Present Day, November 12, 2017

There is a strange but somewhat consistent and often proven out as true phenomenon surrounding death. I have witnessed it myself. It typically centers around the passing of an elderly person. In this scenario, it is often a grandma or grandpa who has been on their deathbed for some time hanging on by god only knows what power. Everyone, including the medical professionals, anticipate that their last heartbeat would have…should have…already occurred or take place at this very moment. But it doesn’t.

In fact, it is not until a certain visitor arrives. Maybe a loved one from out of town, an estranged child, or just someone with more of a life than the ability to simply stand vigil. It is with their arrival that things begin to change. Yet the arrival is not enough. Typically there is a very specific act, let’s call it “words of release” that are uttered…and death comes. Almost instantly.

“I made it grandma. You don’t have to fight anymore. I love you. Goodbye.”

“It’s okay dad. Be at peace.”

“We promise to take care of everything. Please don’t worry anymore. Just rest.”

And the battle to stay alive ceases. The last breath is drawn. Tranquility comes.

At my worst, this is how I feel. Like I am just waiting to be released. To be freed to quit fighting the demons in my head and find peace. Maybe it is just a survival mechanism or subconscious form of self-preservation, but without that release, I struggle to take those final steps. I envision them. I feel them in the depths of my being. But I am held back by something or someone who will not allow me to “go.”

I think the suicidal urges and ideations of someone with a mental illness are maybe hardest to understand from the outside looking in. The darkness of them is impossible for me to put into words. The tangible “realness” of each impulse.

I have just come through a rather dark period. I mood chart daily and have a level that indicates a particularly bad, desperate kind of day. After having only two of them through a four-month period I had six of them in three weeks. It was rough. And there were days when I just wanted to be released. I just wanted those closest to me to indicate they would be fine without me and that I could finally end the pain. To just hear the words that would allow me to end my torment.

They weren’t spoken and I survived another fall. Is it just me? Does anyone else know how this feels? Has anyone ever longed to know that it’s okay to never again want to feel not okay?

I wonder at times how my life will end. Will I get old? Face cancer? End up in a hospital or hospice care? Whatever the scenario, I think I will be holding on loosely. And when the words come…I will go. Quickly.

Wednesday, August 31st, 6 a.m.

It is strange the things that we find ourselves missing.

When I awoke on this eighth day away from my home, I found myself overcome by a sense of homesickness. This is not an emotion I am used to. I have spent a lot of time…well, maybe more than the average person…in my life traveling. And for the most part, have always enjoyed it.

Eating out. Hotels. Extra and/or extended time alone. Not a problem for me.

But today was different. Maybe it was the constriction of the walls of a psychiatric ward. Maybe it was the fact that I had not breathed in the outdoor air since being delivered to the Emergency Room by the police (with no idea at that time that I could possibly still be here at this time!). Maybe it was simply that I am a creature of habit and the loss of my routines and habits was starting to weigh on me.

In any event, I was homesick and took a few moments on my bed to mind map some of the big hitters…

No shocker my wife was at the top of the list. Talking with her. Spending time with her. And yes…of course, sex with her!

I missed the routine of life. Free access to my computer and the freedom it gave me to track and follow one of my life long addictions…sports! As summer was about to give way to fall, I missed being outdoors. Even for such things as lawn care, or a grueling bike ride for exercise sake. I missed one of my all time¬†favorite forms of relaxation…television. Yes, we had access to some screens in the ward, but it was first-come-first and majority rules and our scheduled activities rarely allowed for the match up of a start and stop to a show. Plus, aren’t we all of the online streaming generation now anyway?

I missed work. I think I have always been a hard worker. Have never been able to vacation for very long, or survive an extended period of time without my mind wandering back to it. I have always found value, maybe even an unhealthy identity in my vocation. To take that away for a week was starting to leave a void of worth in my life.

Then there were two simple food items. Because to be honest, the food overall wasn’t bad. In fact, we had quite a bit of choice and freedom. But the coffee was awful and so I missed my Starbucks, and god how I missed soda!

They say “absence makes the heart grow fonder”. Maybe absence is how patients grow better. For me, the safety and security of the unit were falling out of balance with the reality that this probably was not how I was meant to live the rest of my life. There were yearnings in my heart for such basic things that attach themselves to normal living and make us want to return to where we are from. Things that have pulled me back other times when I have run.

As I contemplated the day ahead, I realized it was time for my thoughts to begin shifting stronger from what got me here, to what I was going to do differently when I got out. Because that day was likely not far away.