I lost a lot this year. I lost my ability to feel happy. I lost someone I thought was the love of my life. I lost my job. I lost most of my friends. I even lost any interest in bathing or brushing my teeth. Eventually I lost my will to live. In a nutshell, I lost me. My unique, infectious vitality went pitch black for over 6 months.
Funnily enough, the day I hit rock bottom was the same day I suddenly started feeling happy for the first time in 6 months. The pain I had endured for so long, at every waking moment, had finally toppled the little strength I had left, and I just couldn’t fucking fight it anymore. As I saw it, the only way I could stop the pain was to just end my existence. So I started the day out cutting my wrists, finding it too painful to cut deep enough to accomplish what I’d set out to do. I thought of my family, my cats, the few friends I had left, and realized I had to pee. So I took a break from attempting to slash my wrists to take a leak, and thought perhaps I should call my friend Tim to come over and distract me. At least I had enough of my mind left to know I would not survive to the end of the day if I spent it alone.
Tim came over, we went on an errand, and while we were walking back towards my house, I felt an unusual sensation wash throughout my body. Since January, I had been effectively isolated from any good feelings, so it took me a while to put my finger on it. Finally I identified this unfamiliar emotion as contentment. As soon as it flooded through me, I felt this relief I’d never be able to describe, a feeling better than any drug. It was so complete and unexpected, and the darkness that had fogged my world was suddenly white hot and inside out.
Much to Tim’s surprise, I suggested going to my local to give him a pool lesson and have a drink. I ended up staying after Tim left and well into the night, meeting new and interesting people, and taking home the guy I’d had my eye on all night. I kept looking at my cut up wrist (I told everyone it was cat scratches) and had to remind myself that I had been low enough to do that to myself just that morning. But that night it looked so foreign to me, like it was someone else’s arm. I felt so bad for that person.
The next day I woke up expecting my abrupt mood reversal to have been a short but sweet fluke. Holy fucking shit. I got out of bed without the normal nausea I fought back with clenched teeth. I felt like going on a walk and running some errands and even taking a shower and brushing my teeth. Maybe I’ll even floss! I was starting my first freelance assignment that day, and had a kick-off meeting downtown. I got ready without the dread I had come to expect. I opened my apartment door without staring at it in fear anywhere from 2 to twenty minutes. I didn’t have to firmly convince myself to leave my building and proceed to the sidewalk, saying under my breath, "One foot in front of the other". I strolled in the sun on a beautiful day, my only complaint being that my feet were hot. I had worn boots on a particularly warm day.
This even keel has stayed with me for three weeks now. I know the happy will not last forever – I’ve dealt with the never ending cycle of ups and downs since I was a kid. But I had never had to deal with what I can only describe as a darkness so complete, so vast, and so relentless for so long. I would wish this only on Hitler. And maybe my ex-husband.
Since I returned to the land of the living with a clear mind, I’ve been able to see silver linings and believe in the possibility of good things sprouting from the blackness I barely survived. I don’t think I’ll ever be the same person I was before all this. I have found myself much more wary of anything that might make me vulnerable. It’s all internal, and I suppose the people I can still trust might not notice it, but I’ve noticed it. It’s a bit sad. Maybe I should hold a funeral for the part of me that gave everyone a chance, and wanted to help people because it made me feel good, and always tried to see the best in people, and trusted people I thought were friends. And the part that fell in love so deeply, with reckless abandon. The funeral for that part of me should be celebrated with a New Orleans funeral dirge. I will miss that part the most. It sparked some of the best and worst times of my life.
1997 was the worst year of my life until this year. On this past New Year’s Eve, a wisp of thought flashed through my head when midnight struck: “I wonder if 2007 will be a bad year. It couldn’t be as bad as 1997.” Turns out I was wrong. I would much prefer getting abused by someone I loved (1997) over what’s happened to me this year. Ideally, I’d prefer neither.
So now I feel human again. I even feel pretty again. I still see the boy I took home on that really fucked up, fateful day, and he makes me laugh like crazy, a genuine laugh. I no longer wake up to a living nightmare, wanting nothing but to go back to sleep. I no longer feel the need to kill myself just to end the pain that saturated my life for so long. I must admit a lurking fear that it might return. I get flashes of panic when I think about it. But I remind myself that the meds actually exacerbated the existing depression as I unwittingly kept taking them, desperately waiting to feel better. My aversion to routine caused a happy accident - I forgot to take my meds for long enough to bring on the demise of the darkness. This cleared my head enough to decipher the course of events and decide to continue to abandon the meds. Going cold turkey has caused some rather annoying dizzy spells every 10 seconds, but, hell, if that's my biggest problem, sign me up. At least I know exactly what's causing it, and that it'll eventually subside.
I think I'm finally okay.
