Walking along the side of the road it is blustery and quiet. No one makes a sound except the rare car in the distance. It’s eerily quiet tonight, but I love it. Sometimes my life feels like I’m at the busiest intersection in town but I’m the only one here. Oh, how I love the nighttime. I’m always more awake and always seem to feel a little better when it’s dark out. Maybe it’s because I don’t feel like I stand out as much, who knows? I walk alone around my neighborhood missing my old best friend that used to walk with me. Him and I grew up together in this place and now all I have of him and everyone else is the memories. And I hate it because the memories are even starting to fade. Is that what happens as we get older? We have children and simply fade into the night? I hear an ambulance turn their sirens on. “Maybe their coming for me.” I’d think to myself. Maybe they’ll come and help me find a new life. Where did the old me go though? Usually outgoing I’ve turned into quite the introvert and am always anxious. My normal self is playing the longest game of hide and go seek. I’m so ready to go to the hospital where it feels safe. No one is their to make you miserable when you go to the hospital. And I’ve been to the hospital for this. Years and years ago. I hear gravel scrape on the ground as I take my next step, of course it’s stuck in my shoe, that’s just the way my life operates isn’t it? If something bad is going to happen then that someone it will happen to, is me. At the hospital people are so nice to you and it doesn’t even seem like it’s because their paid to be that way. My first experience was filled with genuine concern of theirs and them actually trying to set me up with the right plan. But the problem is, what if you turn out to be suicidal quite a bit and don’t know what to do but go to the hospital. And this was when they didn’t put people in inpatient unless the situation was dire. Am I dire? Hell no, but having suicidal thoughts or even thoughts of harming yourself is. So what happens when that just won’t go away? That’s what they mean when they say the word “ideation.” Suicidal ideation is when you think about suicide a lot but don’t necessarily feel the need to go through with it. I tried to refuse the ideation’s service but the demon had already nustled up in my head. It didn’t even knock so I couldn’t say I don’t do anything door to door. My Dr. that I’d unloaded to about the depression advised me to go. No one wants to go the the hospital to spend their entire day away waiting. But isn’t that all I do anyway? Wait? Be patient to wait. Oh, wait, wait, wait “miss….please have seat and wait.” UGH! Sometimes wait 24 hours, sometimes more. Then they release you and tell you to be good. What a crock. THAT’S your suicide prevention plan? Restraining me to a bed? “Don’t put me in restraints!” “What is this for?” “I haven’t even done anything.” Pleading with the Dr.s and nurses. “This is for your protection as well as ours,” they say. But I voluntarily came to the hospital asking for help. Except for the one time I overdosed and it took seven doctors to restrain me. I get fiercely protective of myself when it’s other people out to “handle” me. But why when it’s myself preying on my inner self do I just let that go? I fight til the death when I feel I’m the prey but I’ve been my mental prey all along and simply fall weak to it. Man, I hate this. I hate myself even more after realizing what I just wrote. Why don’t I fight for myself more? Or maybe I am fighting for myself by going to the hospital and not sitting at home hurting myself. But that’s not what one social worker had to say. She was the ‘bad cop’ out of the mostly good ones. Or maybe had the power trip she’d been longing for because when she got to little old me, oh did she prey. And hook, line and sinker I’d take the bait. But, like me, that’s neither here nor there. I sway from the in-betweens of life and limber. Sway to and fro in my easy going mentality with others, but fierce when it comes to myself. Constantly, I battle with who I am and why I am. The why’s of life unbeknownst and the who’s, undecided as I step up for battle after battle, in life and limb.
I’ve watched things become very different at the hospital over the years, they don’t restrain anyone anymore unless it’s really necessary for people with suicidal ideation. My ideation in having those bad thoughts showed me I was nearing the end. It was just a matter of time that the compulsions set in. I used to have suicidal ideation all of the time. It was daily and mostly all day. It really haunted me. I had to take the ESL of brain chemistry because my mind suddenly became foreign. My thoughts were morbid, I was thinking very irrationally, and all I kept trying to do was to figure this thing out. Blood became the forefront of my mind, replacing all things happy. Morbid, morbid things I’d attach to as it was the only thing I could relate, and therefor rely on. It actually calmed me down sometimes to think about killing myself. The world I lived became such a far off place, to this day I have a hard time understanding it. And I didn’t have to think about it on purpose. Morbidity was always in the wakes, casually waiting to be exposed.