I was lying in bed as I do on Sunday mornings. There’s no reason to get up early, the supermarket doesn’t open till ten and there’s no immediate need to get coffee. D was curled up on my side, Uni at my feet (because it’s their bed not mine, apparently) and I suddenly realised I was feeling better. The spider web of confusion and misery had gone.
I know when this all started, though not the reason. I know exactly when I hit rock bottom and exactly who helped me climb out of the pit. I’m still climbing, I think, but my mood as been a little better (so the raised dose must be doing something).
It struck me that I felt like I’d just broken the surface of the water, having held my breath and am now exhaling. I’m alive, the air tastes beautiful and all the cats have been so affectionate, even Ceri who isn’t the biggest fan of being picked up and snuggled. That said, I can’t tell if this is it for my current mood or if I’m going to slip and fall again. I hope not because I’m not good at climbing.
The worse thing isn’t the mood, it’s the guilt at the number of people I’ve worried. The number of days when I was genuinely suicidal and the lack of control I had. It’s a horrible feeling, that lack of control. There is very little you can do and the worse part is I had no one, outside of my network, to turn to. They well you, the mental health and wellbeing teams, to ring the crisis hotline but what’s the point? They regard you as suicidal only if you’re cutting yourself, if you’re thinking of killing yourself in a very manifest way. Oh and there are no beds in the entire country.
So what’s the point in even calling them?
Worse I always present as an aware patient, it’s to do with my autism. The stereotype of suicidal is that you’re a mess, incapable of living day to day life and you’ve ended up in A and E for whatever reason, or the police have been called. Oh and I can’t actually walk into the path of an oncoming car or off a bridge for one reason: Uni. She’s trained to stop me doing that exact thing and, even at my lowest moments, I would never EVER make her participate in my death. It’s not fair on her and would be the most selfish thing I could ever think of doing. My choice is my choice, but I have no right to make it for her.
That’s not me. I can’t actually walk into the path of an oncoming car or off a bridge for one reason: Uni. She’s literally trained to stop me doing that exact thing (we even did a test) and, even at my lowest moments, I would never EVER make her participate in my death. It’s not fair on her and would be the most selfish thing I could ever think of doing. My choice is my choice, but I have no right to make it for her.
Social services, like everyone else, they don’t factor in things like assistance dogs.
Uni has been super clingy, curling up at my feet and following me around. She even wagged her tail at D yesterday which made me realise thing are improving between the two of them. The littlest things can be the most relieving.