Short-Term Memory Loss

November 10, 2015 Black and Blue

This is the actual number for the Suicide Prevention Lifeline. Please call if you need to. I love you and I need you here.

TW: Depression, suicide.

Call someone. Even Sad Brain can’t yet overcome my natural inclination toward self-preservation. But Sad Brain did convince me to write this note. She’s a bully, and she’s been in my head all night.

You should call someone. Healthy Brain, doing her best.

I walk out to the living room, careful not to wake Loverfriend–now just friend, Sad Brain cackles. You just want attention, she hisses even as I navigate away from the memo section of my phone and Google the hotline number. That stranger doesn’t care about you. The phone is ringing now. I get through and hear a brief pre-recorded message, hear the instructions to hold on and stay on the line. 10 seconds is too long. I freak out and hang up.

I text a far-off friend. “Please, tell me my crisis is not a burden.” She does.

I call again. I get someone this time, Eric in Colorado. “Are you from Colorado originally?” he inquires.

“No, it’s just where I bought this phone. I’m in Georgia.”

“Ohh, I think you were routed to our call center because of your phone number’s area code. Just hold on for me, okay? I’m going to get you over to someone in Georgia who will be able to direct you to resources near you.”

I’ve been holding on. Getting tired of it. Sad Brain and Healthy Brain at least agree on something.

Recurrent Amnesia

There’s a fucking war inside my head. I’m peeking over the top of the well today, and it’s pretty much the only reason I’m able to compose this post at all, but my feet are still dripping. I’m scared a lot, sleeping fitfully, eating less. A phenomenon I hear other folks struggling with thinking problems mention is this weird sort of amnesia surrounding an episode. I can’t remember joy or hope on the gray days, and I can’t conceive of being so low I could want to stop living on the good ones. Or rather, I don’t want to conceive of it; a depressive episode is the monster in the closet. I’m not about to do some horror movie bullshit and go looking for it, shine a flashlight in its eyes and piss it off. It’s coming for me, but I can pretend it’s not if I don’t draw attention to it.

For those thinking that’s an unhealthy approach, you’re probably right. I’m just kind of at my wit’s end, here. I get knocked on my ass a lot, even when I feel like I’ve prepared as much as possible–taken my meds, exercised at least 30 minutes a day, contacted people to spend time with me.

I wanted this post to be full of answers, a feel-good message and a “Keep Your Head Up!” sticker. I want to be able to echo the sentiments of a previous post, that the fever will break, and it’s okay for me to be down sometimes and rest as needed. I know it’s socially unacceptable to ask for help in public forums. I don’t want to be perceived as weak, needy, an attention seeker.

But maybe, I don’t know. Here goes.

Help, please.

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