I had it planned for June 14th. I had gotten my "affairs" in order, bought a new car for my son to drive after I was dead and asked my Heavenly Father for His help one last time. For months I couldn't eat, had no energy, alternated between hot flashes and cold chills, my skin hurt, I had isolated myself from the rest of the world, stopped going to church and my body was in constant pain. My mind had turned against me telling me how there was no hope against my breast cancer; I was in the cycle of depression and anxiety convinced that I would be better off dead. What did I have to live for? My rational mind told me that my grown son and my grandbabies loved me and I'd be an arrogant ass to leave them behind but then my "stinking thinking" couldn't come up with one good reason to keep living. What could I possibly do for them?
I was tired of shaking, vomiting, pain where my breasts had been-yes, phantom pain is real and my intrusive thoughts tortured me from the minute I woke up until I could self-medicate and go to sleep. I was being evicted from my home of sixteen years because of the financial burden cancer brings and in my mind, I had nowhere to go. I also tried to come up with one reason...just one....to "stay" but couldn't. I had even reverted back to my "cutting" days but even I saw that was useless. The endorphins that are released after self-harm seemed to have left me too and I felt hopeless. I had even convinced myself that God was trying to tell me that I had been through enough and He wanted me to "come home."
The morning of June 14th, I woke up and decided that if I was going to be banished from Heaven for committing suicide, I needed to make one last effort at staying live so I called my doctor. I told his nurse that I didn't want to live anymore and I needed their help. She told me to come to their office ASAP and they'd help me through this crisis. It took every ounce of energy I had to drive to their office and major self-talk to get there fully convinced that they'd just tell me to "get over it." But they didn't. They saved my life.
After a brief exam and assessment, I was transported to a local ER where it was determined that I had various infections, medication reactions, dehydration and so on. Admitted and treated for my physical condition, I was transferred to an inpatient behavioral center where for the next ten days, I got the mental help I needed, meds and all. Unbeknownst to me, my son had moved me in with his family, provided me a safe place to live upon discharge and found out how this situation had happened in the first place.
The day I was supposed to die turned into the first day of recovery for me physically and mentally. I learned how to "get out of my own way," eat, exercise, meditate, journal, be around people again and read books like "Excuses Begone" by Dr. Wayne Dyer. It is a long process and a demanding one because changing the way you "have always been" requires you to change your thinking thus changing your brain. "When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change."
The great news is that I am 100% cancer-free, I take my medications as prescribed, walk daily, attend a neighborhood support group and am surrounded by family and grandbabies. Some days are still more difficult than others but I have learned how to combat intrusive thoughts, the "voices in my head" and destructive "urges" for lack of a better term. I am physically stronger and have rejoined Life. I was even recommended and accepted into the "Remote Area Medical" organization created by the legendary Stan Brock enabling me to "give back" to those far more desperate than I.
Readers, you know I really didn't want to die that day--I just wanted the pain to stop. For the most part, it has. I have a new normal, am blogging again and trying to live life to the fullest even though at times it's from one day at a time to one breath at a time.
