Since Pawpa died my world spun so quickly, I was certain I was going to fall off and go hurling back into that black hole of depression; the one that is always threatening to make me hate everything, especially myself; the black hole which makes me wish death would put me out of my misery once and for all.
The hole was so deep I didn’t see how I would get out of it. I was trapped there for most of August((one of my shortest, but most intense, depressive episodes)). It was triggered by all the death, the loss of my job, the instability in my romantic life, my sister’s move to the east coast, and my being on the verge of financial ruin and homelessness once again. At one point, I had decided to give up and kill myself.
I’m used to January being a bittersweet month and I’ve come to expect February’s to hold some sort of devastation. However, February 2012 takes the cake, and that is no small feat considering Februarys past.
Within three weeks of Pawpa getting sick, he was gone; poof, just like that. We had little time to wrap our minds around his ultimate fate, much less accept it. Once hospice took over his care I knew it was just a matter of time, but I still hoped like hell that he would beat the odds. I tried to be there for him as much as I could in his last few weeks. How could I not? He was my Pawpa and I wanted to make sure that he knew how much I loved him. When I felt his last heartbeats and realized that he was gone, I wanted nothing more than to curl up next to him and take my last breaths as well.
I just got home from Nick’s house. Our evening together was a very emotional one, thanks to the berry blue Everclear kool-aid. I cried in his arms when I left. We had some very open and honest communication this evening and it has left me feeling bad overall. I still feel like crying, but I would rather just have some more kool-aid. That probably would not be a good idea though.
The drive home was not an easy one. Before I pulled out of Nick’s neighborhood, the images of razorblades were flashing in my head. A few times, I even thought about how simple it would be to drive off a bridge. Thinking about it and doing it are two different things, obviously. I am not going to do that, but something about entertaining the idea provides a sense of relief.
It’s disappointing to look back at all the hard work and therapy because I feel like it was in vain. As soon as things get a little too hard to handle emotionally I go back to thinking about hurting myself. Why do I do that?!?
I was going through my music folder earlier because I wanted to listen to some songs I haven’t heard in awhile. I came across a CD that Derek made himself. He was really into Techno, Trance, and Electronica. He titled the CD “A New Way” under the name “Matubrembrem.”
I knew it would sting, but I listened to his songs. He loved to write1; act; sing; play music; edit films and videos; and so much more. He was so damned creative and talented and now he’s just dead. What a waste. I know he wasn’t trying to be selfish when he killed himself, but it was a very selfish act and I’m angry with him for going through with it.
Last year, around this time, I had been thinking about my friend, Derek Brown quite a lot. He had moved to California to work on the indie film “Isolation”. We texted and talked on the phone quite a bit at first, but from January until June 2007 I was wrapped up in my own life and recovery. I am sorry to say that I neglected my friendship with Derek. We were kindred spirits, but I was not there for him when he needed me.