Couldn’t Fight

The next morning I called my psychiatrist, Dr. Bishop, and asked his office staff if I could be seen that day, that I was having an emergency.  I already had two appointments that day—one a check up for my daughter and another a check on my cholesterol.  They said the couldn’t see me at all–they were too busy that day.  They offered me a 2 p.m. appointment the next day, and I said yes, thinking I could make it that far.  I was feeling calmer and not so out of control.

But the further it got in the day after my appointments, the worse I felt.  Every time I went into the kitchen for anything, there was that big knife again, with the same thoughts of how much it would hurt to cut myself but how good it would be to be done with life. 

I don’t really know what made the thoughts jump on me like that.  Yes, I had gotten rejections on my writing but that wasn’t anything new. Yes, I had some thoughts about how I was still upset at my job not working out at the first of the spring semester and feeling like dead weight in the household even though I handled cooking, laundry, scheduling, and some cleaning.  But I didn’t want to spend my days doing just that. I wanted to work. I kept feeling more and more hopeless and helpless but held on until my youngest came home from school.

I thought that talking with her about her day would get my mind off of mine.  But it didn’t.  I finally called Bob at 4:20 p.m. and got him on the phone. I was terrified to start cooking dinner and handling that knife. I told him, “I need you to come on home.”

“Are you okay?” he said.

“No, I’m not. I can’t wait any longer on going to the hospital,” I said.

He said, “Okay.  Call Mom so she can come get Rachel and I’ll be home just as soon as I can.”   

    I went back to the master bedroom closet and started packing. I pulled open drawers in my closet unit and pulled clothes off of hangers to stuff into my large duffel bag. I had the presence of mind to get three pajama sets and three casual pants sets and three sets of underwear.  I thought I probably wouldn’t stay longer than that.  I would get my medication adjusted or otherwise managed and be out.

  

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