Since I voluntarily committed myself to a psych hospital and started my journey with anti-depressants and a really great therapist I have forgotten what it is like to disassociate… That is until about two days ago. Two days ago my husband left 3 cigarettes by my desk and kissed me goodbye to go grocery shopping. About 3 hours later he still hadn’t returned and wasn’t answering his cellphone. After struggling for an hour I found out he was at the local pub. This would not be that much of a problem, if he wasn’t sick with pneumonia! And a smoker! I finally managed to speak to him when the friend told him to turn on his phone, but by that time I was so livid I completely lost it. All I could think was “he is going to die and leave me completely alone in this world”. Words cannot describe what a horrible feeling it was to have. One of this nasty feelings that digs it’s cold fingers into your heart, squeezes your lungs till you can’t breath and chills your bones like it’s the middle of the coldest winter, while it turns your brain into mush, turning time back into childhood when you were helpless, hopeless and nothing. Ugh, what a disgusting feeling. Anyway. After shouting at hubby over the phone I started sending him threats over WhatsApp (things like if you’re not home within the next 10 minutes I will walk to the ocean and kill myself), then I embraced my reckless side and decided to go for a walk. I walked for about 10 minutes, just listening to my own tragic heartbeat and mulling over my latest crises in my head, before I stopped, checked that he hadn’t read the messages yet, and promptly deleted all of them. My mind wasn’t made up as to whether or not I was really going to drown myself, but I thought it was definitely a possibility, but why should I tell him that? Nothing made sense at that moment and yet everything did… I absent mindedly considered whether it would be easier to just step in front of a truck. I wasn’t sure if I would be successful. What if I just ended up in hospital? No, thank you. When I decide to go it has to be permanent, 100% successful the first time, like everything else I do in my life, well, with the exception of relationships, I am not good at relationships. People scare me. I ended up walking halfway to the beach and back and sitting down beside a welcome sign outside the closed gate of the Vlei. I had picked a flower on the way which I was now twirling round in my hands, inspecting, trying to focus, but not focusing at all, crying but not too much, else I draw too much attention to myself. I was a wreck. It was at that moment I recognized the strange sensation of somehow not existing inside of myself. The slightly dizzying, slightly nauseating, slightly thrilling (for lack of a better word, perhaps hysteria?) sensations of disassociation was strangely familiar to my emotionally fogged up brain. This is when I recognised what was happening. Realisation only came much later once I had made it home, shouted at the top of my lungs,threatened, raged, manipulated, reconciled with my husband, blackmailed my husband into committing to go to therapy for the first time in his life (but long overdue if you ask me!) cried my heart out like a 3 year old throwing a tantrum and made absolutely certain that hubby wasn’t dying or going anywhere anytime soon (not necessarily in that order).
The storm is passed now, but I find myself wondering inevitably… for how long? And what about the stuff I’ve lost I the process? In essence I lost a year of being ‘clean’ of this type of behaviour, ‘clean’ relationships with my business partners, my temper and the certainty I had ‘at least for a while’ that I was ‘stable’ ‘cured’. I guess at the back of my mind I’m wondering what ‘balanced’ part of my life will come down tumbling next? And how long until the next storm?