Music and pills are a dangerous combination for me. After two weeks of listening to music I know I shouldn’t, I gathered the pills I needed and headed out on the road. Driving is another dangerous component.
Almost two years ago, before my diagnosis of Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), I drove out of state in order to hide so my body wouldn’t be found until the pills had done their job. I drank excessive amounts of alcohol the entire trip, never using a credit card and deactivating my phone so my movements couldn’t be tracked. I parked in a busy parking lot near a heavily wooded area with plans to walk in and get lost. But hours later instead of taking the walk, I texted my counselor. He and his wife ended up driving out of state to come get me. That night began my starting to trust my counselor.
This past Thursday, with the car, the music, and the bottles of pills I drove for three hours on a spiral downwards toward suicide. Somehow in the midst of all the confusing thoughts I was having, I stopped by my house to email my counselor: The subject heading was “struggling, maybe”
My thoughts are so confusing right now. I told myself 30 minutes ago I was going to send you an email but now it seems either there’s no reason to tell you (“things are fine”) or I’m being weak/stupid for telling you. For a couple of weeks I’ve been going between the thoughts of “I’m fine, not feeling anything bad or negative” to planning on gathering the supplies needed to hurt myself. Today when Bill asked I told him I didn’t know how I was feeling and when he asked the same question he has asked for a year and a half if I was in a dangerous place, for the first time I knew I was but I lied and told him I was “fine”. I’ve gotten the pills, the music, but I can’t seem to decide to go buy the alcohol to mix with the drugs. Or, I just haven’t done that yet. There’s no plan to take them…but they’re hidden, as are my thoughts. But if you were to ask what was bothering me I couldn’t tell you. I cannot think of any triggers. I just keep thinking I need to DO something, like take the pills and the alcohol. I’ve been out driving around since Bill got home but came back just to send this email with plans to head back out. But I swear there’s nothing wrong, no more memories, not feeling sad or angry, not thinking about past memories.
His Response: It’s important to “un-lie” to [your husband] and tell him the internal war you’re in. Let him be your God-given shelter. Also, where are you as far as going to God with where you are and letting Him be your good shepherd? Also, being on the road usually means running from something. What did you think of my email two nights ago where I put words to what the 14-year-old might be struggling with (that is, the happiness she felt watching your two children playing, the longings for happiness, being in relationships where trust is possible [with your husband], with me), being in conflict about whether to trust)? Could those issues be at least part of what is all stirred up inside?
Me: I really didn’t feel anything, I mean, no emotions anyway (to answer your last question). And now, when I go back to read that other email, the words just seem very foreign. About telling [my husband], I can’t because I’m not ready to hand over the pills that I have or anything else. Monday I wrote to God about all the tangles and confusing thoughts but it felt forced, I don’t know, not personal.
Me again: Can I tell him that I am struggling but not tell him about the pills I’ve gotten? But if I tell him I know he’ll look in my purse and find them. I don’t know. It’s not about being suicidal, I mean I guess I want to take the pills and stuff but I don’t want to die. It’s just so confusing. I don’t know if I can decide to tell him or not.
At this point, my counselor calls me. He tells me he cares and starts asking questions. My 14 year old comes more fully out and we find out she’s the one that’s so suicidal. I say “we” but evidently my counselor knew all along. After telling him I can’t tell my husband because I absolutely have to keep all the pills with me, and I begin sobbing at this point, he asks me if I am safe. I know I am not. Then he gently reiterates that I need to tell my husband. After some more crying I agree.
The 14 year old was out the rest of the night, crying for a long time because she didn’t want her pills and music to be taken away. The fear of the pills being taken away consumed my whole body. Being suicidal wasn’t the scary part, but no longer having the means of achieving that end was frightening.