Perhaps my depression isn't getting better as fast as I thought it was. Thoughts of suicide entered my head again today, much to my surprise. That hasn't happened for a couple of weeks. Today really wasn't any different than any other day. Oh, a couple of little things but nothing to cause thoughts of dying and nothing I couldn't handle.
As usual I got up, worked on the net for a bit, watched the news, went over to have coffee with mom and baby T. So far so good and the usual routine. Today it just happened to be raining but so far that was the only difference. Coffee with mom and baby T went well, as usual.
Went to Wal-mart to get gas, lol, now the price of gas is depressing but hey, gas prices have been depressing since hurricane Katrina or even long before that. I'm old so I remember CHEAP gas. I once paid 11 cents a gallon in Omaha during a gas war however gas was only 17 cents a gallon when there was no gas war.
I filled my car up and went to leave and the car started and then died like it was flooded. I tried to start it for about 5 minutes and then pushed it away from the pump. Considering Wal-mart has a car repair I wasn't to worried about it and the plan was if it didn't start to walk the 50 yards and have them fix it. Not a real problem and I had a solution so I wasn't worried about it/
Finally the car started and I drove off in the rain. I was headed in search of some good cheeseburgers and had heard of a cafe in a town 10 miles away that supposedly had great cheeseburgers. I headed off to find the place and when I got there I'd forgotten the address. No big deal as I could get it and go tomorrow.
Drove back to town and stopped at DQ for hot dogs and a banana split and headed back to my room at the motel. So far a average day and nothing had even really irritated me. Went back into my room, straightened out where the PC and stuff goes as the maid had cleaned and then sat down on the bed. When I sat down the thought that I'd be glad when I died popped into my head.
Then the thoughts got worse instead of better and I decided I'd better take a Xanax and get my mind to shut up. In an odd way I suppose that's progress. I recognized the problem and took something to correct it or at least help with it. I didn't wallow in it as I sometimes do.
I ate and then took a nap. Now that I'm awake again I'm trying to figure out why the suicidal thought popped into my head. I still don't know why the thoughts happened but I did some meditation on things I'm grateful for and did more stress reduction things. Weird but I have very little stress.
Things are going quite well, I'm happier than I've been in quite some time and I thought I was getting better. Now I have to wonder if it was all an illusion or if this is a temporary setback. I don't know and only time will tell. I do know I'm well enough now not to like those thoughts of suicide popping up. I suppose that's progress.
I have a purpose in life now that I didn't have a few months ago. I have a plan about 3/4ths formulated to reach my goals and in fact have already started working on it. I have some nice friends that I didn't have before and I'm happier so where the hell did the thought come from and why?
Perhaps I'm over reacting to the thought of suicide that I had but it did come as a surprise. I'll continue what I'm doing, take my anti depressants and be grateful that I am a lot better than I was a month ago and one hell of a lot better than I was at the end of February. Still, the thought of being better off dead, again, doesn't make me very happy. At least now I'm strong enough to resist the thought and work on fixing it.
Showing posts with label suicide. Show all posts
Showing posts with label suicide. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Depression and ways I've recovered from it
Considering I've come to believe the doctor who told me I've probably been depressed all of my life how can I still be depressed and talk about recovering?
What I'm talking about recovering from is the severe and suicidal depressions I sometimes fall into. I'm not the greatest writer in the world so stick with me while I try to explain.
Being moderately depressed has been a constant for me for almost 60 years and I consider that a normal state as it's all I've known, being severely depressed to the point where I would require hospitalization is something totally different and is what I'm talking about when I say recovered from. Perhaps some day I'll be able to recover totally and not have any kind of depression at all.
I've never cared whether I lived or died and am not afraid of dying. I never have been and for me that's normal. Occasional thoughts of suicide cross my mind in my normal state but nothing to serious and not something I would do in my normal state. To damn stubborn to give up.
When I get severely depressed every day is a struggle to find a reason to stay alive. I can tell when I'm getting more depressed than usual and most times take steps to prevent it from getting worse. Sometimes I don't do anything and I get worse.
The severe depressions started in 1995 and I lost 30 pounds, couldn't sleep, couldn't eat and wanted to cry all the time. I never cryed but the fact I wanted to is one of the criteria I use to monitor how depressed I am. My business was doing very well but my ex wife was causing more problems, both professionally and personally, that I could handle.
I finally left her and gave her the business. There came a last straw one day and I climbed in my truck and drove off. Never saw her or spoke to her again and I never took anything but what I had in my truck and the 1200 dollars I had in my pocket.
My cousin made me go to he doctor and he wanted to put me into the hospital because I really looked bad and my health was very bad. I didn't care. I wouldn't go to the hospital so he prescribed some mood elevators for me and I knew I was so bad off that I took them. Reality was they didn't help much.
I went and found a job that was far beneath what I was capable off but didn't cause any stress. Now at least I could feed and house myself. For the next 10 months I seldom went out of the house. Watched a lot of TV and started writing the story of my life, all of the good and the bad and unfortunately, 100% truthful.
After writing for that long I finally started getting better and better. Yes I was still taking the drugs but I didn't like them. When I finally recovered from that one I attributed it to all of the writing I'd been doing. Again, when I say recovered I mean got back to my normal depressed state and not the severe suicidal depression I had been in. So I wrote my way out of it.
The next time I got severely depressed I spend 18 months living alone and seldom going out of the apt. I actually had to force myself to go buy food. I read everything on the net I could find and I tried a few different things. Then one day I read about kids in Serbia or Croatia who failed to thrive because they were never touched.
At that point I decided to give massage a try. After I made that decision it was another 6 months before I scheduled an appointment with a spa. Just didn't seem manly to me. Sissy stuff and didn't fit my image of myself at all. Besides, I hated having people touch me. I hated to cuddle, I hated to hold hands, I hated to have someone sleeping next to me and touching me.
The first few massage appointments were a complete ordeal and Jessie, the girl who worked on me most of the time, told me I was the tensest person she had ever met. Lol, I told her I slept tense and was seldom relaxed. Probably because of the way I was raised and the way I continued to live my life after I left home. Always on high alert and my back to the wall.
Eventually I started to semi enjoy the massages and started getting better. Then Jessie and the other girl who was massaging me talked me into just doing nothing. I had never been able to just do nothing and still have problems with it but at least I can do it. They talked me into going out to the lake and laying in the sun.
At first I took work along because it was a waste of time just sitting at the lake. Then I graduated to bringing a book but no work. Finally after about 15-20 times at the lake I got brave and left everything home. I learned to like just laying in the sun and doing nothing but letting my mind float and go where it wanted to.
I got better and better and finally felt back to my normal state of depression. I kept getting massages and laying in the sun but I discovered I liked being touched, at least by females. Lol, no way in hell will I ever go to a male massage therapist.
I did have to take up tanning in the winter months though but massage and doing nothing in the sun pretty much solved that one.
Those two severe depressions were about 5 years apart. This one one happened about two years later and here I am now struggling to get out of this one. As I said on an earlier page I finally got so bad I knew I had to go to the doctor again. I was severely depressed and I knew if but I was so depressed I didn't care. Over all I'd lost 50 pounds and went from 165 down to 112 pounds. She prescribed Zoloft and I knew I had to take it, like it or not. Interestingly enough Zoloft doesn't cause sexual problems or side affects for me.
Then between the Zoloft and the Xanax I felt mildly better but still not good as I was still fighting off thoughts of suicide and it was hard to fight off. I made a decision to pack up what I needed to survive, clothes, important papers and a few other things and made it all fit into the back of my Aztek. I left all furniture and everything else.
I started traveling to places I'd never been before and am continuing to do so. I work on my computer, I lay in the sun and I go to new places. Trying to find a motel is a challenge, trying to find decent places to eat is a challenge. Then I decided to start this blog instead of writing in notebooks. It's all helping. Each part of it helps a bit and I can tell I'm better because I don't have to fight to stay alive until tomorrow. I'm now automatically assuming there will be a tomorrow instead of fighting to be here for the next 5 minutes.
I'm learning to replace negative thoughts with positive ones and using my subconscious mind to help with this. I'm getting work done and making a bit of money so things are better. Not great but better. For some reason writing seems to help me more than anything. Even when I tend to babble. Some days remembering and telling it is all a bit much but I think positive thoughts and I get better.
Will I get suicidally depressed again. History says I probably will and I don't know that I have the strength and stubbornness to survive another severe deep depression. Oh well, I'm better now and that's the point. I'll keep doing the things I'm doing and keep thinking positive thoughts, keep laying in the sun and keep this blog going and I should keep getting better.
What I'm talking about recovering from is the severe and suicidal depressions I sometimes fall into. I'm not the greatest writer in the world so stick with me while I try to explain.
Being moderately depressed has been a constant for me for almost 60 years and I consider that a normal state as it's all I've known, being severely depressed to the point where I would require hospitalization is something totally different and is what I'm talking about when I say recovered from. Perhaps some day I'll be able to recover totally and not have any kind of depression at all.
I've never cared whether I lived or died and am not afraid of dying. I never have been and for me that's normal. Occasional thoughts of suicide cross my mind in my normal state but nothing to serious and not something I would do in my normal state. To damn stubborn to give up.
When I get severely depressed every day is a struggle to find a reason to stay alive. I can tell when I'm getting more depressed than usual and most times take steps to prevent it from getting worse. Sometimes I don't do anything and I get worse.
The severe depressions started in 1995 and I lost 30 pounds, couldn't sleep, couldn't eat and wanted to cry all the time. I never cryed but the fact I wanted to is one of the criteria I use to monitor how depressed I am. My business was doing very well but my ex wife was causing more problems, both professionally and personally, that I could handle.
I finally left her and gave her the business. There came a last straw one day and I climbed in my truck and drove off. Never saw her or spoke to her again and I never took anything but what I had in my truck and the 1200 dollars I had in my pocket.
My cousin made me go to he doctor and he wanted to put me into the hospital because I really looked bad and my health was very bad. I didn't care. I wouldn't go to the hospital so he prescribed some mood elevators for me and I knew I was so bad off that I took them. Reality was they didn't help much.
I went and found a job that was far beneath what I was capable off but didn't cause any stress. Now at least I could feed and house myself. For the next 10 months I seldom went out of the house. Watched a lot of TV and started writing the story of my life, all of the good and the bad and unfortunately, 100% truthful.
After writing for that long I finally started getting better and better. Yes I was still taking the drugs but I didn't like them. When I finally recovered from that one I attributed it to all of the writing I'd been doing. Again, when I say recovered I mean got back to my normal depressed state and not the severe suicidal depression I had been in. So I wrote my way out of it.
The next time I got severely depressed I spend 18 months living alone and seldom going out of the apt. I actually had to force myself to go buy food. I read everything on the net I could find and I tried a few different things. Then one day I read about kids in Serbia or Croatia who failed to thrive because they were never touched.
At that point I decided to give massage a try. After I made that decision it was another 6 months before I scheduled an appointment with a spa. Just didn't seem manly to me. Sissy stuff and didn't fit my image of myself at all. Besides, I hated having people touch me. I hated to cuddle, I hated to hold hands, I hated to have someone sleeping next to me and touching me.
The first few massage appointments were a complete ordeal and Jessie, the girl who worked on me most of the time, told me I was the tensest person she had ever met. Lol, I told her I slept tense and was seldom relaxed. Probably because of the way I was raised and the way I continued to live my life after I left home. Always on high alert and my back to the wall.
Eventually I started to semi enjoy the massages and started getting better. Then Jessie and the other girl who was massaging me talked me into just doing nothing. I had never been able to just do nothing and still have problems with it but at least I can do it. They talked me into going out to the lake and laying in the sun.
At first I took work along because it was a waste of time just sitting at the lake. Then I graduated to bringing a book but no work. Finally after about 15-20 times at the lake I got brave and left everything home. I learned to like just laying in the sun and doing nothing but letting my mind float and go where it wanted to.
I got better and better and finally felt back to my normal state of depression. I kept getting massages and laying in the sun but I discovered I liked being touched, at least by females. Lol, no way in hell will I ever go to a male massage therapist.
I did have to take up tanning in the winter months though but massage and doing nothing in the sun pretty much solved that one.
Those two severe depressions were about 5 years apart. This one one happened about two years later and here I am now struggling to get out of this one. As I said on an earlier page I finally got so bad I knew I had to go to the doctor again. I was severely depressed and I knew if but I was so depressed I didn't care. Over all I'd lost 50 pounds and went from 165 down to 112 pounds. She prescribed Zoloft and I knew I had to take it, like it or not. Interestingly enough Zoloft doesn't cause sexual problems or side affects for me.
Then between the Zoloft and the Xanax I felt mildly better but still not good as I was still fighting off thoughts of suicide and it was hard to fight off. I made a decision to pack up what I needed to survive, clothes, important papers and a few other things and made it all fit into the back of my Aztek. I left all furniture and everything else.
I started traveling to places I'd never been before and am continuing to do so. I work on my computer, I lay in the sun and I go to new places. Trying to find a motel is a challenge, trying to find decent places to eat is a challenge. Then I decided to start this blog instead of writing in notebooks. It's all helping. Each part of it helps a bit and I can tell I'm better because I don't have to fight to stay alive until tomorrow. I'm now automatically assuming there will be a tomorrow instead of fighting to be here for the next 5 minutes.
I'm learning to replace negative thoughts with positive ones and using my subconscious mind to help with this. I'm getting work done and making a bit of money so things are better. Not great but better. For some reason writing seems to help me more than anything. Even when I tend to babble. Some days remembering and telling it is all a bit much but I think positive thoughts and I get better.
Will I get suicidally depressed again. History says I probably will and I don't know that I have the strength and stubbornness to survive another severe deep depression. Oh well, I'm better now and that's the point. I'll keep doing the things I'm doing and keep thinking positive thoughts, keep laying in the sun and keep this blog going and I should keep getting better.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Running away, killing ones self and Runaway Love
As I said yesterday, it gets worse. I have a brief interlude here that's related but the first time I heard Runaway Love by Ludicrous and Mary J. Blige I almost cried. If you haven't heard it or seen it you can see it at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RJWtR2KlMwg and I would recommend you watch it and listen to it a few times.
That video could be the story of my life except I'm a guy and my abuse started much earlier than that. I'm sure the girls abuse started when they were born too. Yes, I'm getting to the point of all of this.
The first time I ran away from home I was four years old. Imagine that, a four year old running away from home for real. It wasn't like the shows where the kid can't leave because he can't cross the street or his mother refuses to pack a lunch so he doesn't leave. I ran away and my mother couldn't find me for hours and hours. Of course at four I couldn't fomulate a very good plan so I ran away to my grandmothers house which was about 8 blocks from where I lived.
In retrospect not a good plan but hey, I was four and I did have the balls to leave home and try to find a better place for me. Eventually my parents tracked me down, came and got me, took me home and beat the hell out of me until they got tired of it. That was how life was for me. While my maternal grandmother cared about me she and my grandfather just kept letting the abuse happen. Yep, I've probably been depressed all of my life.
After thinking about my unsuccessful attempt to runaway from home I came to the conclusion that the only way to make things better for myself was to die. So naturally I tried to commit suicide a couple of times. Obviously I wasn't successful or I wouldn't be writing this. The bad thing is I still which I had been successful.
It's kind of embarrasing for me to be writing this stuff as most of the people in my life don't know any of these things happened to me. I also never knew that my life was that much diffeent from any other kids lives. I didn't know there were good parents in the world or that there were kids who weren't abused. Except for one of my cousins I was close to. I always wished I had her parents but her parents and mine hung out together as our two dads were related. I'm not so sure now that her life was that great either but she didn't get the beatings I got so it made it look better to me.
When I was around 40 or so one of my wifes friends was at our house and she was talking about how the social services had taken her neighbors kids away from her for abuse. She was telling me that the parent had left them alone overnight and someone had turned her in. Now her kids were fed well, dressed well, not beaten or anything like that and in my mind an 11 and 9 year old were old enough to be alone over night.
She went on and on about how bad it was that the mother had left them overnight and I finally snapped on her and told her she didn't know what the hell she was talking about or even what the hell abuse was. I asked her if she'd been an abused child and she said no, that she didn't even know anyone who had been badly abused. I said sure you do, you know me.
She said what abuse, you got spanked now and then or what. Now I not only snapped but I really went off on her with a major rant. When I finally stopped yelling she asked me how I was abused so I told her a very little of it but included the running away and the trying to commit suicide at the age of four. Much to my disbelief and amazement she started crying and so did my wife. I truly didn't understand why they were crying so I asked.
We talked about it for awhile and I tried to explain that I'd never talked about it because I had assumed every kids life was like that and that it was what I knew and what I had lived thru so it was normal for me. It was the only explanation I could come up with and when she asked me if I still thought it was normal I said yes.
Then she asked me, if I read about a four year old running away and trying to commit suicide, in the paper or saw a tv story about it would I think it ws normal and I said no. That's the first time in my life I realized how abused I was and how bad it really was. Here I am a 40 year old man thinking my running away and trying to kill myself was normal for that age.
I know better now and I will talk more openly about all of the abuse that happened to me but there are still things no one else knows and I'll eventually put them on here, someday. when I get brave enough. I know it wasn't my fault I was abused and I know the responsibilty wasn't mine. I KNOW THAT yet it still feels weird to talk about any of it.
So yes, I now know that I have been depressed all of my life and to this day I don't give a damn if I live or die. It just doesn't matter to me in any way, shape or form.
That video could be the story of my life except I'm a guy and my abuse started much earlier than that. I'm sure the girls abuse started when they were born too. Yes, I'm getting to the point of all of this.
The first time I ran away from home I was four years old. Imagine that, a four year old running away from home for real. It wasn't like the shows where the kid can't leave because he can't cross the street or his mother refuses to pack a lunch so he doesn't leave. I ran away and my mother couldn't find me for hours and hours. Of course at four I couldn't fomulate a very good plan so I ran away to my grandmothers house which was about 8 blocks from where I lived.
In retrospect not a good plan but hey, I was four and I did have the balls to leave home and try to find a better place for me. Eventually my parents tracked me down, came and got me, took me home and beat the hell out of me until they got tired of it. That was how life was for me. While my maternal grandmother cared about me she and my grandfather just kept letting the abuse happen. Yep, I've probably been depressed all of my life.
After thinking about my unsuccessful attempt to runaway from home I came to the conclusion that the only way to make things better for myself was to die. So naturally I tried to commit suicide a couple of times. Obviously I wasn't successful or I wouldn't be writing this. The bad thing is I still which I had been successful.
It's kind of embarrasing for me to be writing this stuff as most of the people in my life don't know any of these things happened to me. I also never knew that my life was that much diffeent from any other kids lives. I didn't know there were good parents in the world or that there were kids who weren't abused. Except for one of my cousins I was close to. I always wished I had her parents but her parents and mine hung out together as our two dads were related. I'm not so sure now that her life was that great either but she didn't get the beatings I got so it made it look better to me.
When I was around 40 or so one of my wifes friends was at our house and she was talking about how the social services had taken her neighbors kids away from her for abuse. She was telling me that the parent had left them alone overnight and someone had turned her in. Now her kids were fed well, dressed well, not beaten or anything like that and in my mind an 11 and 9 year old were old enough to be alone over night.
She went on and on about how bad it was that the mother had left them overnight and I finally snapped on her and told her she didn't know what the hell she was talking about or even what the hell abuse was. I asked her if she'd been an abused child and she said no, that she didn't even know anyone who had been badly abused. I said sure you do, you know me.
She said what abuse, you got spanked now and then or what. Now I not only snapped but I really went off on her with a major rant. When I finally stopped yelling she asked me how I was abused so I told her a very little of it but included the running away and the trying to commit suicide at the age of four. Much to my disbelief and amazement she started crying and so did my wife. I truly didn't understand why they were crying so I asked.
We talked about it for awhile and I tried to explain that I'd never talked about it because I had assumed every kids life was like that and that it was what I knew and what I had lived thru so it was normal for me. It was the only explanation I could come up with and when she asked me if I still thought it was normal I said yes.
Then she asked me, if I read about a four year old running away and trying to commit suicide, in the paper or saw a tv story about it would I think it ws normal and I said no. That's the first time in my life I realized how abused I was and how bad it really was. Here I am a 40 year old man thinking my running away and trying to kill myself was normal for that age.
I know better now and I will talk more openly about all of the abuse that happened to me but there are still things no one else knows and I'll eventually put them on here, someday. when I get brave enough. I know it wasn't my fault I was abused and I know the responsibilty wasn't mine. I KNOW THAT yet it still feels weird to talk about any of it.
So yes, I now know that I have been depressed all of my life and to this day I don't give a damn if I live or die. It just doesn't matter to me in any way, shape or form.
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