So I guess since that day when my son was put into the psych ward my life started on a downward spiral. And the spiral just kept getting faster and faster. With no slowing down, not even for a little bit.
Finding out that my son has Asperger’s was a good thing please don’t get me wrong. But at the same time now knowing what he has made life so much harder.
You see, my son is a Google freak. He will think of something and then Google it. Which he did when he learned he has Asperger’s. After he Googled it and learned what it was, what the symptom’s are. He started to then develop symptom’s that he didn’t have before he Googled it.
That lasted about 3 years. However, he now thinks he doesn’t have Asperger’s nor did he ever have it to start with. He says that the doctor’s are just out there to push meds. Which part of me agree’s with him. But I am the one that has to live with him. I am the one that see’s what he’s like when he doesn’t take his meds. Now, I am sure a lot of you are now asking yourself why in the world would I have put my son on meds. And my answer to that is, so that I can get him help. A child shouldn’t have to live with depression, or anxiety. A child shouldn’t want to kill themselves. Which is what he’s on meds for. It’s no different than me being on my meds for depression.
So as I am trying all I can to get him the help he needs. I am letting myself slip deeper and deeper into my own depression. To the point that my thoughts always drift to I don’t want to live anymore.
Back in late September I had had enough. I took my butcher knife and held it to my wrist. I did the cutting motion. But I just couldn’t press hard enough on the knife to do anything. And the reason why I couldn’t is because I couldn’t let my son be the one to find me in a pool of blood laying on the kitchen floor.
About a week later I had the same thoughts where I didn’t want to live anymore. This time I took a handful of my sleeping pills and was going to take them. But again, I couldn’t do it because again I couldn’t have my son be the one to find me.
November 12th, 2014 I couldn’t take it anymore again. So I grabbed the handful of sleeping pills again. This time I put 8 of them in my mouth. I drank some water. I tried to swallow them, but I couldn’t. I don’t know how long I held the water and pills in my mouth for before I realized that again I couldn’t go through with it. So I spit what was left of it into the sink. I then sat on the kitchen floor and cried. I don’t know if I was crying because I was too tired of living and wanted to die and couldn’t do it or if I was crying because I was a chicken shit for not going through with it. Either way, there I sat on the kitchen floor for what seemed like forever crying. When I finally finished crying, I got up and went to bed. Part of me wondered if maybe enough of the sleeping pills had gotten into my system and maybe come morning I wouldn’t wake up. Part of me really prayed that would happen.
As you can see, I woke up that next morning.
I knew I had to get help. Something wasn’t working for me. I always slipped back into thinking about suicide. I would go through ways to do it that would still allow my son to get the life insurance for me. Knowing full well that if they knew it was suicide he wouldn’t get it. I thought of falling into traffic, but I couldn’t have someone else get hurt due to me. I couldn’t have someone feel bad for killing me when it’s what I really wanted to happen.
So November 14th, 2014 I had a doctor’s appointment and I told my doctor how I had been feeling. She knew about the stuff I have been going through with my son. She just didn’t know what I was going through myself. So she recommended that I go to the Crisis Response Centre (CRC). She told me that I wouldn’t have to wait as long to see someone because where as if I went to normal emergency they don’t look at Mental Health as a need for help as much as Crisis Response Centre (CRC) would. So I went there Thursday night. After I had the police come and remove my son from our home.
I had them come because I was scared as to how he would react to what I was doing. And because he felt that he should be able to stay home alone while I was in the hospital if that’s what happened to me. The police took him to CFS. And I had his Grandpa pick him up from there. I wasn’t really sure what was going to happen to him. I didn’t know where he would go or where he would end up staying. And to be honest with you, at that point I didn’t care. I had it in my head that I was going to go to CRC and see about getting me some help.
The police took him, and I had a friend take my dog to her house, while I had another friend take me to CRC. She stayed with me while I saw the first person there. I told her to leave, she has a family she had to be with and a child who she needed to help with there homework.
Needless to say I was at CRC for 23 hour’s. They put me in a room where they had put a blow up bed. I dozed in the recliner chair. I maybe got an hour sleep. I wanted to be at HSC because then I would be close to my son’s school. But there were no beds there. The only place that had an open bed was Victoria General Hospital. When they told me that I had a panic attack. I have had the odd one before but nothing like this one. I threw up, I had the shakes, I couldn’t catch my breathe, I saw stars, my vision was going in and out of focus and I was freezing. They gave me something to calm me down, and it worked. Thank goodness because I wasn’t having a good time at all. After I calmed down I realized that I need to get help and if the only place open is Victoria then that is where I have to go.
So Stretcher Services came and picked me up and took me from CRC to the Victoria hospital.