I was in ninth grade when I had had enough of this life. It was about a boy, and I thought, I was in love with him…. He had told me he just wanted to be friends. That was after I had given him my virginity. He told me I was too tall, too skinny, and had too many zits. There wasn't enough benzoyl peroxide on the planet to make me what he was looking for. Tall, skinny, and without a clear complexion, I felt I had nothing and would never be valuable enough to be loved by anyone else. All I ever wanted was to get married and have babies. If the first boy I had ever been with felt that way about me, surely all boys would. My dreams went up in smoke that day.
I took handfuls of dramamine, iron tablets, tylenol, and anything else that was floating around in my parents medicine cupboard. Was it a means for attention? At the time, I sure didn't think so. At that moment, with tears streaming down my face, and my Maverick mug full of water, I started swallowing pill after pill. When I had emptied the bottles, I laid down on my bed with my stuffed animal in my arms and hoped to just fall asleep. As soon as I felt the world begin to spin, I started to panic. I ran down the hall and told my brother what I had done and he woke up my mom. The rest is a blur. I honestly don't remember much, other than vomiting for what felt like days. I know I was in the hospital, and I know that is what began years and years of therapy and counseling.
I recovered. I will always have the "clinical depression" status. I have never attempted or contemplated suicide since that night twenty four years ago. BUT I have dealt with depression. The darkest years of my life were from age 17-26. I was on Prozac for most of those years, stopping only to get through pregnancies. But with Hadley, the doctors and I both felt that Prozac throughout her pregnancy was one of those "the benefits outweigh the risks" type of things, so I carried Hadley with Prozac coursing through my veins. I nursed her for 12 months with Prozac laced milk. (surprisingly enough she is the most mentally stable of all) and after her first birthday, weeks before Jayden joined our family, I stopped taking my meds. I have been med free ever since…. well, almost ever since. I had a 45 day run on Celexa after my brother-in-law committed suicide. But that was short lived and more for anxiety.
All of that is being said because……
None of that qualifies me to "know" how Bronson feels. Nor does it qualify anyone else. I can be sympathetic. I can even be empathetic, but that doesn't mean I know exactly how he is feeling or why he is feeling that way. So many of you shared your concerns about what a fragile place he was in, and what an 'unstable, unable to make rational decisions' place he was in. While I appreciate how many friends, supporters and nay-sayers, left comments and shared stories, none of you "know" how Bronson is feeling. Since the child is my son and he lives with me, in my home, 24/7, I would guess that I have a better handle on him than most of you.
What offended some of you in the post of suicide was that I was writing about me, not him. Since I only know how I feel, I think that is a good place to start.
Bronson called home yesterday and wanted to know if I had blogged yet. I told him that I had and that there were 77 comments left wishing him well. He asked if I would read the post to him because he didn't want to wait to read it himself. So I did. I read him every word and cried of course. He stood in the hallway of the psyche ward with his head against the wall and listened and when I choked through every word he said, "awww, thanks mommy."
I told him there were plenty of people that thought I had done the wrong thing by blogging about such a personal thing and putting it out there for the world to see.
And he said, "Fuck 'em. I told you to write it and I am glad you did. You love to write and I love to read what you write and nobody else matters."
Bronson was discharged shortly after that phone call. He is doing well. He is in an outpatient program where he goes for seven hours a day. He is on a new med and his attitude is so much better than it was on Saturday. He has found a new love, and that is for wounded spirits. He has fallen in love with the people in the unit. I am just happy to see him have a reason to wake up in the morning.
We were at Borders last night when I got another comment on the blog telling me what a sick person I was to share my child's issues with the world and Bronson got pissed. He said, "I am going home and guest blogging."
I said, "I think that's a great idea. Writing is theraputic. I am so excited!! I have been asking you for years to do a post for me."
Bronson said, "All I am going to write is FUCK OFF!"
"Okay baby, I don't think so. All my readers will say, 'see that child is still so unstable.' maybe another time when you have something eloquent and articulate to say."
…and that's where we are right now. I am mothering away. I am blogging away. It's just another day in the life. But things seem a little brighter and stuff that I thought was important last week just doesn't feel as important today. I am hugging all my babies a little tighter and holding them a little longer.
Thanks for letting me get that off my chest.
