Well I never thought I would actually agree to come back here, but I did. I was willful and angry. No part of me wanted to return to the place that robbed me of so many memories. But there was something in Virgil’s voice. Something in the tone. I knew she would probably make the decision for me, and that would irrevocably change our long-standing relationship. It just wasn’t worth that. Not after all this time. I had to trust her. I gave in. The ride down was brutal. All I could think of was the reasons I had for not going in. All the stuff that needed to get done. That Diane would be alone with so much work. she was already so stressed, this would be too much for her. It just wasn’t fair. The timing was awful. God I am so sorry for that. When we arrived it was the usual admitting routine. Never a quick procedure. I was weary. Emotionally and physically. I sat trying hard not to cry. I am not often tearful, but for whatever reason the tears were there fighting to escape from my tired eyes. I was asked to come into security. There I sat while the guard sorted all my clothes and possessions. He told me to take off my shoelaces and belt. In that instant something in the back of my brain just came apart. This deep sadness settled over me. The very first experience I had in the psych system was removing my laces and belt while being stared at. It was the beginning of this journey. The very first virgin step into the unknown. Here I was 19 years later, feeling the same self-conscious embarrassment. that gut wrenching feeling of in the blink of an eye being enfantalized. I gave him my laces and my belt with my head hung in defeat. It just got worse from there. I could not even come close to containing my tears and my sorrow. It was as if some vast well had suddenly overflowed. I fought hard, but eventually just let it go just a bit. The last thing I wanted was to appear hysterical. I did not want to end up on status the minute I got to the unit. Nevertheless, it is another hospital visit. Yet another in such a long list. I have stopped counting. To me each feels like a failure. I could not try hard enough, or work enough. I gave up and fell down. It is never about coming here to be safe, though that is what my rational mind tells me. It never translates over. My heart never gets it. At the end of the day I still feel like shit for having to come back. I am so upset and ashamed for what I have done. Not just this past week, but for all the times I have caused my loved ones stress and worry. I care so much for them, yet I am still somehow able to make the decision to try to end my life. I still sit here wishing I had pulled that fucking trigger. ending this never-ending perverse hamster wheel of hospital visits and drugs and therapy. Around and Around. Never ceasing. I can try to outrun it, but it is always there. I cannot outrun this disease, or the stress and trauma that make it so unstable.
I am exhausted. Maybe this is where I need to be right now. To take a breath and stop for a moment. I hate having to come back, but it gives me a lot of space to think and write. It may be a blessing in disguise.