This blog has always been a place where I have felt that I can go to, to express my feelings, to talk about things that are important with me, to share what is going on in my life and in the life of my family. As I share this post, please read with an open and kind heart.
Yesterday I found out that one of my friends who I was in the out-patient program of the Hospital last year committed suicide this summer.
Background: when you are in a program at the Hospital you get to know a lot about everyone there and become really close to them.It's almost like AA. You are struggling, they are struggling and you work together to work this thing out. When one succeeds, their success is your success as well. When one falters, you pick them up again and move on together.
It is hard time in your life- going through Depression or Mania and to be at the point where nothing can help you except the help of medical professionals at the Hospital. During my 3 weeks as an out-patient on the Mental Health Floor of Montgomery General, I met many sweet souls who were hurting.
There was George, who had Open Heart surgery a few months back, and now had Depression so badly he could barely get out of bed. I had always known that going under Open Heart Surgery often turned into Depression and I saw the effects of it first hand. There was Maria, a sweet young black Mother of two, trying to raise her kids but took an overdose of her Depression meds one day and found herself here. There was Nancy, a 55 year old Grandma, whose arms were full of scars as she dealt with Depression through cutting. I still remember that morning, when we went around the circle, talking about our weekend, and her saying so sadly "I don't know who I am anymore." I longed to hold her in my arms and tell her that she was beloved daughter of God and that she didn't need to cut herself anymore in order to feel better. Sbe was sick and wanted and needed to get better.
Then, there were those I became closer friends with. Those were the people who were in my small group therapy sessions (I haven't talked a lot about my stay in the Hospital. I should do that sometime.) There were usually 4 or 5 or 6 people in the group and a mediator would start a subject and let us run with it. Usually it was me running with it, or asking everyone else questions and trying to be their therapist- since I was going through mania and not Depression. Several times the mediator had to tell me to stop talking/interrupting. Finally, I asked for a pen and paper (which they usually don't allow) and began writing and writing my thoughts and concerns and everyone else's thoughts and concerns as well. I can't tell you how hard it was to be manic and a ball of energy and in the hospital. I would take walks at the lunch break, often with some of my new friends.
Those closer friends included Tiffany (not her real name for privacy), a friend struggling with Depression, that I will always have forever. We clicked right away and did everything at the hospital together. We went out for lunch a few months after our stay in the Hospital and we still keep in touch. Michelle, a Mother of three, one who has aspergers and another with mental retardation and who had just had a recent, not happy divorce, was also my sweet, sweet friend. Her son was in Jonah's class last year and I always paid special attention to him- knowing what he had to go through each day with his mentally handicapped sisters and a Mom with severe Depression. One day I at school I asked him how his Mom was doing. He said "How did you know she was sick?" You never know what some kids have to deal with. He would have to stay up late at night while his 13 year old sister threw tantrums and screamed and threw things. My heart goes out to their little family.
Then, there was Frank. Frank was in his 50's, married- unhappily, with an 11 year old son. Frank had Depression. Pretty severe Depression. All those in the Hospital were going through really hard times. I had thought that I wasn't one of them. Sure, I was in the Hospital, but I had requested to be there. Plus, I was happy not sad! But now, 16 months later, looking back on it, I was supposed to be there. No, I had never attempted suicide and plan to never do so either. Yes, I am bipolar and needed help.
In June 2010, Frank passed away from Depression. He was sick. He had been seeing another woman. He had just gotten into a big fight with his wife and decided he couldn't take it anymore.This is what I have to say:
Frank, I'm sorry for what happened. I'm sorry you had to end your life in this way. I'm sorry that you didn't have the Gospel of Jesus Christ to comfort and soothe your troubled soul and I love you and will miss you forever. I will be grateful that I got know you.
Love, Megan
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