I tell my therapist the good and the bad.. If I am really slipping backwards, feeling really down, drinking, ect, my therapist will tell me in so many words that I am being a fool. I have fought her tooth and nail on some things like drinking. Eventually, no matter what it is ; being fears, addictions, behaviors, she is usually spot on and I either accept and agree during session or on my own after hitting some sort of bottom. I also do therapy with my long time girlfriend and that makes a huge difference probably to us.
I have already wanted to die as an immediate way out, but I refused to accept it as a solution and would writhe in agony so long as there is hope. I want to succeed for her and us, I don't want to leave her behind with the aftermath knowing how she feels about me, if she feels the same way about me it would be traumatic and devastating to her. I could never do that. It is what I told my therapist.
The passion I said it with, it is what I had to come to terms with in my own mind to fight off that incredible urge to end it on one particular occasion. I have never felt anguish like that before and didn't think that level of pain existed or was possible at least, not to me. Pain, is nothing. Despair though along with it, the thought that there isn't a way conceivable that in that current state, could last until the next day was one of the most horrifying things I have ever endured.
My chest crushing onto my heart, no, my whole body. My mind truly was in pain. Shaking inside and out with uncontrollable outbursts of crying, I could feel thousands of micro-currents in the air brushing against each hair on my face and arms, my breath held. I actually wondered how 'God' could ever do this to a man? Had I not suffered enough feeling a lesser intensity of it all for over 5 months prior? Why wasn't the event itself that started this all this bad?, or how could I even ask myself how terrible it was to feel like I was going to die? My life was a quagmire then as I wondered if I would ever feel better or normal again. Am I causing my own dear girlfriend who has been through the thick of it with me to wonder if she herself could go on?
As if I believed in a god for the first time, though it was short lived naturally. There was no god that spoke or made itself known. But I could not sit, or stand still, or do anything but sweat and smoke 2 packs of cigarettes, there was no 'coping' mechanism for this and was traumatic in its own right. I feared calling anybody, my girlfriend eventually came home and took me to the hospital. I still don't know what it was, but I can say that nothing prepared me for it and it was like I said, worse than watching my dad wither away and die, and might have felt worse that believing I was about to die. Instead of fearing death, I longed for it. It felt like the massive anxiety and panic I had been feeling for months since the onset of post traumatic stress just sat there untreated and continued to build in my chest, and at some point set off an intense and sudden depression. If it weren't for Amanda I just don't know. That is all I can say.
