Woke up from a small nap this afternoon in the midst of a bout of crushing depression.
Brushing is the best term for it. I really felt like something was crushing the life out of me. It redlined my depression in seconds. Maxed it out.
So there I was, not even fully awake and feeling like (don’t panic) killing myself. That’s how badly I wanted to get out of my situation. I felt like I was trapped under a heavy weight and death was my only way to escape.
So I hard serious suicidal ideation for the first time in over a decade. Usually, all I have is little blips where I feel that panicked urge to escape everything for one or two seconds and then my defenses kick in and shut that shit down and I am fine again.
Or at least, no worse than usual.
So I was not ready to face the intensity of it all. Overall, it was an extremely scary and unpleasant experience. I had to fight back the darkness with all I had even as it tried to tempt me with visions of all the bright shiny knives we have that could end my pain and other escape route type stuff.
It should be obvious by now that if I am here typing this for you, I did not harm myself. I fought my demons to a standstill then shoved them out of my mind.
So I won that battle, and it was an intense one, so I am confident in my ability to handle a rematch if necessary.
So don’t worry, my friends. I am not in danger of hurting myself. If it happens again, I will be ready for it, and kick its ass even harder than before.
But I would be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about it.
I think it was triggered by my sleep apnea. I think I had a bout of very apnic sleep and woke up with a disastrously low blood oxygen level and possibly even some lung deflation, and that triggered one whopper of a panic attack.
As it should.
My sleep apnea is, as patient readers know, untreated. I told my doctor that CPAP hadn’t worked for me, and he shrugged and said “Well, that’s all that there is, so go try it again”, and that’s where it ended about a year ago.
Were I a more lively and vital person, I would have been driven by concern for my own safety to find some kind of solution for the problem by now, but I am not.
I am, instead, a feeble creature at heart, and often lack the will to act.
Must be all that oxygen deprivation in my sleep.
If only there was a way to treat that.
I am beginning to doubt my GP’s ability to treat me. I am seriously considering looking for another, one closer to this apartment.
Then again, if the problem is my own timidity, changing doctors will not help. The new one will take advantage of me to catch up on their schedule too.
Doctors aren’t trained to give the sort of gentle, patient support I need. And the system pays them per patient, so they are incentivized to cut corners.
And I am very much a corner.
I have been all my life. For as long as I can remember, people have been steamrolling over me because I lacked the will to stand up for myself and demand people reckon with me and people sense this and make the decision – not usually consciously – that the easiest thing is to just say whatever they need to say to get me to leave them alone and then move on to someone worth their attention.
And I can’t fault their logic. That is definitely the easiest thing…. for them.
For me, it is just another shattering blow to my delicate self. There are no consequences for whoever crushed me, because all I do about it is crawl back to my hidey hole and quietly and unobtrusively bleed.
Well, what else can a timid little animal do when they have been run over?
And the driver of the car doesn’t even know – or care – that they hit me.
I am not sure how to solve the problem I have with doctors.
I suppose I could go into each GP appointment with an advocate who is there to represent my interests when I cannot.
Or at least someone who can squeeze my hand and remind me not to fold because this is my health we are talking about here, and that shit is important.
It’s certainly worth fighting for.
And I know this, but that is not enough to give me the courage and determination to stand up for myself even when the doctor clearly just wants me to GFTO already.
It’s so much easier to slink on back to my dirty little warren and go back into the infinite holding pattern that I am pleased to call my life.
It’s my something, anyhow. And it’s sitting where a life would go if I had one.
Kind of like one of those tiny towns with a mayor that’s a dog.
With someone there to shore me up, I might be able to be the sort of firm, no-nonsense, efficiently self-interested person that I always wish I had been after a GP visit.
I picture Robert Picardo as the EMH of Voyager very smoothly and efficiently explaining my issues to my GP in his marvelously clipped and prissy manner.
And if my GP resists, pinning their ears back with his oh so very dry wit.
It’s a problem that cries out for a solution. Right now, by default, my life plan is to just keep going exactly like I am going until one of my health issues lands me in the hospital or otherwise gives me some kind of highly visible and demonstrable issue that does the talking for me like that infection I had.
That way, I don’t have to convince someone that I am worth their attention.
I just have to show up and point.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.