LillyBlossom's Journal

I suppose this is a call for help.  I'm battling what I think I "should" feel and what I do feel.  What I do feel is related to false beliefs that I want to change, yet still hold onto as if holding on to these lies were going to save my life. 

I don't actually want to end my life.  Let me make that clear.  I also know that my thoughts are my disease(s) talking and not reality.  I just don't care to make healthy changes (at the moment) because I don't really care if I live.  In the back of my mind eating poorly and smoking will just end my life sooner--a slow suicide.  

As someone who has worked in long-term-care, I have seen the devastating long-term effects of poor health choices.  Seeing diabetics gradually lose toes, then feet, then legs has always motivated me to consider my present day choices.  Seeing life-long smokers on continuous oxygen who continue to smoke even with air hunger has been a motivation to keep trying to quit.  

But I've increasingly started to feel that I just don't care.  I sometimes think that I'd rather be ill as I go through this life so I don't have to do the seemingly futile work of inspiring hope in others.  This is crazy thinking.  I know this.

When I have the thought of wanting to die, I replace it with the thought of wanting new life in Christ.  I pray that God would continue to work through me even though I don't "feel" like I'm doing any good.  Then I feel like I'm just a body.  

I saw my doctor today.  I focused on the symptoms of the latest bug causing me to not keep down my meds.  I truly am concerned about seizure activity.  But I didn't tell him that I want to die.  I didn't tell him because I don't want to outwardly present that I'm believing lies that make me think I want to die.  I wish I would have told him, but why?  He can't do anything about it except pray.  I can pray too.  Christ will bring me through this.  I will be hopeful again.  There are many reasons. I live with three of them who need a healthy wife and mother. 

So I need to tell my doctor or psychiatrist or therapist (when they return to this continent).  I don't want to, but I need to.  I keep thinking that these thoughts will just go away.  "I'll feel better when I get over this cold, when I stop having seizures, when I do x,y, and z.  I'm not sure it will really do any good, but I miss me and I need help to come back.  The "me" I'm talking about has had plans and dreams and goals.  I need to do this for that part of me to get back to the plans and dreams and goals.  I need to care again and not just stick around for my kids.  I need to give my kids a model of how to confront a troubled spirit.  

Blah, Blah, Blah.  

Okay.  If I were hearing one of you, my friends, talking like this, I would say "TELL YOUR DOCTOR, tell SOMEBODY and do it sooner than later."  But I am currently a hypocrite.  I have the support.  I don't have to go find doctors.  I have them.  Why won't I tell them?  I try to smile, hide symptoms and basically waste my time and theirs.  I really think my doctors are good people as well as skilled physicians.  I would recommend any of you to them because I know my doctors would not minimize anyone who said they were thinking about death. 

But I still won't tell them.  I'm afraid of being hospitalized again or having another med change.  I fear that each time I admit to feeling this way, I hammer another nail into any hopes of returning to ministry or serving others in any way.  I'm afraid I'll wear a scarlet letter of some sort that says this lady can't even help herself, so why should she think she can help others.  I know that my struggle will ultimately deepen my compassion and capacity to servoe others.  Nonetheless I fear that if my colleagues and supervisors know what I'm going through that I won't have an opportunity to try.  

In another sense, I want to be hospitalized again so I can just have a little more time for my body mind and soul to integrate.  I need a place to rest for a while, to be quiet, to heal.  It doesn't have to be a hospital, but it needs to be more than a hotel for the weekend.  A spiritual retreat may help, but I think I need something with a little more safety nets built in.  I guess I'm looking for a a rehab program or something.  I wish I could think better so I could better seek out what I need.  It feels like I want to go home to a home I've never been to.  I want some guidance (parenting?), TLC, and practice.  I need people who will lovingly confront me when I deliberately overeat or light up.  I don't want to try this alone anymore.

I'm having a hard time even doing homeschool without being in tears.  I can't think or speak as well as I used to.  I know that I'll think well again.  I know I'm still teaching my kids.  Even my shortcomings are helping my kids to be more autonomous in their learning.  When I can't find the right words, they have to find their own words.  That's a good thing.

Another good perspective is that I can still write fairly well.  I write better than I speak.  I wish I could just type my way through life when I'm trying to speak because I'd make myself so much more understood.  

Friends, I'm feeling crappy.  I'm sorry that I'm unable to be a good friend right now.  I'm praying for you, but it feels exhausting to reply to messages and hugs.  PLease hang in there with me a bit longer.  

I'm going to email parts of this to one of my doctors.  I hope I don't make him angry.  I hope he doesn't feel pestered.  He's never given me any reason to think that before.  I don't feel like I'm having an emergency, like I need to call him now, but I do think he may want to know.  I know he doesn't check his email often.  It doesn't matter when he gets it or if he reads it.  I will feel  better just knowing that I made at least a half-hearted attempt to let someone know how I don't want to be feeling.

I must sound nuts. I'm not going insane anymore.  I'm going sane.  It's a lot harder than going insane.