I’m struggling, guys. I’m really struggling.
I don’t feel anything apart from grief, loss, rage, confusion and a profound hurt that has sunk into the marrow of my bones and physically makes my body ache.
Alun won’t believe me and if I talked to a friend about how I’m feeling, I’m so scared I’ll burden them…so instead, I rang Lifeline.
I talked to a young woman who barely sounded 18, which put me off and made me vet and alter my sentences so that the poor young girl wouldn’t be overwhelmed.
These are the things making me suicidal:
Alun doesn’t seem to care what happens to me, he’s “so over” my bs and seems to have completely given up on me. That is heartbreaking 💔
My Mom is back in Perth, and the steady demand for finances weighs heavily upon me.
My Dad’s urn…is lurking somewhere in a suburb near mine and I DO NOT WANT TO SEE IT. I can’t bear it. I want to hold onto the belief that my Dad is around, he’s just lost and looking for his way home; wandering around in the Philippines with his big, goofy smile. I don’t want that final blow of knowing SOMEONE BURNT HIM DOWN INTO A FINE, GREY POWDER.
Nope. No thank you.
My entire body is aching from all the needles at the hospital and my attempted overdose. EVERYTHING hurts.
Especially my heart.
My brother is indifferent 😐 and doesn’t care either way. I could have died on Sunday, and he’d still pour milk into his cereal and head off to work without a second thought that his older sibling was no more. My death to Jay would be a minor inconvenience. Nothing more than an annoying fly he had to swat away on his way out the door. To know that is absolutely destroying me.
I’m exhausted at work every day. I come home to house chores that demand my attention ALL THE TIME. It never seems to end.
My marriage has hit a painful crossroads and I don’t know how to talk to my husband any more. I don’t think Alun hears me any more. That’s hard to navigate my way around. It’s painful and confusing.
I guess on the surface it doesn’t seem that bad at all.
But for me – in the eye of the storm things seem pretty dire.
So I told Lifeline about my exhaustion, my stress over financially supporting my Mom, my grief over my Dad and my hurt and dismay that things in my marriage are so fragile.
I cried a lot.
I promised not to attempt suicide again and we hung up.
10 minutes later and I was begrudgingly folding laundry when I heard it.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
“POLICE!!! Open up!!!”
Trembling, I opened the door to 2 tall, muscle-bound Police officers and 2 more standing behind them about 5 feet away.
An officer shone his torchlight into my panicked face “What’s your name?”
I stammered it out.
“Right. Ma’am can you please step outside?”
Frightened, I folded my arms across my chest and stepped out onto our cold porch area.
“Janet, a Lifeline operator rang us, worried about your safety. There’s an ambulance on the way. Can you tell us what’s been going on?”
In my pyjamas, I burst into frightened tears. “I don’t understand?”
“We were told your life is in danger and once the Ambulance arrives, we think it would be a good idea for you to go to Hospital tonight”
I’ve spent enough bloody time at hospital this week. I want to be home.
An Ambulance arrived with lights flashing.
My fear rose about 1000 notches higher.
Was I going to be sanctioned and taken against my will to a horrible hospital? Will they cuff me? Put me in a straight jacket?
The Ambulance officer – I think he introduced himself as Michael – asked me to sit next to him on our front steps. The other officers “swept the house” for dangerous things.
What were they thinking they’d find? I want to hurt myself not anyone else.
Michael asked me what had I taken and how much of it.
I hadn’t taken anything apart from 2 melatonin tablets to help me sleep.
“Tell me honestly, though – because we’re going to check your vitals so we’ll find out either way, Janet” Michael was very firm “What did you take?”
Again, I told him. 2 melatonin tablets to help me sleep.
Michael asked me to tell me anything and everything about “the last 7 days” so I did. I cried the whole time. I’d just gotten to the part where I came home after the overdose when Alun’s Audi pulled up.
Even before the door had shut, Alun ran up the driveway and gathered me up in his arms, his tears melding with mine.
Alun must have been so scared.
Michael smiled at our embrace.
“Your shoulders have come down from around your ears” he noted “I can see you love each other a lot”
Officers called Alun aside so he walked away down the driveway with them while Michael continued talking to me about grieving my Dad, financially “carrying” my Mom, working long hours, not having had a holiday all year when Alun and I usually go somewhere twice a year to break up the monotony of work/eat/sleep/repeat but this year there just hadn’t been any time I guess.
“Honestly, you sound pretty burnt out. Everything you’ve said makes sense and of course you’d be frantic and upset” Michael was writing on his iPad as he spoke. “You appear of sound mind and I don’t think we need to take you to hospital tonight, but I really think you should commit yourself to Hollywood Clinic sooner than in 2 weeks like you told me about”
“I’ll get Alun to sign a document saying he’ll watch over you tonight and we’ll get him to hide all medication from you. Officers will supervise” and he signalled the Police officers talking with Alun. He led them into our house. I heard one of them say how lovely our place was. So many people comment on how welcoming our cottage is.
20 minutes later and they were gone.
Alun was on the sofa and looked absolutely exhausted. My heart broke for him. He’d worked 12 hours only to come home to police cars and a lit up Ambulance. I can’t imagine how scary that must have been for him.
A large part of me wishes he had come to me being put in a body bag, though.
I don’t understand why I want that so much, but I do.
I don’t want to put Alun through that…but I’d still like very much to be dead.
I’d like to get some real rest. No housework. No messages for money from Mom. No nightmares about Dad’s urn, no continuous ache from knowing my only sibling doesn’t see me as a person – just a commodity to be traded…or not even that.
I really just want it all to stop.
I’ve had enough, guys. I’ve had enough.