disappeared.

Well… I figure its about time that I tell you my story. I’m sure you are curious as to where I have been these past couple of weeks, why I haven’t returned your text messages, phone calls, or comments. Well… its been quite interesting actually…

It all started in the last week of March, consequently the first week in which I had been able to connect with a lot of my old good friends. Aruna was in town… and we got to spend a lot of fun time together. We hung out at Ben’s house and Jonathan was hilarious, Joe was sexy, Nu was boisterous, and Christine was kind and warm. We made a movie and then we all went to the movies and played halo at Joe’s. I spent some time talking to both Nu and Brandon in the car and it was good, refreshing you could say, a nice cool stream flowing through the loneliness that has been my life for the past few months. But for some reason… It just made something click inside of me. It brought back all those memories I had been trying to ignore. For the last few months I had stopped crying… stopped mourning over the loss of friendships, closeness, warmth, joy. I had just accepted it as a part of who I was and I just lived in miserableness as an unchangeable reality, not even noticing that I had transformed to a sad, hurting person, to a fundamentally sick one.

You have got to understand something, this has been a long hard journey for me and I have looked up one road and down another for healing, for enlightenment, for change. But as many times as I have tried, I have failed, and every single time I get back on my feet I fall even farther down. Everything I have done for the past two years has been a struggle to me, even down to waking up in the morning or making myself something to eat. Struggle, difficulty, and pain are the air I breathe and to tell you the truth I can’t figure out why. I don’t understand why. Well I know “why”, it’s because I am sick. Its because my synapses are fried and my brain isn’t working right. Its because my genetic make-up, because every single person that I have ever met or just heard of on both sides of my family have been diagnosed with some form of mental illness, mostly depression but some more severe. One being my own biological father who has Borderline Multiple Personality Disorder, depression, and anxiety. I’ve inherited this illness. But the question I ask of the Lord is why. Why do you want me to be this way? Why have you left me like this when I have tried so hard, fought so hard, loved so hard? What else is it that you want me to do? Who else is it that you want me to be? What else do you want me to say? Why can’t I be healed?

But back to the story. So I sunk low… real low… lower even then when I actually tried to commit suicide… heck I didn’t even know it was possible to go lower than that. It was like all the pain of the last few months decided to let itself lose on my psyche in one weekend… and eventually I realized that I no longer had control of my own mind, that I was slipping in and out of rational thought. I had violent uncontrollable images dancing in my head and some very strong urges to do something violent to myself. I could see myself hanging from ceiling rafters or laying dead in the bathtub with long lines cut into my wrists. And it wasn’t ok. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think. So I called a friend, and then I called my mom per my friend’s instruction, then my mom came home from work and we called my insurance company. Then we went to the hospital. It was nerve wracking. Going up to the front desk and saying you want to be screened to see if you need to be checked in, filling out paperwork, telling the nurse that you can no longer be trusted with your own safety, knowing that there is a possibility you wont be able to leave depending on what you say. Then they have you sign at the dotted line and they take you back behind locked doors and you kiss your loved ones goodbye. At the nurses station the make you strip down to your chonies and they check your body for bruises and scars. Then they take your shoelaces away and give you a pair of hospital socks. Then you wait. You wait for things to start making sense again. You wait for someone to come and give you some type of pharmecudical, you wait for your blood pressure to be taken. You just wait.

It was pretty frightening the first night. I mean most of the people in there have much more severe outward representations of their mental illnesses than I do. For example, there was one lady who had actually stabbed herself through the heart several times. I mean like taking the knife and actually pushing all the way in, several times. Another girl had been molested and raped by her grandfather from time that she was three until she was seventeen. She was a cutter and a bulimic, her arms and her legs were basically scar tissue and the word failure was carved into her shin. Some of them were looking at me like why the heck was I there, and maybe I should just go home to my mommy. So it was hard to fit in at first, and trust me, you don’t want to be the odd man out at a mental hospital… its already bad enough that you cant talk to or see anybody you know… you don’t really want to sit alone at lunch too. Or at least I don’t.

Group therapy was challenging (I have many funny anecdotes if you ever want to hear any), I talked to like four doctors and day and had to somehow adjust to the severe side effects of my new medication. It was interesting. Its hard to even describe my experiences there because it was so different from anything else. It was outside of the normal beat of life, my only responsibility was to my own mental health, literally every other concern was taken care of for me. I needed it, really bad. As scary and as difficult as it was, I just couldn’t handle life anymore. There were nice nurses and mean ones, good days and bad ones. I led a prayer group, had the opportunity to pray over a couple of people and share the Word with them. I had people coming up to me and asking me questions about the Lord. I think I even caught the nurses’ attention, they were surprised to see our prayer requests written up on the whiteboard. I stayed for four days.

When I was released my psychiatrist told me to be careful, that the first week after being released from the hospital is when most people successfully commit suicide, that if I was having any suicidal ideations to seek emergency care. And it was a very hard week. My medication was making it difficult for me to even chew my food, I had to do everything slowly and methodically and with great care not to overload myself. I was exhausted and had killer stomach aches and a fogginess of mind. This last Friday marked the one week point and it is true what the doctor said. I was full of suicidal ideations. I wanted to drive my car off the road several times late at night. I spent a good half hour in the booze aisle contemplating what it would be like to drink my sorrows away. I scratched up my arm with my fingernails to see if I could have the cojones to draw blood. So if I haven’t been staying in contact… I am sorry. I am my own little irrational world right now, fighting for survival. I need time. Time for the meds to kick in and time to try to finish my classes and keep my job. Time to try to stay afloat.

This weekend things have taken an unexpected turn for the worse. The gradual improvement of my health has slowed to a stop, and I fear it is even reversing direction. If I haven't returned your phone calls, your comments, or your emails, at least now you know why. I am not here to get them. I have gone away. To quote one of my very favorite movies...

"Naomi? Naomi is not here. There is no Naomi. Naomi is disappeared."

Dear "friend", I am mad.

I am so angry. you see... i have come to a realization... i have found a small bit of insight in to why i get so burned out. you see... i have a whole lot of people that are counting on me showing up in their lives but none who are willing to take the time in the effort to show up in mine. and im FURIOUS!! i get to hang out with you because i drive you somewhere, help you with your homework or your job, or just make the effort to stop by your place. i get to hang out with you because im involved in the lives of your whole family and i try to encourage you when you are down and i go to you where you are. i eat lunch with you where you are. and im sick of it. because when was the last time you came to my house? when was the last time you said... hmmm... i wonder if angela needs some encouragement let me call her up and ask her how her day is going? what does angela need from me? what is my part of this relationship? when was the last time you ate dinner with my family? all i need is someone to show me some stinkin tlc! but no one even takes the time to think about it. well thanks for everything peeps... you're freaking sucking me dry.

angela

*please note: i was just released from a psychiatric hospital yesterday. i am feeling kind of angry right now because no one really took the time to visit me, no one sent me a get well card, and most certainly no one has given me a hug. and there were plenty of people who knew i was there. but i guess pleasantries are wasted on me, i am just fine the way i am right? no need to go out of your way. i am upset because i am hurting so bad. i am upset because i am sick out of my mind right now and i can barely move... and.... and it just comes down to this; if i stopped reaching out to you, you would be angry at first, and then you would accept that i was gone. aint nobody is gonna fight for me. they always let me make the first move.

**please also note: this "letter" is not meant for everyone, so upon reading please dont assume automatically that it is meant towards you. because then you might be someone that i am not infact mad at thinking that i am mad at you, which would not be true.

***one more note: but if you are sitting there reading this... and you feel as if you are one of "those" people... i am sorry. i wanted to be your friend, i wanted to know who you are, i wanted to love you and care for you but i cant anymore. i am just too sick.

for now,

angela