okay, that was different
Sep. 14th, 2013 02:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ysobelSo last night -- after going to bed, before the realization of having forgotten my meds (which in turn was before the knee agony that was so bad I ended up hooking the lower half of the sling back up to the lift and using that to support my legs so that there wasn't any pressure on my knee, which felt amazing once I was past the hour of recovery period where my entire leg was twitching from the pain and stress -- okay, that got long. Starting over.
So last night, I got into a sort of depressive funk that involved a lot of crying and also a spiral of, well, lots of daydreaming about ways to commit suicide and reasons to do so and general despair and all sorts of stuff. And my usual strategy, which doesn't work too well but I keep doing it regardless, is to get upset with myself for thinking those sorts of things, or to try to fight against it, or to make bargains with myself like "well if you kill yourself now, you won't get to see/read [ S3 of Sherlock / the next hobbit movie / the next Rivers of London book / etc ], so at least wait until after that happens".
The thing with the last is that I'm sort of bribing myself (I'll give you a cookie if you do the right thing) but also sort of ... things don't last forever, even depressive episodes, and if I wait it out it'll get better, but in the moment the depressive shit feels all-consuming and eternal and never-ending, and just saying "it will get better" rings false, and you can't reliably say "in a month it will be better", but chances are good that it will be better at some point in the next few months, even if it's just a moment of enjoying the sun on my face or the smell that comes with rain. "wait for it to get better" gets kneejerk despair and pessimism; "wait for [external thing with defined date]" doesn't, because that external thing will come, even though it's really just tricking myself into letting it get better.
So it works in the sense that I don't actually try to kill myself, but it doesn't really work for helping me feel better right now.
Last night, though, it occurred to me to take the toddler approach. To just say to my inner toddler, "I see that you're hurting, and that's okay; I'm going to stay right hear with you; I love you." Actually saying these things (under my breath and soundless but shaping my mouth around the words), and I wasn't able to hug myself or even hold my hand but I had my fists clenched as though holding on tight to someone else's hands.
And then it occurred to me to say, "okay, what's really behind this?" Because I don't want to die, even at my most suicidal; I don't want to do the action of dying, and I don't want to be dead, because I haven't read all the books or watched all the movies or crocheted all the things or played all the games. It's just a cover for something else.
And I answered myself by naming the things I was feeling. I was scared. I was lonely. I was grieving, both what I had been and what I "should" be. I was frustrated. I was hurting. I was unsure about the future.
Each thing, I named, and I let it rest, allowing it to be. Each thing, I followed with a whispered "and that's okay", and I let it be okay, without judging or condemning or scorning, without trying to hide it or shove it in a closet or smother it. It was okay, I was still there with me, and I still loved me.
And slowly, I found myself relaxing.
I was still crying, but it was an easier, freer sort of crying. My usual sort of depressive-jag crying is horrible painful sobs with jagged edges that I try to suppress (partly so no one knows I'm crying, because they would be loud and obnoxious), and that hurt coming out. Like a sneeze, where it has to be expelled and you don't have a whole lot of control over how it comes out, and it rips through what it passes. There's a lot of tightness, in my chest and in my stomach and in my throat. But this had turned into ... the tears were there, but I wasn't fighting, either against them (to suppress) or for them (to get them out). Just my face was wet, that was all.
And that was okay.
A proper story ending would have me drifting easily off to sleep afterwards. It didn't happen, for reasons described in the tangent in the first paragraph. But I felt better.
I don't know if I can ever duplicate that again, but it was sort of ... fascinating.
So last night, I got into a sort of depressive funk that involved a lot of crying and also a spiral of, well, lots of daydreaming about ways to commit suicide and reasons to do so and general despair and all sorts of stuff. And my usual strategy, which doesn't work too well but I keep doing it regardless, is to get upset with myself for thinking those sorts of things, or to try to fight against it, or to make bargains with myself like "well if you kill yourself now, you won't get to see/read [ S3 of Sherlock / the next hobbit movie / the next Rivers of London book / etc ], so at least wait until after that happens".
The thing with the last is that I'm sort of bribing myself (I'll give you a cookie if you do the right thing) but also sort of ... things don't last forever, even depressive episodes, and if I wait it out it'll get better, but in the moment the depressive shit feels all-consuming and eternal and never-ending, and just saying "it will get better" rings false, and you can't reliably say "in a month it will be better", but chances are good that it will be better at some point in the next few months, even if it's just a moment of enjoying the sun on my face or the smell that comes with rain. "wait for it to get better" gets kneejerk despair and pessimism; "wait for [external thing with defined date]" doesn't, because that external thing will come, even though it's really just tricking myself into letting it get better.
So it works in the sense that I don't actually try to kill myself, but it doesn't really work for helping me feel better right now.
Last night, though, it occurred to me to take the toddler approach. To just say to my inner toddler, "I see that you're hurting, and that's okay; I'm going to stay right hear with you; I love you." Actually saying these things (under my breath and soundless but shaping my mouth around the words), and I wasn't able to hug myself or even hold my hand but I had my fists clenched as though holding on tight to someone else's hands.
And then it occurred to me to say, "okay, what's really behind this?" Because I don't want to die, even at my most suicidal; I don't want to do the action of dying, and I don't want to be dead, because I haven't read all the books or watched all the movies or crocheted all the things or played all the games. It's just a cover for something else.
And I answered myself by naming the things I was feeling. I was scared. I was lonely. I was grieving, both what I had been and what I "should" be. I was frustrated. I was hurting. I was unsure about the future.
Each thing, I named, and I let it rest, allowing it to be. Each thing, I followed with a whispered "and that's okay", and I let it be okay, without judging or condemning or scorning, without trying to hide it or shove it in a closet or smother it. It was okay, I was still there with me, and I still loved me.
And slowly, I found myself relaxing.
I was still crying, but it was an easier, freer sort of crying. My usual sort of depressive-jag crying is horrible painful sobs with jagged edges that I try to suppress (partly so no one knows I'm crying, because they would be loud and obnoxious), and that hurt coming out. Like a sneeze, where it has to be expelled and you don't have a whole lot of control over how it comes out, and it rips through what it passes. There's a lot of tightness, in my chest and in my stomach and in my throat. But this had turned into ... the tears were there, but I wasn't fighting, either against them (to suppress) or for them (to get them out). Just my face was wet, that was all.
And that was okay.
A proper story ending would have me drifting easily off to sleep afterwards. It didn't happen, for reasons described in the tangent in the first paragraph. But I felt better.
I don't know if I can ever duplicate that again, but it was sort of ... fascinating.
no subject
Date: 2013-09-15 12:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-09-15 12:46 am (UTC)and i sure hear you on the difference between the crying that's because you can't not and the gentler tears of allowing oneself to grieve for ones losses.
*lovelovelove*
no subject
Date: 2013-09-15 03:21 am (UTC)<3
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Date: 2013-09-15 12:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-09-15 02:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-09-15 03:05 pm (UTC)