I went to bed with her at some point and fell asleep until about two. I was awake in bed the rest of the night. I cried, but my thoughts were all jumbled. I knew it was over and that I had once again reached a breaking point. I had no joy, no hope, and I was convinced that the world was better off without me. I had three plans. Leave and become a person living on the street, leave and flee to Portland to live with my parents, or kill myself. I decided that killing myself was the best option. That way Melissa could remarry, I would not be forced to live a life of a transient, and my parents would not have to be burdened with me killing myself ever so slowly with alcohol.
I decided to cut my wrists. This time I went and tested the knife on my leg. A small cut, but with very little pressure I knew I would be able to get it done. I decided to do it after everyone left for work. I would stay behind and take care of it. I was going to do it outside as well so I would not make a mess. I was still substantially concerned with inconveniencing others. The morning came and my wife rolled over. I looked into her eyes and I saw love and compassion. It hurt. The pain in the moment of clarity was physical as she looked at her mess of a husband. A life was getting thrown away and she loved me. It was not much, but it was enough for me to tell her.
She immediately jumped into action. She got on my insurance card and called around to find a place for me because we both knew the ER/hospital route did not do much good. She found Lakeshore Hospital. We went in for general intake, but even then, I still was lying. It’s amazing how much courage it takes to be honest about depression, but how much shame there still was in my abuse of alcohol. I lied about my drinking. I said I drank, but not nearly as often or as much as I did. It was a fairly quick and smooth process. It is amazing how quickly killing yourself can come out of your mouth as an issue when you tell the 3rd, 4th, 5th person in a row. I was admitted and taken upstairs. I was waiting for my room and they fed me a grilled cheese and fries. I was actually really good. I did not even take any pills to help right away. I was given a bed and even took a nap. I was woken up for dinner.
People were nice and way more functional than what I first experienced back in June. Counselors were involved and helped people with questions. I was confused at first, so I went back upstairs and was given some meds to help me out. The rest of that first night was a blur but I had my own room. I stayed up late into the night reading. I felt safe. This was the first moment that I remember thinking that life inside with all the temptations taken away was a good thing. I went to sleep feeling good. Looking back, I feel like an ass for being so nonchalant. I was a danger to myself. I was going to hurt myself that day. Being locked up took that power away from me. It saved me from myself and allowed me some time to get a better structure and focus on my actual issues, which were only just then starting to surface.
Want to read Melissa's side of the story? http://www.lifeimpaired.com/2/post/2014/01/january-17th-2014.html