P.S. I Almost Died Today
Today was noteworthy enough to warrant an entry.
I had a near-death reaction to one of my medications.
Despite greeting the morning by crying (because of a bad dream, a really bad dream, the kind of bad dream that warns, “Your greatest desire will be destroyed by your greatest weakness”), my day started off really well. I was in a great mood. I got together with my friends at 10:00, I was laughing and cheerful, and I was all set to have a wonderful Saturday. But around noon, I began to feel pretty restless and anxious. Irritability kicked in shortly before I went to work at 2:00. Not long after I arrived at work, my irritability became severe, and about an hour into my shift, I honestly wanted to beat the shit out of everyone around me (keep in mind that I’ve never been in a fight and am not at all prone to violence). I was ready to throw down with anyone, just say the word. So then I was scared because I thought I was going to spiral out of control at any moment. And that set off a panic attack that I white-knuckled through for two hours until - there it was - I thought I was starting to have a heart attack, I could barely breathe, I couldn’t really speak, and I was beginning to lose consciousness. Also, I had blacked out at one point; I remember starting to make a pizza, and then suddenly the oven was ringing that it was done cooking. Believe me, blacking out when you’re sober is quite unsettling.
I called my mom and managed to force out, “Come get me. Take me to the hospital. I can’t breathe.”
So I made my way to the front of the club to wait for my parents, and it was really humiliating because there were members around, and my coworkers were seeing me in this wrecked, vulnerable condition, and people were starting to make a scene by trying to be all helpful and considerate (how dare they).
My parents pulled up, I zombie-walked my way into the backseat, and then they launched into a series of questions. First of all, I admit that since I started taking this medication, I have not been a very nice daughter, and just the sound of their voices makes me want to punch a wall (again, I’m not normally like this; it’s the meds). Secondly, I was having a hard enough time just thinking and breathing and staying conscious, so I really didn’t have any energy available for conversation. I don’t know where we were driving, but the urgent care clinic we got to was closed. On the way to find another facility, my mom still thought it was okay to ask me about what I had been doing at work earlier and why I thought this was happening to me. So I pooled together all of my remaining strength and shouted, “Fuck off!” To which my dad said, “Oh, well, I guess you’re fine then.”
Driving towards wherever, I was finding it harder and harder to not go unconscious, and every bump in the road tossed me around, and I couldn’t seem to even move my muscles to lift myself up (I just waited for the next bump to throw me back to whatever position I’d been in before).
And then suddenly, out of nowhere, a very clear thought came to me: I am going to die.
If you don’t know me, you should know this: I’ve attempted suicide at least a dozen times, I’ve repeatedly put myself in situations where murder is often the outcome, I’ve taken lethal dosages of narcotics, I don’t know how many times I’ve hit that alcohol-poisoning toxicity level, and I’ve honestly lost track of how many times I should have died. But today, while barely breathing in the backseat, was the first time in my life that I actually knew I was going to die.
We got to the next urgent care clinic. They were also closed. I don’t know how long we’d been driving around at that point, but I did know that it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep breathing and keep my eyes open, and I was bone-weary. I didn’t want to keep searching for help; I didn’t want to fight to live through the twenty-minute drive to Edina where there is an actual hospital. At that moment, I just wanted to go home and die in my own bed.
Once at home, I crawled under my covers and began to pray. I asked God for His forgiveness. I prayed for redemption. I requested entrance to Heaven. I wept a little for the loss of things I had so desperately wanted to experience, but I focused on calming myself and becoming serene. I knew that when I would let go and drift out of consciousness, my life would be over.
And then I heard my parents in the living room just outside my bedroom talking about which television show they should watch.
I was devastated. There I was, about to die alone, and it seemed as though it didn’t matter. I didn’t matter.
I don’t think I had ever before felt as lost and lonely and unloved as I did right then. I rescinded acceptance of my fate. I thought, “No, it can’t end like this.”
I don’t know how or why I kept on breathing.
I cried for the next three hours. I’ve never cried that much. I felt bitterness, I felt anger, I felt desperation, I felt indignation. I felt shameful for having squandered so much time and talent and opportunity; I could have died without being able to say that I felt anything good about my life. And I think that what hurts the most is that I know what I want out of life, I know what are the things and who are the people that I desire, but in that time of surrender and acceptance while laying in my bed, I had felt it preferable to die than to continue in the struggle for satisfaction and at the risk of not getting it. In that moment, I chose death over the possibility of another disappointment. And that is cowardice.
I hope that when I think about this tomorrow with fresh eyes, I’ll be able to express gratitude for receiving another chance, but right now, I feel that this act of mercy was totally undeserved.
I don’t know what God’s plans are for me, but there’s got to be something He really wants me to do since I’ve been spectacularly unsuccessful at dying. It will be interesting to see what revelations come to me, if the fog is lifted enough for me to get some sense of why I’ve been spared (over and over again).
But right now, seriously, I’m exhausted. So I’m putting the cogitation away for the rest of the night, and I pray that tomorrow will be a better day (and one without this shitty medication).
God bless you all. Thanks for being my friends.
I had a near-death reaction to one of my medications.
Despite greeting the morning by crying (because of a bad dream, a really bad dream, the kind of bad dream that warns, “Your greatest desire will be destroyed by your greatest weakness”), my day started off really well. I was in a great mood. I got together with my friends at 10:00, I was laughing and cheerful, and I was all set to have a wonderful Saturday. But around noon, I began to feel pretty restless and anxious. Irritability kicked in shortly before I went to work at 2:00. Not long after I arrived at work, my irritability became severe, and about an hour into my shift, I honestly wanted to beat the shit out of everyone around me (keep in mind that I’ve never been in a fight and am not at all prone to violence). I was ready to throw down with anyone, just say the word. So then I was scared because I thought I was going to spiral out of control at any moment. And that set off a panic attack that I white-knuckled through for two hours until - there it was - I thought I was starting to have a heart attack, I could barely breathe, I couldn’t really speak, and I was beginning to lose consciousness. Also, I had blacked out at one point; I remember starting to make a pizza, and then suddenly the oven was ringing that it was done cooking. Believe me, blacking out when you’re sober is quite unsettling.
I called my mom and managed to force out, “Come get me. Take me to the hospital. I can’t breathe.”
So I made my way to the front of the club to wait for my parents, and it was really humiliating because there were members around, and my coworkers were seeing me in this wrecked, vulnerable condition, and people were starting to make a scene by trying to be all helpful and considerate (how dare they).
My parents pulled up, I zombie-walked my way into the backseat, and then they launched into a series of questions. First of all, I admit that since I started taking this medication, I have not been a very nice daughter, and just the sound of their voices makes me want to punch a wall (again, I’m not normally like this; it’s the meds). Secondly, I was having a hard enough time just thinking and breathing and staying conscious, so I really didn’t have any energy available for conversation. I don’t know where we were driving, but the urgent care clinic we got to was closed. On the way to find another facility, my mom still thought it was okay to ask me about what I had been doing at work earlier and why I thought this was happening to me. So I pooled together all of my remaining strength and shouted, “Fuck off!” To which my dad said, “Oh, well, I guess you’re fine then.”
Driving towards wherever, I was finding it harder and harder to not go unconscious, and every bump in the road tossed me around, and I couldn’t seem to even move my muscles to lift myself up (I just waited for the next bump to throw me back to whatever position I’d been in before).
And then suddenly, out of nowhere, a very clear thought came to me: I am going to die.
If you don’t know me, you should know this: I’ve attempted suicide at least a dozen times, I’ve repeatedly put myself in situations where murder is often the outcome, I’ve taken lethal dosages of narcotics, I don’t know how many times I’ve hit that alcohol-poisoning toxicity level, and I’ve honestly lost track of how many times I should have died. But today, while barely breathing in the backseat, was the first time in my life that I actually knew I was going to die.
We got to the next urgent care clinic. They were also closed. I don’t know how long we’d been driving around at that point, but I did know that it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep breathing and keep my eyes open, and I was bone-weary. I didn’t want to keep searching for help; I didn’t want to fight to live through the twenty-minute drive to Edina where there is an actual hospital. At that moment, I just wanted to go home and die in my own bed.
Once at home, I crawled under my covers and began to pray. I asked God for His forgiveness. I prayed for redemption. I requested entrance to Heaven. I wept a little for the loss of things I had so desperately wanted to experience, but I focused on calming myself and becoming serene. I knew that when I would let go and drift out of consciousness, my life would be over.
And then I heard my parents in the living room just outside my bedroom talking about which television show they should watch.
I was devastated. There I was, about to die alone, and it seemed as though it didn’t matter. I didn’t matter.
I don’t think I had ever before felt as lost and lonely and unloved as I did right then. I rescinded acceptance of my fate. I thought, “No, it can’t end like this.”
I don’t know how or why I kept on breathing.
I cried for the next three hours. I’ve never cried that much. I felt bitterness, I felt anger, I felt desperation, I felt indignation. I felt shameful for having squandered so much time and talent and opportunity; I could have died without being able to say that I felt anything good about my life. And I think that what hurts the most is that I know what I want out of life, I know what are the things and who are the people that I desire, but in that time of surrender and acceptance while laying in my bed, I had felt it preferable to die than to continue in the struggle for satisfaction and at the risk of not getting it. In that moment, I chose death over the possibility of another disappointment. And that is cowardice.
I hope that when I think about this tomorrow with fresh eyes, I’ll be able to express gratitude for receiving another chance, but right now, I feel that this act of mercy was totally undeserved.
I don’t know what God’s plans are for me, but there’s got to be something He really wants me to do since I’ve been spectacularly unsuccessful at dying. It will be interesting to see what revelations come to me, if the fog is lifted enough for me to get some sense of why I’ve been spared (over and over again).
But right now, seriously, I’m exhausted. So I’m putting the cogitation away for the rest of the night, and I pray that tomorrow will be a better day (and one without this shitty medication).
God bless you all. Thanks for being my friends.