I Owe My Life...

It hit me the other day as I walked into my kitchen. I was going to make some tea and then sit with a blanket and watch the snow fall (no matter how bad I feel watching it snow can always bring a smile to my face even if that same smile cannot reach my heart). As I stepped from the carpeted floor of my living room to the vinyl floor of my kitchen it suddenly hit me that were it not for the events of this last April I may not be here and able to make any tea or watch this years snow fall. You see, I owe my life to someone... I only just realized that.

I am sure this person would not see it that way, at least, not exactly. TO be sure it is in the job description. As a matter of fact it is a legal issue as well as an ethical one. However as far as my realization goes that is neither here nor there. I am glad that I am no longer able to tell my therapist this as he is no longer in town and I am no longer eligible to use the University health and counseling center anyway (makes sense as I am no longer a student lol...)I would be mortified knowing as I do just how much a part of his job such action is and still feeling the way I do.

However...

I hate the memories of that time. I hate remembering just how awful I felt (though 'awful' does not even begin to cover it). I hate remembering that one April day in particular (though there were a few that week of a similar nature). I hate remembering the weeks that followed said April day, the humiliation I felt. All that, however, does not change what happened.

I do not remember what we had started talking about that session. I cannot for the life of me remember how it was we finally wound up talking about suicide. I remember he asked me a question which I was reluctant to answer though I do not remember the question itself. I remember that as I sat there uncertain as to hot to answer (or if I even wanted to answer) he let me know that he was not thinking of hospitalization. This was enough to put me at sufficient ease so that I continued on (something I would later regret). As with the beginning of the session, I do not remember what it was I continued on about, not specifically. My chart, which I have read, tells of two overdoses during the week previous, of cutting my wrist for the first time, of crossing lines and the inevitability (as I saw it) of my crossing more. It mentions my feeling that I had thus far lived a life of fulfilling my responsibilities and obligations and that there seemed to be no other point. I remember at one point he asked me a question, something along the lines of whether or not I had noticed a change in my affect. I remember telling him that perhaps I had become more sedate. It was after that question, after the answer which followed, that he let me know he was thinking of hospitalization.

It is at this point in my musings that I feel a sense of... not guilt exactly, just bad I guess, for the situation I put him in that day. You see after informing me that he was thinking of hospitalization (dear lord, I hate writing it, even now, so many months later) he seemed a little at a loss. Perhaps he was not so much at a loss as slightly overwhelmed (if that were the case it would make all the sense in the world as such times are bound to be stressful). He told me that he did not remember from his training all those months ago exactly what needed to be done and so left me for a few minutes to consult with a supervisor or two. Reflecting on our short exchange at that time I realized that, perhaps, I was the first of his clients he had had to do this with. To be honest the thought still makes me feel a little bad about it all but that cannot be helped. It is done and in the end it was for the best.

I have several times before described what followed. The MHP, the safety plan *ick*, the two additional 'crisis' appointments that week... Oh, how I hate thinking about it. I still believe what I told them then, that I had no intention of killing myself that day. I was in the right state of mind to do it though.

So how do I come to the conclusion that I owe him my life? TO be honest I am not entirely sure, it is only something of which i feel certain for a reason I cannot quite identify. I think that perhaps it is because it happened at a time when I found myself both willing and able to kill myself, a place I had never reached before. Yes I believe that is it. I also think that it may have made me more open to the possibility of going one day should I find myself at the point where I would actually do it (though I could not bring myself to actually take the first step despite finding myself believing int might be necessary several times -obviously it was not, though maybe it could have been helpful-).

And so I am here, able to make tea and watch the snow fall. Honestly I do not believe that I would be here were it not for the events of this past April. I cannot honestly say that I am always happy about it. That last major depressive episode has left me forever changed (something I plan on going into in a later blog post). I am afraid that I often do not see much point in continuing on with so many years stretched ahead of me, all void of any real meaning, any... well, just anything it seems. But I am not in the same place as I was. At times I feel like I am more able to handle times of extreme suicidal ideation and I believe that is due to the sequence of events started that day in April.

So to the man who will (hopefully) never read this: Thanks. Really.