STUCK ON SUICIDAL IDYLL

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Since Thursday or Friday, I guess, when this episode hits. No, not hits, more like washes over me. Sidles up like a fellow psych ward patient to discuss what the invisible TV told him. Not alarming, just a bit off. Still a blank screen though. Never fails to scare the shit out of me at first, morphing into a blank, empty automaton. Know my med supply’s too low to follow through. Anyway, until I make out a will that provides for the kitties three, I can’t do it.

When I say my cats save me every day, I mean it. Give ’em a round of applause, folks!

So…what to do, what to do, I think, ’cause I’m still a blank, empty automaton, just one with nowhere to go ūüėČ Oh yeah, self care, let’s take a taciturn around the room, shall we? Not easy peasy but leaving¬†the sofa’s half the battle. Then I rebound on my JumpSport, practice every restorative yoga pose I know, and 40¬†minutes of meditation with Oprah and Deepak (thanks, guys). The self care trifecta works wonders, it really does. I’m almost sure I wash it all down with a favorite green smoothie.

I’m exhausted but a less empty, “I put in a good day at the office” exhausted. Suicidal ideation, depression, and fighting them wear me out. The weekend’s a blur. My memory’s weak from meds. Now it’s MIA. How’s this for irony? I bail on a half-day seminar on coping with the holidays Saturday. I have to laugh. I’m depressed but that’s pretty funny and so me. I love Sunday mornings and savor that first cup of freshly brewed coffee more than usual yesterday. I accomplish stuff–cleaning the litter boxes; taking a shower (possessed pipes fail to scare me this time; still, better call maintenance); leave the apartment for a bite to eat (and chat with a friend waiting for her takeout); stand and wait, along with one of two favorite concierges, with an unstable resident who’d collapsed on the stairs, weak as a newborn kitten, until he makes it inside his apartment; lug a 40 pound bag of kitty litter to our place, whereupon I collapse on the bed.

Today, well, it’s MTX Monday, the side effects I minimize a bit by downing in two doses with food. I accomplish the heaviest, most burdensome task I’ve put off for months, every part except dropping the envelope in the mailbox. Tomorrow. Nope, it’s an IN day despite 70+ degree weather, “you can do it!” entreaties I write in cursive in my journal, and an empty fridge. I coffee yoga, rebound, self care aplenty, make do with soup and oatmeal, pay an outrageous medical bill without a peep (instead urging the blatantly¬†sick customer service woman to go home and take care of herself), report an $160 charge to a magic shop to my bank, and take too long of a nap (night sweats/weird dream combo), but that’s an MTX/depressed Monday sandwich for you.

No, I’m not jonesing to die anymore. I do wish for a magic spell, to cast out the idyllic honeysuckle and springtime soil-scented “Wish I was there” postcard in my keepsake box. I can tell you one thing–penguinmagic.com doesn’t carry it.

Lack of communication is unhealthy.

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