A reason to live if just one more day

I can't think of a time when death was not a daily thought. Not a thought I would usually share publicly but what the hell, everyone else is opening up.

I wouldn't call my thoughts suicidal though they do range in thinking of how I could end my own life. It's not planning per say, just thoughts. I've spoken to a few people about it with mixed reaction. There is one person I know who understands that the thought of death, even at my own hands, brings some sort of comfort.

I've had plenty of bouts with depression where death doesn't cross my mind as an answer, but then neither does life. There have been times as well where death seemed the only rational way to deal with the pain, darkness and emptiness that nothing seems to remove but time.

For many years I was able to break free of my thoughts with a different though : I must first find my birth mother.

There was one point in time where that wish was not enough and I attempted to take my own life twice within a two week period.
I was 23 years old.
I was married though my now ex husband for the first attempt was in Korea.
I was lonely. I went out with a couple of girlfriends one evening for dancing and when I came home to my empty house I was once again alone and it felt as if the loneliness would never go away.

I grabbed my bottle of sleeping pills (I had not been sleeping well at all) and began taking them one by one. I pretended they were tick tacks. I wondered if I would go to hell.

As my dog sat by my side I got scared and called a friend who in turn called the MP's, When they arrived at my house they said they couldn't force me to go to the ER but really wanted me to. I didn't want to, but I also didn't want to die alone.
When my dog grabbed one of the MP's hats and began running around with it they began to laugh.
Laughter was not something I had heard in a very long time.
To the ER I went with a mandatory lock up for 3 days.

My husband came home after that for a mid tour leave.The first thing he asked me upon arriving at the house was "When is the last time you cleaned?" He had said I could go back to Korea with him. I wasn't sure which would be worse, going with him or staying home alone again. Again at a loss for where my life was going I decided to make one more failed attempt. After taking this time a full bottle of sleeping pills I sat in the bathroom alone while he watched TV and drank his beer.
And then, I changed my mind.

I was not able to stand up and found myself pulling myself across the linoleum floor to him. I could no longer raise my head and lay a rooms length from his recliner.
"I think I made a mistake. I took a bottle of pills and I think I changed my mind".
He got up and came over to me and picked me up. Instead of turning towards the kitchen to bring me to the car he took me to our bedroom and proceeded to rape me.
When he was finished he closed the door, leaving me in bed with my forever friend, a dachshund. I'm not sure what happened over the next three days but as you can see, I did finally wake.

I didn't have a dime to my name and as I dropped him off at the airport to head back to South Korea I left the airport with determination and hope rather then tears. I didn't know how I would do it but it was time to really be alone in my journey.

I found a job, I packed my bags and I moved with my dog into a gang filled area of the city. I was free from him as well as my depression, for the time.

In looking back there is not a moment I regret from my 23rd year. Each moment that happened had its place and brought me to the new roads I have no traveled.

Depression is still a very common part of my life. The world around me could be perfect and I know there will still be days that my only reason for getting out of bed is to feed the pets that have no ability to open a can of food.
There are also the days where I jump out of bed and forget to think about death. They come more often in the spring and summer then they do in the winter.
There is one thing I have learned and that is I can only say I'll try for one more day. I no longer try to set a goal as to what I am trying for. When I found out that my birth mother had died at 24 hers of age, and that she too had tried multiple times to take her own life, I knew then that in order to survive I had to remind myself that it's for me.
It's not for what I might find.
It's not for who I might hurt.
I can only make myself survive for myself.

The laughter stopped

Depression VS Sadness

Are they different??
I spent much of last night pondering, thinking, and crying.
On the evening of the death of Robin Williams I was crushed that he was gone, saddened by those who had negative things to say, and finally, saddened that I was not surprised.

For those who don't like to read ramblings then stop at the following line which in my mind may sum up what I'm about to type:
Depression comes from within, Sadness comes from that around us.


This blog, as is with the rest of my blogs, are based on my experience. I'm not a doctor, hell I didn't even finish high school, but experience I do have many.

As an adoptee I have always had some sort of emptiness inside. Yes, Always. Not having a base to your tree makes it difficult to balance. Pasting on pretend roots doesn't hold a person stable during rough times. The emptiness came from feeling alien to my surroundings and doing what I could to fit in.

My family, for the most part, was happy. Laughter was heard often and while we had rules we also had fun. I believe that our family was as average as any other. We hold our secrets and we also hold onto old family vacations.

I was at a shrink often. I'm not sure why I never felt the ability to open up in such a setting. One man would ask at the beginning of each and every visit "What are you thinking?" A few visits in my reply would remain the same "Of how to answer that question" and we would spend the next 50 minutes watching the shadow creep on his wall as the sun set. It was fall when I made my visits to him. He was one of the few who asked how I felt about being adopted. My reply was that I didn't feel anything about it, and it was never asked again.

I saw another who fell asleep during my visits, while I was speaking to her. She would wake up and offer off the wall advice. To say I took it personally would have been an under statement at the time. I told my mom "She falls asleep while I talk to her!" My mom didn't believe me at first but after a few visits with my same complaint she spoke to the woman who indeed had some sort of iron deficiency. She began taking a supplement and thanked my mom for letting her know and offered some fee sessions. I refused to go back.

While in high school I had a friend. She sat behind me in "sober homeroom" which was a small group of us who had stopped drinking, doing drugs, needed support first thing in the morning. I enjoyed the group, especially when we got to ditch the first class or two to head out as a group for breakfast.
This girl was a pretty redhead. Orange really. She was graduating that year and had a nanny job lined up for the summer. I believe she was an A student thug I can't say for sure, but I do know she got into the school she wanted and would be headed off to start her new life in the Fall. She wore Keds and I used to playfully joke with her that her Keds didn't hold up like Converse would, she always had a hole in the toe of her shoe.
She killed herself. She "had it all" and she killed herself.
A victim to depression placed on meds that helped her to jump from the cliff of life to the eternity of death.
Dead.

For all of my teen years I knew that suicide would always be an option, I always had a reason not to. I needed to survive, I needed to get out on my own, I needed to find my birth mother.
I did not want to die before meeting my birth mother at least just once.

I made it through my teen years and moved at the age of 18. The road to my own survival was not a smooth one and allowed for many hints to happen that could cause others to hold their head in shame. I have no shame over what I had to do to survive the moments.

Married at a courthouse I moved with my now ex husband to Texas. My depression was at bay for a while. Without (at this time anyway) going into details, the desire to find my birth mother no longer healed any weight over my desire to leave this life.
I attempted to take my life twice. The first failed attempt left me feeling like a complete scum of the earth as the medical team shoving coal down my gut looked at me like I was almost too worthless to help. They didn't look sad at me, they looked annoyed.
My second failed attempt brought about some life changes, including but not limited to leaving my first husband.

My path of independence continued and I met my forever husband. It was the year we were planning our wedding as well as looking for a home. Upon seeing several homes I began to cry and not understand how I could hurt so much when everything was going so well. I wanted to die and I could not locate a reason for wanting this. I was placed on Zoloft and it evened me back out. I could breath again.

In order to cut on length (I know, too late) I want to skip forward to now. I was put on meds nearly 20 years ago. I have used those meds three times, each for a period of a year. The last time was 3 years ago. They made me numb and I finally had to stop taking them.

What is depression for me?
Well, let me tell you about sadness first.
I can look at the news, the news including the passing of Robin Williams and I can cry. I can say how I hurt for him and his family. I hurt for struggle he must have gone through.
I watch the conflict of different countries and I hurt for the people in the conflicted areas. I hurt for the other people not in the areas who are making their own political calls on judgement.
I see the stories online of animals being abused and I hurt, I hurt for them and I hurt because it feels like I can not do anything for each pet.

Hurt, also called sadness is not the same as depression.
I wake up depressed on days that have no hurt in them.
The world around me and within my own home can be close to perfect and yet it pains me to get out of bed.
Depression hurts physically. For me it can be similar to that "butterfly" feeling but multiplied by hundreds and so making it painful.
Depression episodes come on with no warning and I can never tell how deep the dark pit will get, or how long it might last for. It lifts in the same way, without warning.

But why don't depressed people reach out for help?
For me it's a simple answer : Because I'm depressed.
I don't want to wake up, I don't want to face the darkness of my own mind, I don't want to speak of the emptiness that feels like it has been filled by cement inside.
Words during depression elude me in that a simple call for help doesn't make sense in my darkened mind.
Dark.
Depression is dark and asking me to see the light while in the midst of it is simply silly.
I hate depression.

My post is really pretty simple and while I could delete the above I won't because for some reason I was supposed to type what was typed.
In keeping it simple:
Depression, Self Pity, Sadness and Self Loathing are not the same. Each is very different.
Please, just don't judge.

At the mental ward .................

Karen has many memories of Dottye as well as the stories from her Aunt Ruby. I can't recall if I heard the story as well......it's in my memory as if it were told to me by Ruby.

Ruby and Dottye were teens. As Ruby would tell it, Dottye was the one who snuck out and caused so much trouble, but it was Ruby who always got into trouble even though she was as good as gold.

Dottye wouldn't get up for school, or was it church. They were teens living at home. Ruby figured out that Dottye had taken a bottle of pills in an attempt to end her life. Ruby made her get up, they walked around the room for hours until the pills finally wore off. Dottye refused to be with anyone except for Ruby, or so the story goes.

I can't help but to wonder, was this before or after she lost two children to adoption. Was it in between the two? 

Karen can remember waking one night to find Dottye slumped out of her chair down stairs. There were pills all over the place on the floor and Karen screamed and ran to the neighbors. Dottye was taken from home and treated. What was she treated for? How did they treat her? How long was she gone, that time?

Ruby told us "Dottye called me from Las Vegas crying hysterically with a gun in her mouth. She wanted to kill herself. I talked her out of it and then she came to stay with me." Yes, that was the time in Vegas where she got pregnant with me. Was the gun in her mouth before or after she got pregnant. It would seem that it was after.

I look at her photos and there are only a couple where I can see happiness. The others, there is something in her eyes. I hate to say it as I see it but to me it looks like a sadness as close to death as you can get while still being alive.

Where did this sadness start? Was she born with it? Was it given to her by genes or did it begin when she left her first home for the orphanage? What happened to send her to the orphanage? Why couldn't she find peace?

My video says she died as she was finally finding happiness. I don't actually believe that, it just seemed like a good way to end the video. I actually think, or my gut says she was as unhappy as ever. Not more, not less, just the same stagnant way of living. Trying to find something to fix her pain while avoiding where the pain came from.

I know where my pain comes from and I swear I am doing my best to fix it. The barriers I run into are maybe a part of my own stubbornness and strong will. I can't see moving on past the pain until I complete my search. I don't know how to move past needing the answers of where I came from.

There are days where I can relate to her without even knowing the answers. There are days where I carry her pain though I know she never asked me to. 

There are so many days where I wish I could scream at the top of my lungs, but I've done it before and it didn't help much.

You would think that with all of the road blocks I have had to move over 21 years I might throw in the towel. The truth is, I can't. I've lived more years searching then not, and I just don't know how to "let it go." Fact is, I really don't even know how to take a break for more then a day or so.

There's something or someone out there, I just have to figure out the way to get to them. I know I have a lot of tools I just am having a hard time figuring out which one to use.

It's not a great moment right now. 

I wonder, did her mood change as often, as fast, and without warning like mine does?

Nah, I don't need to wonder, I'm sure it did.