Silence Is Golden

Except when it’s not.

TRIGGER WARNING This article or section, or pages it links to, contains information about sexual assault and/or violence which may be triggering to survivors.

Saturday night I went to a party.

I haven’t been to a party in… forever? Ten forevers? It’s been a while.

And I drank a bit. And I talked with people. And I’d say pretty much NO ONE knew that I’m sick.

And so when I started to get triggered. And triggered. And triggered.

I tried to act cool. Stay calm.

I just kept leaving conversations and finding somewhere else to hang out.

But then the whole party started playing this game, (DRUNK) Table Topics. And the questions themselves were triggering. So when this kid near me, who is not a Toastmaster and has no idea about quietly letting the speaker have the floor, started speaking with me about my twins, I broke all semblance of respect for the speaker or the game and focused only on that conversation.

And when others were trying to shush me, I asked him to join me in the hallway to continue our talk.

So we did.

And I ended up going home around midnight, well later than planned. I slept in. The rest of the weekend was navigating the awesomeness of a hangover plus toddler plus twins plus life.

I thought I was relatively fine.

And then Monday happened.

I got up with the Littles. Got them off to daycare. Normal morning routine.

Nothing to indicate anything was off.

But.

I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t stay awake. I literally fell asleep in my office chair SITTING UP.

And jerked awake.

Odd.

So then I went outside for a short walk. And then I gardened. And then I lost the rest of the day.

When P got home to pick up the kids, he found me outside raking leaves. I literally startled at his arrival. I had LOST the DAY.

But I shrugged it off, thinking, well, everyone has one of those days, right?

But, apparently I wasn’t listening to something because that night my brain took it up a notch and gave me suicidal ideation.

What. The. Fuck.

The next morning, yesterday morning, I called the doctor. Where’s my psych appointment? Things are worse. I need help.

The short version is that my appointment is set for mid-July. It’s the earliest they could fit me in. But if I continue to have ideation, I’m to call the doctor back because there are emergency paths forward. I’ve done this before. I know what that path is – the crisis dienst. I’m not there.

Let me be explicit.

I’m not Suicidal.

I don’t have suicidal INTENTION.

After I called the doctor and had a phone appointment scheduled for that afternoon, I confessed my thoughts and experiences to a friend, C, as well as my partner, P.

He had no idea, I was doing so well.

Neither did I.

But there were signs, like I broke the writing streak here. And that strange sleep. And losing time.

Noted.

I’m still getting up with children in the morning and getting them to daycare. I’m still going on long walks in the morning. Getting dressed. Brushing teeth. And I’m back at work today.

Gently moving forward.

Sometimes silently.

Sometimes not.