*Trigger Warning*
I have gone back and forth between writing and rewriting this blog several times. Do I share a little? Do I share it all? Am I going to be judged by people who read this? In the end, it all boils down to the fact that reading this might just help that one person who needs it and that's all that matters in the end.
It was Dec 17th, and for weeks I had been depressed. My bed was like my rock that I could crawl under, or it was like my turtle shell where I could crawl back into and hide. I have had spurts like this on and off for as long as I could remember. This time was one of my worst. My life was falling apart around me.
I had been clean for a few months at this point. But I was physically clean, not mentally. What I mean by that is that I hadn't worked on or dealt with any of the reasons I continued using. The doctors were overprescribing me is the easy answer. At some point, it became a decision to continue. My breaking point was watching my husband pack himself and the kids their bags. He said he just needed a break. Jimmy had no experience with addiction and mental health issues. Watching him break down, and folding the kid's clothes did something to me. The kids were at a friend's house for the night and he was going to go visit family in Ohio. To this day I can count on one hand how many times I've seen him cry. On top of all that, tomorrow was the day I dreaded all year and I was spinning.
On this day, it was the anniversary of my mom's passing. I had a memory that just kept replaying in my mind. I'm standing at the podium at my mom's funeral and I'm reading this one line of a poem "Walk slowly down that long lone path, soon I will be there following you." I stood there and said in front of 150+ people that I was going to kill myself. She was my best friend; I had spent the last nine years taking care of her. So, at this point, I'm spiraling. I grabbed and swallowed a handful of pills.
When I was 14, I attempted suicide by a different means, but my parents got me help. After that, I never really tried again, even after my mom passed. I drank too much, hung out with the wrong people, and used drugs. I know it was only by God's grace that I'm here and that I didn't hurt anybody.
I remember looking up a D.N.R. I even wrote one up and signed it. Then I started writing a goodbye letter to my kids, but that was a struggle. How do you do that? I couldn't come up with the words to explain that at that moment I felt deep down in my soul they were much better off without me. How would that ever make sense to them? On top of the fact that the drugs were starting to take effect now. I just sat back and drifted off.
The next thing I remember was waking up three days later in the cardiac wing. I remember seeing my husband sitting there with an angry look on his face, and when I looked to the other side, I found that I had a babysitter (the hospital had a nurse stationed in my room to make sure I didn't try to hurt myself again). A doctor came in and said something like, "So, you tried to kill yourself...." I was so grateful to be alive, and to this day I have never thought about hurting myself again. I appreciate life in a way that I never have before, and for me, that is a big deal as I used to go through bouts of wanting to hurt myself on a semi-regular basis.
I was in and out of consciousness for the next two days. It was about day five when I was finally able to do a full workup with the doctors. After finishing one round of tests and scans, I got back to my room and realized that I hadn't seen my husband all day. I started to get annoyed. I had just attempted suicide, why wouldn't he be here devastated, by my side... seriously?! I called him and asked him where he was. I gave him a list of things I expected him to bring me. I was required to attend group sessions, and when I returned, my bag of stuff was on the bed, but my husband was nowhere in sight. I opened the bag because I wanted to be in some normal clothes, and found a letter with my name on it...
I've always loved when Jimmy King writes. He writes the sweetest letters. There was nothing sweet in THIS letter. This letter was the first, and last, time in 18 years that my husband has ever mentioned divorce. Not only did he mention it, but he wrote of his plans to seek out a lawyer and that, even though it broke his heart, he would rather lose me to that than through suicide. At the beginning of this blog, I struggled with how much to share - a little, or all of it? The exact, detailed reasons why I did what I did I'm going to keep for myself, but let it suffice to say that Jimmy's perspective was different.
Once I found that letter and realized what it was, I immediately called Jimmy and begged him to come back up to the hospital and pleaded with the doctors to talk to him. This somehow turned into a team of doctors sitting down with both of us in the room and then explaining to Jimmy that I was diagnosed with bipolar, PTSD, and Anxiety and what the diagnoses meant. Jimmy, not being familiar with any mental health issues other than PTSD, searched for more information on Google and he started to tear up with what he had read as if he thought I was terminal or something. The doctors reassured him that these were treatable mental disorders and that with proper medication and counseling everything would be able to return to a relatively normal state. Jimmy graciously decided to give me a chance to prove I had recognized the error of what I had been thinking (that my family would all be better off without me), and we both took steps to help ensure I never got to that place again. I engaged in the therapy that I needed as well as got on the right medications to keep me in a "stable" place. Jimmy took NAMI classes to educate himself on mental illnesses and ways to help loved ones who suffer from them. There may still be some bumps now and then, but at least it is no longer a roller coaster ride.
For a long time since these events, Jimmy and I have had a wall up between us, and it wasn't until I took the Trauma Reboot course with Shawn Moore and Caregivers on the Homefront that this started to change. She is so open with her own story about suicide and her veteran, and it allowed me the ability to see Jimmy's side of things. She was able to explain it in a way that he was never able to. It helped to tear down a wall between us that was several years in the making. I like to think I was able to help her a little too by giving her an understanding that she did not have. I cannot sing her praises enough and would highly recommend the Reboot course to anyone and everyone. Shawn and her team also have restorative weekends that work through and rebuild.
I write this in hopes of saving a life. Someone's friend, caregiver, or veteran is out there struggling with drugs and trying to cope with mental health issues, and they or their loved ones need to hear this and know that it is okay to seek help. These ARE things that are important to discuss. You DO Matter!!!
This is my side. Stay tuned for my husband, Jimmy King's perspective in "Part 2: His Side."
Written By Veteran Caregiver, Beth King
Caregivers on the Homefront: caregivers-homefront.org
NAMI: https://nami.org/Home
