If You Look Real Hard, You Can See Right Through Me.
May 15th, 2007 by Kevin
I’ve been putting this off because I’ve rarely been on the internet. It’s been impossible for me to come up with any amusing little anecdotes. I haven’t found many things that have amused me lately.
Bullshit graduated from Columbia this past weekend. I went to the ceremony and sat with his family, staring at the faces of the thousands of people around me and feeling stiff and strange. I hadn’t left the house to do anything social in so long that I felt like an alien.
Later on that evening he and I went out to a club in Boystown so that I could meet up with some friends who were in town. I had already had a couple of glasses of wine with dinner, and I was amped on diet pills, which I haven’t taken in quite some time. I find it amazing how much better I feel when I take them. The dizzy feeling I’ve grown so accustomed to just melts away and I don’t feel as if I’m going to fall with every move I make.
I made the rounds that night, chatting up people I love whom I don’t get to see very often, and I felt like a fraud. After seven or eight diet pills my blood was pumping quickly and I was loose-lipped, talking gaily and feeling more animated than I have in months.
It was, for the record, chemically-induced bullshit.
At home I don’t often leave the couch, and if I do, I hit the floor within minutes. My head throbs from falling. My legs and arms are covered with bruises. I am afraid to walk.
I would take the diet pills daily if I didn’t not feel so exhausted and hung over the day after taking them. As it stands now I can only indulge once every couple of weeks, making my little jaunts into normalcy feel like a rare gift.
I think about suicide so often that I’m honestly amazed to still be here. I think of Aaron walking into the lake like Virginia Woolf, and of Beth sucking down a handful of Depakote and slowly drifting off. I think of me, lying still in the basement. I stay up all night reading and reading and reading some more, and when I’m not reading I am plugged into the iPod in an attempt to drown my thoughts with music.
I sometimes talk to Bullshit about it and he runs down the list of Things I Should Be Grateful For, mistakenly believing, as most people do, that my love for others should negate the way I feel.
It doesn’t.
I love Bullshit, I love my son so much that I ache, and I love my family and friends, but that doesn’t make the constant dull ache or the longing to sleep and never wake up disappear. I wish that it did. I wish I could look at the face of my son and feel the way I should feel - that hope springs eternal and love conquers all and all of that other happy crap, but it doesn’t work out that way.
Maybe this makes me a bad mother, a terrible person, a stupid self-centered bitch.
I never said that I wasn’t all of those things.
Tomorrow I see the psychiatrist, and I will once again ask for a change in the medication that is supposed to jack my serotonin level up to an respectable place. Once again I will feel the tiny flame of hope that the stuff will actually work; but in my heart I know that medication can’t change my circumstances, and I also know that I seem to have lost the will or desire to change them myself.
After nearly twenty years of anti-depressants, I know not to expect miracles.
I am so tired. I never could have imagined this kind of tired. It pulls at my skin and makes my stomach sink like a stone. It is heavy and all-encompassing and relentless.
I want to drink it away. I want the painkillers I take for my back and headaches to make me stoned. I want to eat until I don’t have to feel and then throw up until my throat aches and burns.
I do all of these things. I don’t care if they’re self-destructive. My body was destructing just fine anyway, even without my help. What I do never seems to make any difference, so all bets are off.
I have canceled all other doctor appointments - the cardiologist, the neurologist, the pain clinic. I am done going to the doctor. I am done not being helped. It was like a constant stinging slap, being told that there was nothing they could do. I refuse to go through it any more. I suppose that this is a small attempt at self-preservation. Hooray for mental health.
That was a joke, in case you missed it.
I am going through the motions. I am smiling at my son and helping him with his homework and promising my mother that I am indeed OK and attempting to appear at least half-alive for Bullshit. I don’t allow myself to cry. I don’t suppose I could cry even if I did allow it. I don’t think I have the energy to cry.
I recently bought a shitload of books. I have about ten left to read. My four bookshelves have overflowed and I have begun to stack books on the floor, on my end tables, in my night stand, on my dresser, everywhere. The books are getting me through this. If I had nothing to read at night I think I would very possibly lose my mind. I think I would very probably put a plastic bag over my head and be done with it.
I don’t know what to do about any of this, but there is something slightly soothing about the fact that I no longer care. I am just shuffling along, half-conscious, eating and sleeping and watching movies and robotically doing what I usually do, and the routine is working for me.
For now, I suppose it’s enough. It’s enough to keep me here.
So that’s my spiel. That’s what I’ve been up to - the slow and steady process of becoming apathetic.
I am disappointed and bitter and selfish and probably a real drag to be around most of the time, but I’m not angry any more.
It’s a relief, not to be angry.
You have no idea.
If you’ve called me I’m sorry I haven’t been answering the phone, but I just haven’t had anything to say.
lilacorchid wrote on 05/15/07 at 3:36 pm :
Can I send you some books if it will help?
Lola wrote on 05/15/07 at 4:42 pm :
Jen, I’m terribly sorry to hear how depressed you’ve been feeling. I know we have drifted in and out of each other’s lives for years now, but it makes my own heart hurt to know that you are hurting so badly right now. I wish there was something I could do to lighten your load or make you feel better.
For whatever it’s worth, I do believe that you are a good person and a great mom. Besides, so much of parenting isn’t that sappy happy greeting card bullshit, sometimes it’s simply about slinging through all of the crap and remembering to keep putting one foot in front of the other just so that you can keep going.
Oh, and I have a ton of books that are currently taking over my bedroom and the husband’s home office if you want them.
Take care.
Christine wrote on 05/15/07 at 4:56 pm :
“Tuesday I go to have the last test that will determine whether or not I need a pacemaker”, you said, in the post prior to this one. What happened, and could that be causing what is presenting as apathy right now?
This is worrisome, at best. Take better care, please.
Connie wrote on 05/15/07 at 7:24 pm :
I know you love your son enough not to leave him with the legacy of suicide.
Having been suicidal myself, I am not going to try to argue you out of your pain, because I know only too well what you are talking about. I know that for myself the only thing worse than having to keep living would have been putting my kids through what I would have put them thru had I ended it. I just couldn’t do that to them. Sucked for me, but the alternative sucked worse.
Make sure you make your doc understand how bad this is.
A. wrote on 05/15/07 at 9:36 pm :
Connie, I know your comment means well; it’s great that you were able to pull through for the sake of your kids. But as someone who lost a parent to suicide, it makes me sad. Sad that when I tell people my father killed himself, they think he must not have loved my sister and I enough to spare us the legacy of suicide. I fear this kind of judgment every time I tell someone about my dad (which is not often).
Trance–I’ve been reading you and lurking for years, and at this point all I can say is I’m thinking of you and pulling for ya.
True wrote on 05/15/07 at 9:58 pm :
I’ve been wondering where you were, Jen. So sorry you’re going through all of this. I echo Connie above– please make sure your doctor knows how bad this is. Take him/her a copy of this post, maybe.
You’re in my thoughts.
Vix wrote on 05/15/07 at 10:02 pm :
Delurking to say FUCK the goddamned medical “profession.”
I don’t know you but you sound exhausted and I think I would be feeling the same way if I had to go through even a small portion of what you’re going through.
I love whatever part of you a total stranger can love in another stranger who has shared her life so freely and so eloquently and all those doctors and the health system have completely and totally fucking FAILED you and it’s just unfair anbd horrible and fills me with a ridiculous rage.
I hope you make it through all of this goddamned shit, I want you to make it. I am sure I will get lambasted for even acknowledging the possibility that you think you might not but I can’t ignore it now that it’s been said.
I know it doesn’t help to hear this from anyone, especially not a random jerkwad on the Internet of all places, but if you need anything, if you can think of anything that a perfect stranger can do to help, please let me (us?) know. There would be rallying, I know.
Please, please, please know you are loved. It may not make a difference, overall, but it never hurts to hear it.
Eeyore wrote on 05/15/07 at 11:23 pm :
Just remember that suicides become civil servants in the afterlife.
Sorry, I just thought that might at the very least induce a smile.
golfwidow wrote on 05/16/07 at 4:41 am :
I wish I could make you laugh.
Janet wrote on 05/16/07 at 6:20 am :
Hey Jen- I know I haven’t commented in a long time but I wanted to add my support here. I’ve spent the last year counseling kids/adolescents who are suicidal in a psych ward and I know how horribly painful it is. I hope that you can pull out of this as quickly as possible. Please discuss your feelings with the psychiatrist.
I think that counseling focusing on grief would help you a lot. You have lost a lot and even though it’s not a death of a person, it seems like it’s like a loss of the person you were or wanted to be. I will keep you in my thoughts and please feel free to email me anytime. xo
dom wrote on 05/16/07 at 7:59 am :
What happened down the road towards a pace-maker? I’ve asked many times, but I still don’t understand your fear of it. Even if it’s not a total fix, your doctors seem to keep suggesting it. If it will help at all, is that not better than the alternatives you’re contemplating? Really, they’re no problem. Why avoid one?
PattM wrote on 05/16/07 at 8:24 am :
Jen-
Delurking to let you know that you make a difference to me. I check daily for any update. Your humor is very similar to mine and I love your parenting style. I hope your son knows how cool you are–wish you were my mom! I can’t fathom your pain and don’t know what to say or do, if there was anything that I could do–I’ve never met you, but you are just as much a part of my life as my IRL friends. Contact me if you need anything; I’m just a few hours downstate.
Rumblelizard wrote on 05/16/07 at 8:44 am :
Hugs, Trance. I’m sorry you’re going through this.
lisa-marie wrote on 05/16/07 at 11:28 am :
I’m sorry you’re feeling so down. I wish I could give you a big hug. I wish I could tell you the feeling will go away, but I can’t. I’m glad to hear you’re seeing a therapist soon, though. Spill your guts to him (or her), let yourself cry; get it all out. I’ve been praying for you, and will continue to do so. Much, much love to you and your family!
cloudy wrote on 05/16/07 at 11:31 am :
Keep passing the open windows
suzanna danna wrote on 05/16/07 at 3:05 pm :
Love you Jen, so good to see you on Saturday, even if you didn’t feel like going through the motions. You were there and I was so proud to introduce you to Paul. Congratualtions again to Bullshit.
E.F. wrote on 05/17/07 at 12:18 am :
I’m glad you’re still here. Thank you for staying.
Kungfukitten wrote on 05/17/07 at 3:34 am :
Oh honey, your entry broke my heart. I’m so sorry that you’re feeling so rotten lately. I wish more than anything that there was something I could do. Let me know if you want to trade some books. Maybe we could e-mail each other a list of books we’re done reading and then ship out a swap! Take care, I’m pulling for you.
LA wrote on 05/17/07 at 6:03 am :
Doesn’t help to say I’ve been there. Doesn’t help a damn bit. Doesn’t make you feel less alone or tired or lost. I love you and that doesn’t help either. But I still wanted to say it. ~LA
Angi wrote on 05/17/07 at 12:08 pm :
Im delurking….
My mother battled breast cancer for 8 years. One tumor ended up on her spine and wrapped itself around the bone so tightly that the pain was just unbearable.
My mother went through the motions. She fought for 8 years. Her husband ( my father ) left her. She had no money, took pain pills and drank scotch by the liter every 2 days… until one day she decided that her life wasn’t worth living. She stopped treatment with that same hatred for not being able to be helped. Whether it was because they couldn’t help or they just didn’t know….
She died 4 months later. At the age of 50. Leaving me and my 3 children behind….
I cry for her every single day.
I don’t know how your feeling. I don’t know how hard it is to live with an “illness” every single day…. but I do know, I miss my mom.
Please take care of yourself. THat little man needs you.
Hugs,
Angelena
TeacherLady wrote on 05/17/07 at 8:48 pm :
Since everything I could say would fall pretty short, I’d just like to offer you some books. I don’t know exactly what you like to read, but I’m moving in a month and I have way too many books. You could read the ones that interest you and do whatever with the rest. Feel free to email me about it at teaching.english.are.fun@gmail.com
Jer wrote on 05/18/07 at 6:26 am :
Jen,
I don’t know you in “real life” but it’s clear to me you are suffering. But…I’m glad your back and I’m glad you wrote it down, but please…for your son, for yourself and the people who REALLY LOVE YOU, please ask for help. We love you, Jen, we really do, if we didn’t…we wouldn’t care enough to even comment.
Bozoette Mary wrote on 05/18/07 at 11:47 am :
I wish I could wrap you up in a soft blanket and rock you until the pain goes away and you can laugh again.
kevin wrote on 05/18/07 at 12:12 pm :
Damn Jen… I don’t have anything wise to say or uplifting, I wish I did..
Anonymous wrote on 05/18/07 at 10:24 pm :
God loves you. Have you talked to Him lately? If not, I think you should.
Lorrie wrote on 05/20/07 at 6:01 pm :
I get you. Oh, how I get you. I’ve been living with hormonal hell since my hysterectomy in December and long so much for the sweet peace of death. And the thought of leaving my kids motherless doesn’t seem to bother me as much as it should, when the pain is 24/7.
The only thing keeping me going is that the new pellets I got are supposed to help and I’m afraid of terrible karmic retribution if I shuffle off and leave the kids motherless, and Roger all alone.
I had to take 3 months leave from my job and I miss it so much, and I was thinking about you as I wrote the letter and how much we should both be enjoying being busy working mothers, wearing our cool work outfits and popping by the gym for a workout and then for mimosas with our friends.
Shit this sucks. I just want you to know that I know EXACTLY how you feel.
Katie wrote on 05/21/07 at 12:34 am :
Like everyone else here, if I could fix it for ya, I would in a second. But this is your path, albeit a suckass one right now. Do your damnedest to keep putting one foot in front of another and we’ll all be rallying the universe to let you see a little light. I don’t know about you, but depression for me always comes in waves and it helps me to remember that it will pass and I will see a little light. And even that sliver of light helps. Regardless of all of that, there are a lot of folks wishing you peace and good wishes. {{{some Memphis strength…the kind with a sneer}}}
Melanie wrote on 05/21/07 at 11:48 am :
I am just so sorry that you have to go through all this shit, Jen.
Milla wrote on 05/22/07 at 3:48 am :
Dear Jen,
you are such a strong and wise person, even in the toughest moments in your life, and so precious to your readers. no matter how tired or apathetic you feel, to us you are the same lovable, kick-ass Jen, that we adore.
I know that most of what you’re feeling right now comes not from the inside, but the outside, because physical health has an important impact on each one of us, but try to remember that you are the soul that lives within and that your spirit cannot be crushed, because you are a true survivor and in the years that I’ve had the honor to be a part of your readership, I’ve realized that well. I’m glad you found a comfort zone with books and I hope that a change of meds & time will change the situation. and don’t underestimate that tiny flame of hope. two years ago after constantly switching depression meds and not seeing any results, I felt like giving up, but that little flame of hope kept telling me to fight and believe. and one morning after saying a prayer and believing strongly that the new meds (which were antipsychotics) would change my life, I began to feel better.
I’m sending you big fuzzy hugs and also pulling for you, like so many people here!
Kim wrote on 05/22/07 at 12:26 pm :
I can’t think of anything to say that hasn’t already been said here; just wanted to add that I’ve been reading you for years and I hope you will pull through this. You’re in my thoughts.
Buff wrote on 05/22/07 at 2:07 pm :
Hey, you can’t check out yet because there are too many jokes left to be told, too many pizzas & beers left to be consumed, and at least one fantastic person you have yet to meet. Come on and believe with me.
Karen wrote on 05/23/07 at 9:48 am :
Hey there Jen - I’m simply another random person who cares, and I’m guessing there are more out there than you imagine. We’d all like to take some of your burden, all of your burden if we could, and make this easier for you. As someone who comes from a family history of depression and suicide, I know that I’ve been lucky (blessed?) enough to not ever get to the point of looking for the family shotgun. What I’ve been given instead is the realization that when people share their burdens with friends, the load gets lighter, and the true friends don’t even notice the extra weight. Share with your family, share with your friends, and don’t ever let yourself feel guilty for doing so. They WANT to help.
Christine wrote on 05/23/07 at 5:00 pm :
Jen,
Just wanted you to know that I am thinking about you. I hope to see you writing us an update soon.
I have been reading your journal since 2002. I have one of your hematite necklaces and whenever I wear it I think of all the things you’ve written that have made me laugh, smile, and feel sorrow. You are a great writer and doubtless a great person. Please check back with “the intarweb” soon.
Christine
Sandy wrote on 05/23/07 at 9:50 pm :
Jen you’re sick and you’re tired and it’s totally understandable. The doctors have let you down and so has our so-called medical system. But I just have to say this. In some ways you are lucky. You have Bullshit who loves you. And you have your beautiful little boy who loves you and sounds like such a wonderful kid. And yes your Mom and Dad love you too. I’m not in your shoes so this is probably an insensitive thing to say. If you were to take the pills or whatever way you picked it would end your pain but it would begin their pain and would haunt them forever. Talk to the psychiatrist and maybe he can do something. I also was curious about the pacemaker and what happened there. Finally if books are keeping you going then add to your Amazon list and we’ll keep those books coming. Link us up and we’ll help there. Take a little break but please don’t quit. We love you too.
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