Do you ever get such a refreshed feeling after brushing your teeth that the day looks much brighter? My senses can be fully activated just by brushing my teeth. I can smell things more acutely and life just seems to be a little better. Maybe pharmaceutical companies should put anti-depressants in toothpaste.
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I would probably over dose on the stuff though. I have been living and managing chronic depression since I was a small child. My parents were unable to grasp my over achievement as actually signs of mental illness. I did not know that I was in trouble until I began middle school. I actually may have noticed it a couple of years earlier, but that is spilt milk now and probably a boring story.
My name is Georgia. I am a twenty-year-old woman fighting for my life. I am including you in the prelude to my end or beginning of life. I am in possession of the tools to end my life. I am waiting for a sign from God that my decision is his will. God’s will is a funny thing, for as I see it why would he put the tools blatantly before me without wanting me to use the tools?
John 5:30 “I can do nothing on my own authority: as I hear, I judge, and my judgment is just, because I seek not my own will but the will of him who sent me.”
The Son of God said the above verse to the Jews whom had come to persecute him for working and healing on the Sabbath. I am waiting for my direction. I am trying not to judge or hear only myself, but to hear and follow the voice of God. I have tried to treat my fellow human beings with respect and love that I so much desired in return. It seems though that the old adage “You reap what you sew” does not apply to me.
The family I was born into hates me. They become ill at the sight of me. Their eyes show a fire of distrust, disappointment, and disdain at my very existence. I was the chosen one at the beginning. I was born to carry on their wicked ways. To perpetrate harm and hatred of outsiders to our clan, I though love my fellow man.
I come to my family speaking in terms of love and adventure to be immediately chastised for trusting the outsiders. I speak of laughter and blessings. My family speaks of dishonesty and pain. My family does not understand or trust themselves so therefore they cannot trust the outsiders. Each member of the family is an island stuck in pain and swimming in misery.
The tools before me are a sum of 60 days worth of daily medication to lift me above my families curse. God sent me into a church to seek help. That path led to a hospitalization and that path lead to the tools that sit before me. Now I sit here in a borrowed room on a borrowed bed with a glass of water in one hand and a pile of medication at the finger tips of another.
What would be the consequences of such an action? My psychiatrist has told me that when presented with a choice and I do not know which way to go. That I should make a pro’s and con’s list. This might lead to the answer. I began though waiting for a sign from God. Creating a list of pro’s and con’s would be my will not God’s. Is such a list a vehicle for God to show me the way? I am very confused at this moment. I do not see the outcome to my puzzle.
The directions for use of the tools before me say to use as directed only. Take only the amount prescribed daily. My doctor has lectured me on following my medication. I have heard how important it is for the medication to be taken daily, doses not missed, to form a routine and not falter.
The medical tools before me have silenced the monsters with in me. I do not have the company of the man in the gray suit. I miss him. He was with me everywhere. I was never alone. He never spoke he was just there watching, walking, hanging with me. He did not have an agenda or a lesson to teach me. He was a comfort. A being for me to feel safe around, I have lost my friend to the medication.
I am so lonely. I cry great sobs of heaving despair. I have lost my friend. I have lost the one that knew everything about me. The one I did not have to explain everything to the one that was there living it with me.
The priest say’s I need to believe in God and place my cares and worries with him. Why does the priest not see that maybe I was lucky enough to have the man in the gray suit? Why must it be their way? What did it hurt that my silent man whom went everywhere with me? Maybe the man in the gray suit was God. I have survived several situations with the comfort and knowing that the man in the gray suit was there. I have not hurt anyone.
I did not have a question about seeking death when my man was beside me. I would never have considered the medication a possible tool for my death. If I pretend to take the medication so I can stay in my borrowed bed and room will my man in the gray suit return? Where did he go?
My psychiatrist tells me that stopping my medication will bring the other monsters back, the scary ugly creatures that shake me awake at night. The day visions of death and destruction that make me stop, shake and convulse in terror. I did not like those feelings; I was scared and frightened of those feelings. Those feelings are what led me to this place to seek this borrowed bed and room. Those feelings are why I have a roof over my head and food in my stomach.
The psychiatrist and priest say that if I follow the path they design for me I may be a productive member of society. They dangle the carrot before me of love, happiness, belonging and joy. How can I expect such things? I am a square peg trying to fit in the circular place society says is mine. I want to see my man in the gray suit again.
They tell me that instead of a man that does not speak only watches from a safe distance that I should fill his void with a human relationship. If the man in the gray suit were a manifestation of God then wouldn’t he be more important than a human relationship. I am confused again. I want my man in the gray suit back.
My borrowed room door opens and the woman that is so nice to me enters. She sees my tools and silently gathers them taking them away from me. I wonder what will happen now? Will they come in coats and take me away to the hospital? Will I go through that routine again of hour after hour of constant talking? Making me pay attention to others words making me speak, the constant barrage of questions I must answer. Did the woman take notice of my dilemma?
I want the man in the gray suit back! I scream but no one hears.