Wow, it’s been weeks since I last posted. I’ve thought about posting for a while, but depression got in the way.
Around Christmas my depression intensified to unseen levels. I was having flash backs and flash forwards where I relived all the horrible experiences of my past and dreamt up impossible but horrifying futures. I’ve had this before, but it was getting out of hand. After talking it over with my psychiatrist, we decided to try out an antidepressant, specifically the SNRI welbutrin. It was recommended because it had the least chance of flipping me into a mania, and that was the last thing that I needed if I wanted to stabilize.
Things were looking good after about a week on it. I felt my energy level getting boosted and the flashbacks were almost gone. But I wasn’t completely better. I still had those flash forwards where everything looks bleak and I believe that I’ll end up a substantial failure. This was coupled with severe anxiety, which is almost always present in my depressions. And after a while, the constant threat of failure and doom ate away at my will to live.
It started off as just a desire to disappear. I wanted to disappear from any obligation because it seemed that it would turn out for the worse and I also wanted to disappear from my mind that was telling me these things. Medication wasn’t working quickly enough and I began to think that it would never work. I was wrong in thinking this, but I was not very rational at the time. What was worse is that as I had more energy than in a typical depression. I started to have small mood swings that made me impulsive as well as deeply despairing. This was nearly fatal.
I began to plot out how I was going to kill myself, but I didn’t know what to do at the time. I didn’t like the idea of hanging myself and I didn’t like the idea of the pain involved with cutting my wrists. I was also overwhelmed by a fear of failure. If I failed then I would wear the scars of my attempt for the rest of my life. That was too much to bear. But being a pharmacy from all the drugs that I have been prescribed, I figured that I must have something in there. And I settled on klonopin with alcohol. But I didn’t know how I would feel when killing myself. I wanted it to be peaceful and relaxing, nothing violent like I had just poisoned myself. I am very upper middle class when it comes to suicide. So I did a test run with a few milligrams of klonopin and some vodka screwdrivers. I didn’t know if it would kill me, but I figured that it would give me a taste of what it would be like to try. I passed out rather quickly and woke up to my girlfriend standing over me later that night. She didn’t know what I had just tried, she thought I had fallen asleep on the couch.
After waking up, I had my plan in place. Klonopin was what I desired, a drowsy stoned way to die and I had the means. Really, it was just a matter of time before I downed the rest of the bottle and my xanax with some alcohol and I would finally have escaped my brain and it telling me that I’m a failure. I didn’t want to set a date and time, what I wanted from it was an escape from the feeling of pure failure and helplessness. It was, in a way, a reminder that I was still in control of something.
For the next couple of days I didn’t do anything, but I remembered that I had to schedule an appointment with my psychiatrist. From there it sprung into my mind that I needed to at least talk to someone, anyone, and maybe get a little help. So I called and surprisingly got in that afternoon. In retrospect, that timing probably saved my life. I went and I explained everything to my psychiatrist, who was very worried. We discussed what to do next and she began to make phone calls to check if my insurance covered in-patient care at some psych wards as well as whether they could admit me if needed.
I wasn’t sold on the idea of committing myself. I hadn’t been to a ward before and I had no clue about what my freedoms would be or what I could do. The thought also scared me tremendously. Going there would be admitting that I was too dangerous to myself to be left alone. That’s a hard one to swallow and it ripped away at my dignity. It was also a question of just how split my mind had become, if I committed myself, then I would essentially be taking the stance that my brain was trying to kill me and I couldn’t do anything about it. It’s a hopeless option, one where you cannot do anything for yourself except for give up your freedom. In addition to the pride, it also meant exposing myself to my parents. I have sheltered my parents from the darker parts of my mind for quite some time now. I never wanted to admit to them just how damaged I can get at times, and the thought of showing myself to them made me feel like a failure. A thought which is entirely incorrect, but in the throws of a depression, everything makes me feel like a failure. Seeing it this way, I initially baulked at the idea of going. I was going to wait a few days to see if the suicidal thoughts stuck around, and if they did, then I would go and admit myself to the ward.
But that night, I talked to my girlfriend about what had happened and what might happened. I told her about the klonopin experiment and from there on it was tears between the two of us. It shocked me enough to realize that people still cared and that I would be hurting them if I killed myself. And so I decided to commit myself.
I’ll go from there tomorrow and talk about my experiences in a psych ward.
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Wow, it’s been weeks since I last posted. I’ve thought about posting for a while, but depression got in the way.
Around Christmas my depression intensified to unseen levels. I was having flash backs and flash forwards where I relived all the horrible experiences of my past and dreamt up impossible but horrifying futures. I’ve had this before, but it was getting out of hand. After talking it over with my psychiatrist, we decided to try out an antidepressant, specifically the SNRI welbutrin. It was recommended because it had the least chance of flipping me into a mania, and that was the last thing that I needed if I wanted to stabilize.
Things were looking good after about a week on it. I felt my energy level getting boosted and the flashbacks were almost gone. But I wasn’t completely better. I still had those flash forwards where everything looks bleak and I believe that I’ll end up a substantial failure. This was coupled with severe anxiety, which is almost always present in my depressions. And after a while, the constant threat of failure and doom ate away at my will to live.
It started off as just a desire to disappear. I wanted to disappear from any obligation because it seemed that it would turn out for the worse and I also wanted to disappear from my mind that was telling me these things. Medication wasn’t working quickly enough and I began to think that it would never work. I was wrong in thinking this, but I was not very rational at the time. What was worse is that as I had more energy than in a typical depression. I started to have small mood swings that made me impulsive as well as deeply despairing. This was nearly fatal.
I began to plot out how I was going to kill myself, but I didn’t know what to do at the time. I didn’t like the idea of hanging myself and I didn’t like the idea of the pain involved with cutting my wrists. I was also overwhelmed by a fear of failure. If I failed then I would wear the scars of my attempt for the rest of my life. That was too much to bear. But being a pharmacy from all the drugs that I have been prescribed, I figured that I must have something in there. And I settled on klonopin with alcohol. But I didn’t know how I would feel when killing myself. I wanted it to be peaceful and relaxing, nothing violent like I had just poisoned myself. I am very upper middle class when it comes to suicide. So I did a test run with a few milligrams of klonopin and some vodka screwdrivers. I didn’t know if it would kill me, but I figured that it would give me a taste of what it would be like to try. I passed out rather quickly and woke up to my girlfriend standing over me later that night. She didn’t know what I had just tried, she thought I had fallen asleep on the couch.
After waking up, I had my plan in place. Klonopin was what I desired, a drowsy stoned way to die and I had the means. Really, it was just a matter of time before I downed the rest of the bottle and my xanax with some alcohol and I would finally have escaped my brain and it telling me that I’m a failure. I didn’t want to set a date and time, what I wanted from it was an escape from the feeling of pure failure and helplessness. It was, in a way, a reminder that I was still in control of something.
For the next couple of days I didn’t do anything, but I remembered that I had to schedule an appointment with my psychiatrist. From there it sprung into my mind that I needed to at least talk to someone, anyone, and maybe get a little help. So I called and surprisingly got in that afternoon. In retrospect, that timing probably saved my life. I went and I explained everything to my psychiatrist, who was very worried. We discussed what to do next and she began to make phone calls to check if my insurance covered in-patient care at some psych wards as well as whether they could admit me if needed.
I wasn’t sold on the idea of committing myself. I hadn’t been to a ward before and I had no clue about what my freedoms would be or what I could do. The thought also scared me tremendously. Going there would be admitting that I was too dangerous to myself to be left alone. That’s a hard one to swallow and it ripped away at my dignity. It was also a question of just how split my mind had become, if I committed myself, then I would essentially be taking the stance that my brain was trying to kill me and I couldn’t do anything about it. It’s a hopeless option, one where you cannot do anything for yourself except for give up your freedom. In addition to the pride, it also meant exposing myself to my parents. I have sheltered my parents from the darker parts of my mind for quite some time now. I never wanted to admit to them just how damaged I can get at times, and the thought of showing myself to them made me feel like a failure. A thought which is entirely incorrect, but in the throws of a depression, everything makes me feel like a failure. Seeing it this way, I initially baulked at the idea of going. I was going to wait a few days to see if the suicidal thoughts stuck around, and if they did, then I would go and admit myself to the ward.
But that night, I talked to my girlfriend about what had happened and what might happened. I told her about the klonopin experiment and from there on it was tears between the two of us. It shocked me enough to realize that people still cared and that I would be hurting them if I killed myself. And so I decided to commit myself.
I’ll go from there tomorrow and talk about my experiences in a psych ward.