Yesterday was clearly not one of my better days. Despite the fact that I've been taking medication regularly for years, I still have intensely low moments when I feel devoid of any joy, color, or reason. I met my first day of 2012 with one of these moments. To be fair, it wasn't simply a matter of my screwy brain this time. There were two events that precipitated my melt down and, because I'm so wholly oblivious at times, I did not prepare myself.
The first occurred during the early afternoon when J came over to pick up his new health insurance cards. He also took a number of his belongings that have been stored in my office since he left in July. I told him that there were a few crates I had to go through because they had both of our belongings. He civilly but coldly said "I'd appreciate if you would take care of that as soon as possible." I felt like he'd hit me. We didn't laugh once when he was here and it was all business. I walked around for hours reminding myself that I had no right to be sad and asking myself if it was better for him to hate me.
The second event happened in the evening when I was giving myself an injection. Everyone thinks I have a great attitude about having MS but I still have my moments. I flipped out and called my mother and just sobbed because I don't want to give myself shots anymore. My thighs both have sore spots, large lumps, from where I assume I must have hit the muscle. My right thigh has a red mark that I'm fairly certain is a burn from an ice pack. So I called my mother and told her that I didn't want to do this anymore and that I didn't think it was fair for me to get all the 'weird' problems when my brothers don't seem to have anything at all wrong with them. I wouldn't wish for either of them to have MS, of course not, but I will occasionally get very self pitying and cry about how it isn't fair.
So that's what happened, or at least, what I think happened in my easily primed brain. Sometimes I am incredibly tired and want to just give up. I used to assume that we all had times like that but I'm beginning to understand that what I think about is a bit different. I don't think about running away from my problems by going on a vacation or quitting my job for something in a different industry. No, I think about just quitting entirely and killing myself. Right brain. Left brain. Right brain. Wrong brain.
Suicide can be a very selfish thing and that's generally what keeps me from coming up with actual plans. I think about the people who I would hurt, especially those who have had a hard time recently. I think about how unfair it would be to make my family deal with something like that; not just the me being dead bit, but the dealing with hearing the news, dealing with the logistics of death (removal of my body, what to do with it, notifying relatives, dealing with all of my belongings). I think about how Johan might be neglected for days before someone found me and how he might not like wherever he ended up.
But I also know, or at very least hope, that these intensely low moments will fade away eventually and that if I'm patient and stick it out, I'll get back to the self that enjoys life and is more likely to joke or giggle than sob and despair. I can cry and be upset and wrapped myself in blankets on my sofa and be distraught but if I just wait, if I can just wait a god damned second, it will pass. The terror that it might not is the most difficult part of these moments but I am absurdly good at avoiding thinking about things that scare me.
Writing so as to have a record helps with that fear because if I can look back and see that I've been through this before, I'm more likely to feel certain that I'll be OK again. I find yesterday's post incredibly embarrassing. I don't know why and I don't care why but I do. However, I know myself well enough to know that I have to leave it so that the next time my wrong brain takes over, I can look through my posts and see that I'll come through. It was one nightmarish day out of how many perfectly fine days?
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