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Quit It

July 17, 2017

 

A little while ago, I wrote a post about a time in my past when I felt suicidal.  It was painful to write and also cathartic.  I spent a lot of time over the weekend writing it.  I thought about it for a long time.  Then, I posted it.  My schedule, in those days, was to post my work on Monday afternoons.  I'd work over the weekend and then post on Mondays when I knew people would be in front of their computers.  I even crafted my Facebook posts on Hoot Suite to be published at the same time.  I'd spend several weeks working out this schedule.  

 

What happened after I posted the entry about my past suicidal feelings was not what I'd anticipated.  I'd anticipated people being surprised or upset or maybe even heartened to know they weren't alone.  I got some reactions that fell into what I'd expected.  What I did not expect was that people who read my blog would contact my employer to express concerns about me. Perhaps I should have expected it.  I'm sorry I didn't.

 

Since then, I've felt less enthusiastic about writing.  I've felt a little bit like maybe it isn't safe.  I'd been working really hard to be vulnerable, open, and honest.  Then, I got slapped down.  That's what happens when you allow yourself to be vulnerable.  It took me a little bit of time to recover from that.  My friend told me, just now, 55 days.  It took me 55 days to recover, I guess.

 

Shall I recount for you the disaster that has been my vacation?  I've fallen twice, hard, on the same knee, my dog had a nervous breakdown which caused me to have a nervous breakdown, I wrecked my car, I contracted food poisoning.  My anxiety, which I'd been handling so well, swelled up into a terrible monster again.  All the time I spent looking forward to a nice, relaxing vacation was for naught.  Instead, I spent a great deal of time wrangling my anxious self out of bed each morning.  I'm not saying I didn't have any fun:  I spent a couple of very nice days on the beach, I saw some beautiful scenery, I got a look at F. Scott Fitzgerald's room at the Grove Park Inn.  Last week, I took a very challenging hike and finished it...like, got back to the car on my own steam.  I felt good about that.

 

My therapist tells me all the time that progress isn't a straight path.  We go backwards and forwards.  I have to keep reminding myself.  If you are someone who is reading this, and you read my post of a few months ago and were frightened, I hope that your fears have been allayed.  I hope that, should anything you see here in the future scare you again, you'll call or contact me.  I want people to reach out to me.  It's a big part of why I write what I do here:  to make connections.  I never meant to frighten anyone.  I only meant to say that I once felt very low--low enough to give up--but, I didn't.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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