Climbing Out Of The Emotional Chasm
Last week I found myself in the middle of a deep depression. The medicines
prescribed by my doctor weren't working well. It looks like the dose will have
to be increased (I'm now on the minimum of six possible doses manufactured).
Add to the depression weeks of stress at work (things just aren't going very
well there, but that's another story). Symptoms of depression were all but
knocking me over the head. I didn't eat well, I had little interest in anything.
I managed to work (and node) because the old adage, "move a muscle; change a
thought" is indeed true.
By early last week, I just couldn't stop crying all day. I couldn't see the
light at the end of the tunnel. A few stiff drinks couldn't calm me to sleep. So
I had a few more and swallowed every pill in the house (after, of course,
looking up the dose of each one which would be fatal; it turned out that none
of the prescription medicines I had were in sufficient quantity to guarantee a fatal result).
That made me angry. I figured the chemical "cocktail" and plenty of booze would
do me in nonetheless.
I obviously, deep down inside, had a will to live if only for two reasons: I
didn't cut my wrists. I left a note explaining why I'd chosen suicide with
someone, a note I thought wouldn't be read that day. Well, it was.
EMTs and a couple policemen burst into my bedroom that afternoon. I was
in quite a stupor; peculiarly, a pleasant one. I was cooperative but lied about
how many pills I'd taken because I didn't want to suffer a dose of charcoal (the
remedy of choice for medicine overdose). Against my insistence that I was
alright, they took me to the hospital.
I stayed in the hospital for exactly a week. The last three days were because
my blood pressure was dangerously high and they couldn't manage to bring it down
despite trying a whole bunch of different medicines. The doctors were hesitant
to treat the symptom, using a medicine which reduces one's blood
pressure. They'd have much preferred to find the cause.
There will be more tests and daily visits to my M.D.
I was quite touched by the notes in my inbox, and the ones which followed
after everybody discovered I was alright. A few were angry; I can understand how
frustrating it is. But I can guarantee you that there are few things as
frustrating as being deeply depressed and having no real reason at all to
Working from home is what I plan to do for the next few days. I need the rest
(boy, am I sleep-deprived; the hospital is not the place to get any sort
of good straight sleep; noise, lights, nurses poking and prodding make eight
hours asleep a virtual impossibility.)
Again, thanks to all of those who voiced their concern (even the noder who
threatened to beat me with a stick if I ever tried something silly like
Although I'm hazy about what exactly you-all did, I'd like to thank those of
you who phoned my office and the police and summoned help.