Letting Go

I am confessing (to myself), that I have not told a single soul about this blog thing. Well, I asked my family if they cared if "aired" some of my business - which indirectly and directly - becomes their business, and they agreed, but technically, I have told no one. Tomorrow. That's what I keep telling myself. Tomorrow. I want survivors to read the blog more than anyone. Those closest to me, well I'm not so sure.

It is hard for me to let go. I can go to big conferences, speak at grand rounds, but when it comes to actually one-on-one letting go of my emotions, letting my "tough" wall down, that is very hard for me to do.

It was one night in January that I knew I could not hide any longer. The thought in my head was becoming more prominent - the one telling me things would be better off without me. I was struggling, and had been struggling for over a month, with shingles. I was in terrible, terrible pain. I felt I had no one single ounce of fight left in me. I even started to develop a plan in my mind. That, I knew, was not good. I'm a counselor for goodness sake. I know these things. The signs.

The thing I kept coming back to was my son. He is my son from a previous marriage (that will take another post entirely, trust me), and I know if something happens to me, he has to go live with his dad. He does see his dad every other weekend, but Richard is his DAD. Richard teaches him, loves him every day and night, pays for his expenses, and it would KILL him to lose Nick. So what prompted me to ask for help was the fear that I might eventually not be able to fight off the urge.

One of the things I was afraid of in asking for help was the simple fact of what it was going to be like. It seems silly, but I wondered if it would be like a bunch of crazies walking around screaming and crying. Would I be able to have my cell phone? These are the things I cried to Richard about after I admitted to him that I thought I needed to go to the hospital.

He calmly and obviously stated, "I think we're beyond worrying about those things. Don't you?"

And the reason I'm writing about this is because I thought other people who read this blog might also feel some of the same things. They seem silly, but I honestly think they are the things that sometimes keep people from jumping off that ledge for help.

Nick was already in bed when this was taking place, and I didn't want to wake him up. I called my sister, Amy, my twin, and she came and got me. I had her call my mom and my other sister and they met us at the hospital. That is how our family does things. I groups. Together. By then, I was more under control. I was worried, terrified really, but tried to act like my old self.

It was really, really, really hard to admit to that doctor that I thought about killing myself. Saying those words was to me embarrassing and shameful and weak. He was very straight forward with me. We talked about the reasons why that would not be a good idea. He said he still thought, even though I was calm, I still needed a good "time out." I agreed.

He left the room to make the arrangements, and came back quickly to report that all the beds in their unit were full. The next closest "facility" was an hour away. I took a breath, but before I could say anything, he said, "This doesn't mean your issues are solved. I still think you need to be admitted."

He had me there. Through tears, I agreed. It took FOREVER, for them to get it arranged. Amy stayed with me..... And at 3 am, they put me in an ambulance to take me to a facility that had less crazy people in it. Wait, I'm one of those crazies now. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to sleep instead of thinking about what awaited me.