It has been awhile since I've written in here. I guess maybe I just haven't felt like talking about what I've been going through... or maybe it is that I have been so confused about what I've been feeling it's been too hard to put in words. For awhile, things were good. I got a job that I didn't hate, decided to make my way back onto the stage by doing a couple shows at HCT, and I was even elected to the Board of Directors. I really felt like I was starting to get to that whole responsible adult place.
And then I lost my job. After struggling for so many months to get one, and then to just lose it without warning... it brought everything crashing down around me. They called me to tell me after I'd left work, while I was on my way to a performance. I got to the theatre early, as usual, and I just laid down on the stage at Longstreet and cried. I remember telling myself that there, in a theatre, that was where I belonged. Maybe not on stage, though I do still love it, but I belong in that world. I want to live in a world where people are treated as humans, not as titles or ID numbers or some sort of robots that were made to work and work until they shatter.
In public, I made jokes about not having a job, but when I was alone, I was spiraling downward very quickly. Everything had become a blur. Days mixed together as I spent one day after another lying on an air mattress at my mom's sleeping, binge watching Netflix, and eating just to eat and not because I felt hungry. In fact, I felt little of anything other than despair. And yet I couldn't cry. Not at or for anything or anyone. There were no lights in the spare bedroom, and I don't know that I would have bothered to turn them on if there had been. I told everyone I was sick, and for the first few days, I think my mom chalked it all up to being exhausted after the show, so I got by. I would leave the bedroom door shut, never went out except to let the dog out, use the bathroom, or get food. I went... I don't even know how many days without showering because I just didn't care. I had stopped taking my medicine for my depression and for sleeping because every time I looked at a pill bottle, I would think well if I just took them all, I'd fall asleep and never wake up.
And the thoughts of dying became more insistent. If I died, I wouldn't have to worry about being in debt or having to get a job that made me feel like my soul was being crushed. What did I have left to live for? Well, there was my family, but as I was sleeping on an air mattress at my mom's house, I felt more like a burden than anything else. In the past, I had always had my dreams to look forward to, but over the last year, I had begun to lose my grip on those. They now seemed impossible, impractical, and entirely intangible. There was too much competition, too many of the people closest to the program had begun doing other things with their lives, and I felt very much like it would be just me, and I knew I couldn't do it alone... especially not without a couple of college degrees which I couldn't have without paying the school back. So, my dreams weren't something worth fighting for. And as far as friends went, most of them hardly talked to me, none of the people who I had considered my best friends came to see the show unless they were required to, and I had grown so tired of always being the one to reach out. The only person who did talk to me on a consistent basis lived half a continent and an ocean away, and she, of all people, would understand. The hardest thing, I thought, would be leaving my dog behind. Would my mom be able to keep him around, or would he remind her too much of me?
It's weird... as I sit here in my bed, it feels like I am in the room on that air mattress, like even the world underneath me is unstable...
I can't be sure what set me off to finally cry that night, but I'm fairly certain it was thinking about my dog, how I wasn't taking care of him like he needed. He was the only thing that made me feel any emotion at that point. Eventually, my crying turned into sobs... not quiet sobs, but loud, body heaving sobs like how you'd expect someone to cry upon hearing someone they'd loved very dearly had died. And I guess in a way, maybe I was already grieving my own death.
My mom was asleep. I knew she was because I could hear her breathing machine through the wall. And yet somehow she heard me, through the wall, over the noise of snoring and the machine working to help her breathe at night. (I'm convinced this was more of a motherly instinct.) And then I heard her get up, and that made me cry even harder, especially when she came into the room and found me a sobbing, broken mess... like she had so many other times before.
I started talking, telling her how I felt. She took my pills from me and told me she'd give me my medicine each day and that she was going to call a therapist in the morning. I finally went to sleep from a mixture of the exhaustion of crying and the effects of the medication. I awoke the next morning to my mom knocking on the door and informing me that she would be taking me to the Stress Center to be evaluated. I said my goodbyes to my dog, told my friend across the ocean what was going on so that if she didn't hear from me she wouldn't worry. I even packed some things in a bag... I wasn't sure what I'd be allowed to have. I thought for sure I would be admitted for inpatient treatment... which was almost comical because all I could think about was Sam and Dean Winchester hunting a monster in a mental ward. They're nearly always haunted, you see.
But I went without any further fuss or discussion. In fact, I hardly spoke at all except to confirm that I was thirsty when my mom asked if I wanted anything to drink. We went into the stress center, and I immediately found myself judging the patients I saw coming and going... mostly the ones coming. I kept thinking that at least I wasn't that crazy... but I had been on the edge of suicide, so maybe that wasn't so true. We had to wait for a long time, but I finally saw an evaluator. The only time I cried was when I was talking about my mom, because I regretted so much that I was putting her through this. In the end, they decided I didn't need to go into the inpatient program, but they placed me in a partial hospitalization program... which basically meant I had to come to the stress center and be there all day every day throughout the week. At least I wasn't going to a locked ward with potential monsters or ghosts...
And then I lost my job. After struggling for so many months to get one, and then to just lose it without warning... it brought everything crashing down around me. They called me to tell me after I'd left work, while I was on my way to a performance. I got to the theatre early, as usual, and I just laid down on the stage at Longstreet and cried. I remember telling myself that there, in a theatre, that was where I belonged. Maybe not on stage, though I do still love it, but I belong in that world. I want to live in a world where people are treated as humans, not as titles or ID numbers or some sort of robots that were made to work and work until they shatter.
In public, I made jokes about not having a job, but when I was alone, I was spiraling downward very quickly. Everything had become a blur. Days mixed together as I spent one day after another lying on an air mattress at my mom's sleeping, binge watching Netflix, and eating just to eat and not because I felt hungry. In fact, I felt little of anything other than despair. And yet I couldn't cry. Not at or for anything or anyone. There were no lights in the spare bedroom, and I don't know that I would have bothered to turn them on if there had been. I told everyone I was sick, and for the first few days, I think my mom chalked it all up to being exhausted after the show, so I got by. I would leave the bedroom door shut, never went out except to let the dog out, use the bathroom, or get food. I went... I don't even know how many days without showering because I just didn't care. I had stopped taking my medicine for my depression and for sleeping because every time I looked at a pill bottle, I would think well if I just took them all, I'd fall asleep and never wake up.
And the thoughts of dying became more insistent. If I died, I wouldn't have to worry about being in debt or having to get a job that made me feel like my soul was being crushed. What did I have left to live for? Well, there was my family, but as I was sleeping on an air mattress at my mom's house, I felt more like a burden than anything else. In the past, I had always had my dreams to look forward to, but over the last year, I had begun to lose my grip on those. They now seemed impossible, impractical, and entirely intangible. There was too much competition, too many of the people closest to the program had begun doing other things with their lives, and I felt very much like it would be just me, and I knew I couldn't do it alone... especially not without a couple of college degrees which I couldn't have without paying the school back. So, my dreams weren't something worth fighting for. And as far as friends went, most of them hardly talked to me, none of the people who I had considered my best friends came to see the show unless they were required to, and I had grown so tired of always being the one to reach out. The only person who did talk to me on a consistent basis lived half a continent and an ocean away, and she, of all people, would understand. The hardest thing, I thought, would be leaving my dog behind. Would my mom be able to keep him around, or would he remind her too much of me?
It's weird... as I sit here in my bed, it feels like I am in the room on that air mattress, like even the world underneath me is unstable...
I can't be sure what set me off to finally cry that night, but I'm fairly certain it was thinking about my dog, how I wasn't taking care of him like he needed. He was the only thing that made me feel any emotion at that point. Eventually, my crying turned into sobs... not quiet sobs, but loud, body heaving sobs like how you'd expect someone to cry upon hearing someone they'd loved very dearly had died. And I guess in a way, maybe I was already grieving my own death.
My mom was asleep. I knew she was because I could hear her breathing machine through the wall. And yet somehow she heard me, through the wall, over the noise of snoring and the machine working to help her breathe at night. (I'm convinced this was more of a motherly instinct.) And then I heard her get up, and that made me cry even harder, especially when she came into the room and found me a sobbing, broken mess... like she had so many other times before.
I started talking, telling her how I felt. She took my pills from me and told me she'd give me my medicine each day and that she was going to call a therapist in the morning. I finally went to sleep from a mixture of the exhaustion of crying and the effects of the medication. I awoke the next morning to my mom knocking on the door and informing me that she would be taking me to the Stress Center to be evaluated. I said my goodbyes to my dog, told my friend across the ocean what was going on so that if she didn't hear from me she wouldn't worry. I even packed some things in a bag... I wasn't sure what I'd be allowed to have. I thought for sure I would be admitted for inpatient treatment... which was almost comical because all I could think about was Sam and Dean Winchester hunting a monster in a mental ward. They're nearly always haunted, you see.
But I went without any further fuss or discussion. In fact, I hardly spoke at all except to confirm that I was thirsty when my mom asked if I wanted anything to drink. We went into the stress center, and I immediately found myself judging the patients I saw coming and going... mostly the ones coming. I kept thinking that at least I wasn't that crazy... but I had been on the edge of suicide, so maybe that wasn't so true. We had to wait for a long time, but I finally saw an evaluator. The only time I cried was when I was talking about my mom, because I regretted so much that I was putting her through this. In the end, they decided I didn't need to go into the inpatient program, but they placed me in a partial hospitalization program... which basically meant I had to come to the stress center and be there all day every day throughout the week. At least I wasn't going to a locked ward with potential monsters or ghosts...
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