This is not the way my life was supposed to turn out, at least according to me. By now I would be working at a big name fashion magazine making a decent amount of money. I mean, after Austin and my success there, I eventually landed at a website in Cali with the title I always longed for “Style Editor.” But then a week in I tried to kill myself and, well, that ruined everything.
My eyes welled up with tears when I told my new therapist that after she asked what I used to do for work. I told her how I ruined everything and can’t even look at a fashion magazine anymore. She told me I did not ruin it, but that I had a health crisis. She likened it to my appendix bursting. But you heal from that, right? You can’t fix a broken brain.
The past few weeks have been bad. Really, really bad. I wanted to die. I can’t pinpoint a trigger, I just recognized the feeling. I became obsessed with cutting (which I haven’t done in years). I went on search of an exacto knife and bandages. I could not find any at the first shop. I thought of another place I might find them and drove there. Still nothing. Then I thought of something else and found a pack of five razor blades which cost one dollar and seven cents. It made me sick to think that a life was only worth a dollar and change. I also bought the bandages. Big ones for big cuts.
By the time I got home my plan had turned from cutting to killing. I called my mom and asked if I could come and stay for a while and she said yes. I packed up a bunch of pajama bottoms and a couple hoodies and tanks, two nice dresses and hit the road. My parents live about a half hour away so it is not too hard to get there or for them to come to my home. I was crying, it was raining, it was a scene from a sad movie.
On the way I pulled over in a parking lot and called my psychiatrist’s emergency number. He answered and I told him I wanted to die. He asked me if I needed to go to the emergency room and I told him no that I was headed to my parents’ house. He asked if I had a plan to hurt myself and I told him I did not, but that I had purchased razors. He made me give them to mom when I got to my parents’ house and have her call him so he could be sure I was safe. I complied.
The next day I called him as he asked me to and he wanted to know how I was and I was honest – I was thinking of all the ways I could kill myself. Again, no plan, just general suicidal ideation. I was miserable. I slept a lot.
That was the weekend so I saw him the following Monday after hours during which we talked for over an hour. I was still pretty seriously suicidal and he even called the charge nurse at the hospital to see if I could wear pajamas when I asked him and he did not know. I had decided that if I did not feel better the following day I would go to the ER.
We changed some meds around and though that could not have made a difference so soon, the next morning I felt better. It went on like that for a few days, normal in the morning, depressed in the afternoon and evening. Then the bottom dropped out again. Then it was better again. Ah, the joys of rapid cycling bipolar disorder.
I came to my house a few days ago and so far I am managing. I cry at night, but find reasons to smile during the day. I am not okay yet, but I will be. It always gets better, I just have to wait.