't have a bathtub, I thought. Do you need a bathtub? Does that interfere with clotting? I needed to research this... I definitely wouldn't be overdosing again -- what if someone found me, took me back to the hospital again? Should I get in a terrible car accident? No, seemed like too high a chance of just getting maimed and not dying. But I had a good life insurance policy. Maybe I could make it look like an accident, not a suicide.

In the end, the bridge seemed like the best option. Plus, it would be almost like sky diving. I wondered if I'd change my mind during free fall.


  1. Holy crap, I'm literally holding my breath after reading. You have no idea how close to home this hits.

    "I wondered if I'd change my mind during free fall."


  2. Thanks for your comments on my blog. Very interesting!