worst year ever

February 13th marked an anniversary that I celebrate simply by being here. It was a year ago on that date that I was discharged from the psych ward, stepped out of the hospital, and felt the sun on my face for the first time in a week.

I had reached a point where everything was too much. Getting out of bed and facing the world was an unbelievable challenge. Depression and agoraphobia (to name just a few of my problems) had for several years been grinding away on any reason I might have to go on. My experiences in therapy were horrible, and medication was something I'd given up on several months before I realized that the only way out was to end it all.

I can't really explain why I didn't do it. It’s not something I can completely understand. There are people who know without a shadow of a doubt the reason I checked myself into the hospital as opposed to the alternative... but they are wrong. People try to say things like "I know how you feel," or even "you have so much to live for." Those are the two worst things you can say to a person like me.

In the hospital I became very close to the other people on my ward, each suicidal. Even though we could probably relate to each other better than our families and friends--no matter how well meaning--could ever dream of, none of us ever uttered the words "I know how you feel" to another. Because we don't and the sad truth is you can't unless you actually could become that person. All the empathy in the world still comes up short.

Telling someone "you have so much to live for" demonstrates a fundamental ignorance of the hell that is severe depression. Again I can't do it justice even if you've walked a mile in my shoes, but it is the sort of thing, hearing and thinking, that can cause one to deeply resent the "reasons" for living.

I know it sounds horrible. It’s a horrible disease.

Those first few weeks of freedom after being in treatment and under strict supervision are the worst. In a way its like being thrown back to the sharks. My own experience was completely miserable. The side effects from the meds were the worst. It takes a while to find the balance that is the best treatment, and until my doctors found that balance with me I had all sorts of problems. I shook horribly (My hands shake a little anyway... benign tremor) and when I closed my eyes to go to sleep I would have nightmarish visions that would cause me to cry out.

Not to mention the difficulty that is re-entering the family life. In those days, my wife was Atlas. I can't imagine the love and courage it took to get through those weeks that then dragged onto months and then even longer as my life took even stranger turns later in the year. I know that to this day she worries about my happiness, and goes out of her way to find and do things that she thinks or hopes will make me happy. Truth is, she is really all I will ever need. The fact that there is a person like her living and breathing on the face of this earth makes me happier than any directors cut of "The Evil Dead," polish sausage, or Madden 2005 ever will. That I am married to her is even better.

Going back to work was... at the time I was a level three at work, running a small team responsible for re-merchandising the store. That time of year is insane because every department is getting a post-Christmas reset. Things are changing around the store all the time, but this time of year they tend to be fairly dramatic and hectic. I had only been at work a few hours before I found myself locked in a bathroom stall, slicing my wrist with a box-cutter.

This was not a suicide attempt, nor was it a cry for help... I was in pain yet it was intangible. I needed something to hurt and feel the pain. Only, my blade was dull. So I went to the front desk, asked my boss who was there at the time for a replacement blade and went back to the bathroom.

The next day I showed my therapist my cut, and explained what was going on. He told me that the first few weeks really are the most difficult. More people than you would want to believe kill themselves in those first few weeks after their hospital stay. That I was making tiny little cuts on my wrist relieved him if anything. The fact that I was able to discuss it with him was a good thing.

My boggle partner on the inside had a hard time getting out of the hospital. Two weeks after we were set free I happened upon her obituary.

I offered to take a demotion at work and then spent the next few months in a strange limbo between sick leave and steady employment. Every time I thought I was ready to get back on the horse I'd suffer a set back. When I finally got back to it with all this baggage behind me I had a heart attack and nearly died at work. But that is a story I'll save for another time.

As I reflect upon this chapter in my life it would be an understatement to say I have mixed feelings. For better or worse I am here, one breath at a time. Life is still a struggle. I have my hard days and weeks. I am very lucky to be surrounded by the best people on the planet. My siblings and Parents really are the coolest people in the world. I love them tons. Pat has been an unwavering friend through everything. Keri. My wife, my love... And you wonder why I don't mind sitting through all 12 billion hours of "Pride and Prejudice" with you...

One year down. I wish I could say I was cured. Am I better than I was? Perhaps there are still wounds to heal, gaps to close, ground to cover and several more clichés of that nature. Personally I am a little exhausted from this past year. Although this was obviously the worst thing that happened, there was plenty other crap that followed. The good news is that even if this is a total shit year it will still be an improvement.

Happy Anniversary to me.