Showing up to a pdoc appointment drunk is not a good idea. My pdoc knows most everything about me, except for that. During my last visit, she added the drug Seroquel to bring down my symptoms of hypo-mania. Because I seemed so out of character, she increased the drug. When I sobered up, I knew I had dug myself a deeper hole to climb out of.
Anxiety, panic attacks, dripping melancholy, hypo-mania, mania, irrational behavior, intermittent anger all seemed to find a thread through my mood in a one on one or a mixed state. In my stupor, I decided to join my husband, kids, and church youth group for a ski trip. Once I got to the destination, I became ill. Too afraid to go to the hospital in a strange town, I toughed it out. I threw up everything, including blood. Never telling anyone how sick I was, I kept my Ipod in my ears and tried to submerge myself into another world. Still sick after returning home, I laid on my bathroom tile and begged God to take my life. I had no strength to do it on my own.
The energy my manic episode ensued dissipated like the air in a balloon when it’s popped. My heart felt like it was filled with blisters. I was lost. Somewhere inside was myself. I gaped at myself in the mirror and did not recognize the person I saw. I moved from the bed to the bathroom. When my family was at home I stayed in bed. While they there away, I would lay naked on the cold ceramic tile and drain my eyes of it’s tears.
Thankfully, I was on Christmas break so I did not have to go to work. I think I slept through Christmas, I don’t remember much of it. I missed my appointment with my therapist and did not return his calls. Really, I did not care if I got better, my hope was death. The only thought that brought me any peace was the thought of dying. The fog that covered my thinking made way for extreme feelings of guilt and low self worth. My feelings would be incensed by my family’s lack of concern. I honestly believed I could have died on that bathroom floor and no one would have noticed for several days. There would be a few tears. My husband would take a couple days from the job he was married to, and my kids would be sad and wonder, but find a way to blame me, then be done with all feelings. My existence had brought nothing and would return to nothing. I did not think I could get worse, wrong again.