Goodbye forever

I know I’m far from alone in being utterly relieved the year is over. For me, 2024 kicked off with Mike getting a severe TBI, our marriage rocky, neverending hot twisting stabbing pain and tenderness in my pelvis, nerves, and muscles, my career stalled while I fought to get genetic testing approved so I could start treatment. The year ended with my suicide attempt.

I wanted so much for this year. I wanted to publish books, move out of our slumlord apartment, maybe have a baby. While it’s true that I say a version of this at the end of every year, at the top of 2024 my mental health was tanking because I felt like I’ve been denied my life.

Because of my complex PTSD, I have to be careful of victim mentality. But when you’re at the mercy of someone who isn’t even a doctor making medical decisions for you, denying you care, it’s hard to not feel like someone just permanently benched you in your own life.

Today things on the surface look much like they did a year ago, worse in some ways, better in others if you look closer. I’m alive, for one. Even on the very hard days when it doesn’t feel like something to appreciate, I get glimmers of gratitude for having survived. Because at least my husband doesn’t have to plan my funeral.

At least I still get to have a life.

They say suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem; I don’t think they had chronic illness, a not at all temporary problem. Much of my struggle comes from everyone around me just not getting it. What I’m learning is, they don’t have to get it; I have to.

I had a migraine yesterday that gunned me down in the middle of a panic attack—and I was coughing because I’d ironically just smoked (I use cannabis for pain management). If you’ve ever had a migraine, you know that everything makes it worse. It’s really just best if you lie down and die. Sitting there crying from the panic attack and coughing from the two hits I’d taken, I took what felt like an ax to my eyes. So then I was crying because it hurt so fucking bad. You can’t cry or cough with a migraine, so I had to shut it down quick.

Which sucks, because I like to cry out my panic attacks rather than fight or medicate them; research shows that when we cry, we dislodge different chemicals based on what emotions we’re feeling, which means that crying can literally expel toxic feelings from our bodies. I love a good cry. I actually do feel a lot better after, even if my problems aren’t solved.

In the famous words of Shrek, “Better out than in.”

I didn’t want it to go back in, though, because it needed to come out (my panic attack was part flashback from Mike getting injured a year ago and part all the feelings and fallout). I’ve been feeling like hell these last few days (which makes sense because it’s the one-year anniversary).

I laid on the couch with a heating pad on my neck and ice pack on my brow, moaning involuntarily and not in a sexy way. It was one of those migraines where every muscle in your body also, apparently, has a migraine. Thankfully I’d just taken my next scheduled doses of Tylenol and Motrin as well as smoked, so it wasn’t long before the meds, heat, and ice dialed things down quite a bit. I was still in pain and now wiped out, too, so I laid there a bit longer gathering strength so I could go lie down in bed.

Man, I have mastered the art of a nap so I can go to bed. #ChronicLife

Since I couldn’t figure out Netflix in my current state, and Mike was laid out from his own migraine the day before, I had nothing and no one to keep me company. Nobody… except me.

So I laid down with me, the way I’d lie down with the kids when they were little and sick. (I have nine nieces and nephews.) It sounds silly, but I imagined myself snuggling myself, as if I were my own loving mother. I thought to myself, I’m right here, and then I was filled with warmth and comfort.

I still had a migraine, so I went to bed. But my point is, as horrific as this year has been, I came home to myself. I’ve been struggling since I got out of the hospital, feeling once again disillusioned by the healthcare system. I’m procrastinating making followups because yeah, we’re out of a car right now, but also I don’t want to deal with anything medical at the moment. (When you have chronic illness, you also learn the art of doctor breaks.) I’ve long struggled with loving myself. I still struggle with that, but now I can feel that love again.

I was already working my own way out of dissociation using books and things I learned in therapy, but weirdly my suicide attempt knocked me out of it completely. The second I realized I didn’t want to die and chose me, I came fully back into my brain and body. It was like exposure therapy.

I really do have to do everything the hard way.

With my worst fear come true—taking a medication that wasn’t safe for me and under its influence attempting to take my own life—I don’t feel invincible, like in a manic “Nothing can kill me!” way. I just feel like, okay, I’ve been through the thing I feared most, and survived, and now I’m showing up in my own mind, body, and life.

Honey, I’m home, and I’m taking back control.

New Shop, Who Dis?

Maietta Ink (my publishing company and signed paperbacks store) is back in action, and better than ever! I’ve got Can’t Be Killed stickers for you to show your pride with if you’re a survivor, too, or if you just want to show support for suicide prevention. (I plan on slapping one on my 2025 planner as soon as it comes.)

StickersSigned Paperbacks& MoreShop Now

I’m really excited for 2025. I’m looking forward to wrapping up writing projects, rolling out more sticker designs, and working on some new things. Make sure you’re subscribed so you don’t miss any of it.

I hope, no matter how dark 2024 got for you, that right now you’re in peace and gentleness, that there is some light for you. I hope you’re healing, too.

See you on the other side…

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash