Happy one year for me.
Today I'm silently celebrating being one year free of self injury. It's been both the hardest and most rewarding year of my life.
One year ago today, I tried to kill myself. I was flat out done. I felt that I had no more to give, and I'd be much less of a burden on everyone if I was gone. My ex husband and I had sat down to eat together for the last time earlier that day, and I was overwhelmed. With emotions, with my life. I didn't think I could handle it. Too many (but not quite) pills, a glass of whiskey, and a knife gave me the biggest wake up call of my life. I still don't remember that night or the next day clearly....I don't think I want to. I wish DJ didn't remember it, but I don't think he'll ever forget.
I overdosed on a medicine cabinet cocktail with a Jack Daniels chaser, and slit my wrists (down the street, not across the road) 7 or so times before I passed out. I don't remember DJ getting home, I don't remember arguing with him, I don't remember locking myself in two different rooms. The (still) broken door frames of said rooms are a daily reminder of a memory I don't have. I suppose I must have argued enough to make him leave me alone, because I didn't wake up until noon the next day. Coincidentally, the exact same time I was supposed to open the bar I managed on Sundays. I woke up confused, dozing on and off while crying hysterically, somehow dressed myself for work and had DJ take me there. He called Elizabeth and Amanda, and Amanda made him take me to the hospital. Again, I only remember bits and pieces of this. I remember crying my eyes out in the back room with Amanda rocking me, and I remember Elizabeth being mad. I don't remember getting to the hospital, but I do remember thinking they'd pump my stomach and send me home.
Boy, was I wrong. After being there for 7 hours (most of which I spent passed out, all of which I spent hooked up to IV's), I was escorted by the Military Police to a mental health hospital an hour and a half away (on St. Simon's Island, GA.) I got checked in, DJ showed up about half an hour later with my things, and I cried. I was numb, but I could feel the tears. My arms were raw, and the gauze itched. Then I slept. I don't clearly recall too much more about my first official day as a mental patient.
I woke up the next morning and started my road to recovery. I was there for five days, and for the first time I can remember in my life, I had people to relate to. These people were like me. I made a couple friends....they were the easiest friendships I've ever made. Probably because we'd all reached our breaking points, and were spending the most vulnerable moments of our lives together. Trying to get better, together. Some days I miss them fiercely, wishing I had that connection still...but it's not a good idea to make friends in recovery, because once you're out of the joint it's easier to go back to your old ways. Easier still with a friend who's been there, and understands why.
I was very scared to leave. I wanted to be home, but I didn't want to leave my peers. I didn't think I could trust myself to stay injury free. (I've proved myself wrong, I suppose.)
DJ was there for me through it all. He drove the 3 hours round trip every day to see me, to be my support system. I love him more than words can describe, and any doubts I may have had about that were erased that week. He's stuck by my side through the five most world altering events in my adult life. My suicide attempt, my divorce, my recovery, my marriage to him, and my pregnancy and birth of our son.
The past year has been a whirlwind. After I was "sprung," we spent last Christmas with his family in Missouri. It was a long trip and the coldest I've ever been, but it was amazing. I felt so welcomed and loved. January was spent looking for a new job (because I was apparently a "legal liability" to my old one after aforementioned events) and faithfully keeping my outpatient psych appointments. The beginning of February was spent helping DJ recover from his shoulder surgery, the end of February was spent with DJ helping me recover from my oral surgery.
I found out I was pregnant the day I signed my divorce papers. (Apparently something happened in the middle of February as well!) March was spent accepting this change. April saw the finalization of my divorce. May 1st was the first of the two best days this year. DJ and I decided last minute to get married....well, last hour, anyway. Literally. We took our last "Just us" trip in June, to Orlando. Spent too much money, had an amazing time....as amazing as you can get being 20 weeks pregnant. We found out we were going to have a baby boy the week after we got back. In July we took Collin to his "first concert" on the fourth of July. We discovered that my son definitely takes after his father, because he kicked up a storm while Trace Adkins was singing "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk." DJ was training most of August. September brought me Aimee and an amazing labor day weekend, complete with surprise baby shower.
October started out with the expectation of 6 more weeks of preparation before Collin arrived around his November 13th due date. We celebrated my birthday on the 11th, and my impatient little man celebrated his 4 weeks early on October 16th. Giving birth isn't as scary or horrible as everyone says, don't believe all the hype. (Recovery, however, IS horrible.) Despite the pain and 9 months of discomfort, seeing my son for the first time made it all worth the trouble. It took a couple days, but I fell in love with him. Completely head over heels. We adjusted to having Collin come early, and were quite glad to bring him home. Stayed home and passed out candy for baby's first holiday, Halloween.
November brought us less sleep and more love. I cooked my very first Thanksgiving dinner, and it turned out wonderful. I've fallen more and more in love with the two handsome guys in my life, and I couldn't be happier. Here's hoping this December lives up to the past few months.
I'm not going to lie, this past year was hard. I've had many down days, but they're fortunately outweighed by the up days. I'm hoping and working on the strength to make my one year anniversary turn into two, two into three, and so on until I lose count of them. DJ and Collin are my reasons for being. I want to live. Not only for them, but for myself. And as I silently share my Happy Anniversary with them, I'm looking forward to many, many more.
One year ago today, I tried to kill myself. I was flat out done. I felt that I had no more to give, and I'd be much less of a burden on everyone if I was gone. My ex husband and I had sat down to eat together for the last time earlier that day, and I was overwhelmed. With emotions, with my life. I didn't think I could handle it. Too many (but not quite) pills, a glass of whiskey, and a knife gave me the biggest wake up call of my life. I still don't remember that night or the next day clearly....I don't think I want to. I wish DJ didn't remember it, but I don't think he'll ever forget.
I overdosed on a medicine cabinet cocktail with a Jack Daniels chaser, and slit my wrists (down the street, not across the road) 7 or so times before I passed out. I don't remember DJ getting home, I don't remember arguing with him, I don't remember locking myself in two different rooms. The (still) broken door frames of said rooms are a daily reminder of a memory I don't have. I suppose I must have argued enough to make him leave me alone, because I didn't wake up until noon the next day. Coincidentally, the exact same time I was supposed to open the bar I managed on Sundays. I woke up confused, dozing on and off while crying hysterically, somehow dressed myself for work and had DJ take me there. He called Elizabeth and Amanda, and Amanda made him take me to the hospital. Again, I only remember bits and pieces of this. I remember crying my eyes out in the back room with Amanda rocking me, and I remember Elizabeth being mad. I don't remember getting to the hospital, but I do remember thinking they'd pump my stomach and send me home.
Boy, was I wrong. After being there for 7 hours (most of which I spent passed out, all of which I spent hooked up to IV's), I was escorted by the Military Police to a mental health hospital an hour and a half away (on St. Simon's Island, GA.) I got checked in, DJ showed up about half an hour later with my things, and I cried. I was numb, but I could feel the tears. My arms were raw, and the gauze itched. Then I slept. I don't clearly recall too much more about my first official day as a mental patient.
I woke up the next morning and started my road to recovery. I was there for five days, and for the first time I can remember in my life, I had people to relate to. These people were like me. I made a couple friends....they were the easiest friendships I've ever made. Probably because we'd all reached our breaking points, and were spending the most vulnerable moments of our lives together. Trying to get better, together. Some days I miss them fiercely, wishing I had that connection still...but it's not a good idea to make friends in recovery, because once you're out of the joint it's easier to go back to your old ways. Easier still with a friend who's been there, and understands why.
I was very scared to leave. I wanted to be home, but I didn't want to leave my peers. I didn't think I could trust myself to stay injury free. (I've proved myself wrong, I suppose.)
DJ was there for me through it all. He drove the 3 hours round trip every day to see me, to be my support system. I love him more than words can describe, and any doubts I may have had about that were erased that week. He's stuck by my side through the five most world altering events in my adult life. My suicide attempt, my divorce, my recovery, my marriage to him, and my pregnancy and birth of our son.
The past year has been a whirlwind. After I was "sprung," we spent last Christmas with his family in Missouri. It was a long trip and the coldest I've ever been, but it was amazing. I felt so welcomed and loved. January was spent looking for a new job (because I was apparently a "legal liability" to my old one after aforementioned events) and faithfully keeping my outpatient psych appointments. The beginning of February was spent helping DJ recover from his shoulder surgery, the end of February was spent with DJ helping me recover from my oral surgery.
I found out I was pregnant the day I signed my divorce papers. (Apparently something happened in the middle of February as well!) March was spent accepting this change. April saw the finalization of my divorce. May 1st was the first of the two best days this year. DJ and I decided last minute to get married....well, last hour, anyway. Literally. We took our last "Just us" trip in June, to Orlando. Spent too much money, had an amazing time....as amazing as you can get being 20 weeks pregnant. We found out we were going to have a baby boy the week after we got back. In July we took Collin to his "first concert" on the fourth of July. We discovered that my son definitely takes after his father, because he kicked up a storm while Trace Adkins was singing "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk." DJ was training most of August. September brought me Aimee and an amazing labor day weekend, complete with surprise baby shower.
October started out with the expectation of 6 more weeks of preparation before Collin arrived around his November 13th due date. We celebrated my birthday on the 11th, and my impatient little man celebrated his 4 weeks early on October 16th. Giving birth isn't as scary or horrible as everyone says, don't believe all the hype. (Recovery, however, IS horrible.) Despite the pain and 9 months of discomfort, seeing my son for the first time made it all worth the trouble. It took a couple days, but I fell in love with him. Completely head over heels. We adjusted to having Collin come early, and were quite glad to bring him home. Stayed home and passed out candy for baby's first holiday, Halloween.
November brought us less sleep and more love. I cooked my very first Thanksgiving dinner, and it turned out wonderful. I've fallen more and more in love with the two handsome guys in my life, and I couldn't be happier. Here's hoping this December lives up to the past few months.
I'm not going to lie, this past year was hard. I've had many down days, but they're fortunately outweighed by the up days. I'm hoping and working on the strength to make my one year anniversary turn into two, two into three, and so on until I lose count of them. DJ and Collin are my reasons for being. I want to live. Not only for them, but for myself. And as I silently share my Happy Anniversary with them, I'm looking forward to many, many more.