Here We Go Again

“Here we go again.”

That was the major thought in my mind in March 2018 when I found myself being driven to the hospital in Jackson where I had always ridden out my suicidal urges.  This time was more serious—I kept imagining picking up the big knife laying on the kitchen counter and chopping at my left wrist with it.  Just go ahead and cut it and bleed out.  Get it over with; be done with life.  I don’t know if such imaginings are what’s called command hallucinations, but something serious was definitely going on.

It had started Monday.  I had experienced such thoughts throughout my day through the afternoon.  I told Bob, “I need to talk to you,” as soon as he came through the door with our youngest daughter in tow from dance practice.

He sent her upstairs to change, and I tried hard not to cry as I told him where my thoughts had been going throughout the day.  We tried my doctor’s office to see if they had an emergency number for him, but there was none.  We ate dinner, and Bob kept asking me how I was feeling, if I still wanted to go to the hospital.  By now we had made my daughter aware of the situation, and being thirteen and us having recently had a talk about my troubles, she knew the situation was serious.

As we went through the nighttime routine, I got calmer and calmer.  After dinner, we decided to watch old Bugs Bunny cartoons on DVD to get my mind off the seriousness of the situation.  I sat and watched the classics on the DVD—where Marvin the Martian was introduced, the Barber of Seville sketch, one of the “Duck season! Rabbit season!” sequences, and ended with the “Kill the Wabbit” masterpiece featuring Wagnerian opera. 

By then I thought I would be okay through the night.  I took a hot bath and went to bed.

 

  

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