So that happened

I visited the doctor yesterday morning. The conversation went something like this:

 

Me: “I am not going to kill myself. But I gotta admit, I do feel like I probably should, because it would be best for everyone.”

Doc: “Can you trust yourself?”

Me: “I… I don’t know.”

 

 

And just like that, it happened. The doctor decided I was at risk of hurting myself, and I was instantly lead over to another part of the hospital. They gave me a room with bars covering the window, and went through my things to remove anything I potentially could hurt myself with. So… yes. This actually is happening.

I really didn’t see it coming. Going into town yesterday I thought I was just heading for a regular doctor’s appointment, to follow up on how the dreadful meds have affected me. But instead I end up… here. Ouch.

I realize that I probably shouldn’t write this, tell you all so openly. Because you know, there is a massive stigma around mental illness, and just me being here (or having been here) probably is enough for a lot of people to judge me as crazy. I’m not, though. Just depressed. And I feel like I do need to speak, or rather write, of what it’s really like.

Hopefully it’ll just be for a few days, while they adjust the meds (and take away the one that made me so much worse). I have been here for less than 24 hours now, and already it is crazy how much I long to go home.

And one last thing. My husband is the best. THE best. He was as shocked as I was of course, when I called him to say I was here. Even so, he managed to make me smile. And when he came to visit he even had me laughing for a moment. Laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

How strange life is. Every day a new experience.

I’ll be back.

 

Wandering

Again I have been silent. No, I haven’t forgotten about you all, I have merely retreated for a bit to take care of myself. Times are rough, emotionally. But I’m hanging in there, so don’t worry. I’ll climb back out of the hole again. Hopefully with some fresh insights after lessons learned, but for now I’d settle for just being able to go through a day without chest pains and tears.

 

I’ll be alright.

 

My greatest sadness is the strain it all puts on my beloved husband. I so wish I could be a normal, happy, rock steady wife for him, but instead I am this. That is what hurts the most. It is worse than all the rest, and it is not rare for me to think those horrid thoughts – that he would be better off without me.

 

But, there are also still moments of joy. It’s in the scent and warmth of my husband as I hold him close. It’s in the deeply satisfying realization that I’ve learned something new. It’s in being able to help a friend, and put a smile on another’s face.

 

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If you are lost in the woods, who would you rather have guide you? One who has never been in those woods themselves, only seen it from the outside, or one who has walked the paths herself, and found the way out? Or perhaps even she who has made the woods her home. No longer lost, but safe and happy right where she is? I don’t know, I am still wandering.

 

 

 

Mighty Rowan, kära rönn

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Our house lies in between two big old rowan trees. You can see one of them in the picture above, in bloom as they are in the earlier days of summer. Today there are no flowers, but plenty of bright red berries.

The rowan, in Swedish is called rönn, may not be the grandest of trees – often it grows to be no more than a shrub. Nonetheless it has a mighty powerful place in folklore, ancient mythology, and yes, magic. Protective as well as runic magic, most of all. According to an old myth a rowan tree once even saved the life of Thor himself, which is no small feat.

The young leaves can be used for tea, and the berries are edible. Not particularly tasty, but edible. They are completely packed full of vitamin C, so much that three a day will cover what you need. Luckily you don’t have to eat them raw, they can be made into jelly or jam, or even wine. Or you can dry them and add a bit in bread baking, or use in your müsli or whatnot. The birds love them too, and for good reason – rowan berries, or rönnbär, makes up their most important food source in wintertime, at least up here.

One day the two mighty rowan trees by our house will wither and die. It’s alright, there are already young shoots coming up to take their place. We will take care of them, and perhaps they will take care of us.

Now on Facebook

It is decided, I will not delete this blog. What I will do however is try to separate it more thoroughly from my IRL name – because too many people are idiots and while I am not the slightest bit ashamed of my heathen ways, I am too fragile to deal with trolls, racist jerks, and judgemental pricks having access to my private life.

So, here’s a bit of new information:

You can now find me on Facebook under the name Fny från Östra Aros. If you want to see my blog posts popping up in your Facebook feed, toss me a friend request there!

I am also on Twitter since a while back, under the name The_Fny.

For one-on-one contact, my email adress is contactfny@gmail.com.

Busy busy, no time to waste!

I have had a number of blog posts almost written this last week. One about the most marvelous wild raspberry jam I made, and one about a this year’s disastrous blackcurrant jelly (it didn’t set, so basically I have lots of sweet blackcurrant sauce). And a couple of cat posts for Katzenworld!

But alas, I have been unable to write properly since I got back from the Netherlands. The reason is no great unknown –  next week is Medieval Week in Visby and I am busy sewing. While navigating a chaotic world of panic and anxiety, as I’m still not really recovered since my last downfall. So basically my days at the moment look something like… this:

Breakfast -> short burst of sewing -> mini panic attack -> short burst of sewing ->anxiety attack -> short burst of sewing -> go outside to pick some berries in attempt at not panicking again -> panic anyway -> collapse, feeling like I just ran a marathon.

 

Yeeah, it’s not great! But it’ll be alright. I’m so far pleased with how the sewing project is coming along, and I think I’ll manage to finish it before Visby. (It’s that or go nekkid! I can’t fit in my old clothes at the moment. *sadface* )

 

So now, blogging will have to wait. Or well, I did manage this little update! That’s a success, I believe. Now I need to get back to sewing, wish me luck!

I’m only sleeping

A few days ago, on Monday morning, I crashed. The night before I was crying myself to sleep after some unwelcome news and in the morning everything felt dark and dull. I poured myself a cup of  tea and sat down on the couch. Had a sip and looked out the window. And everything just stopped.

Couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Just sat there.

My husband got worried of course. I wanted to tell him it was alright, but I couldn’t get the words out. It was difficult enough just to move my eyes to look at him. Stuck, I felt stuck in my own head.

He drove me to the hospital, to this emergency psychiatric place. Thoughts kept spinning in my mind, it may have looked like I was half asleep but it was quite the opposite. I was aware, fully aware, painfully aware of every little detail. My uncombed hair. My husband’s concern. The chatter of others in the waiting room.

There was a woman there, waiting for her turn, who started talking of babies. On and on she went, describing her previous pregnancies and how giving birth was the best thing ever, the best, the best. Husband told me not to listen but I couldn’t stop it. I listened, and felt close to blacking out. My head was about to explode it seemed, I couldn’t breathe and everything hurt. I hurt, the world hurt, the woman’s words hurt.

I couldn’t sit there listening. In a full panic I fled into the nearest bathroom and sat down on the floor, in a corner, crying.

We were at the hospital for half a day. I talked to doctors – or rather they talked to me while I merely managed to whisper a few stray words in return – and got pills.

Once home I slept.

The day after I slept.

And the day after that.

Despite sleeping all day I’ve also been able to sleep all night, so my waking hours have dwindled to barely more than a handful per day. I’m exhausted, absolutely exhausted. All I want to do is sleep.

I wish I could just make it stop. I wish I could be normal. I wish I wouldn’t hurt my husband like this. I wish the pain would stop.

 

They call me from the hospital every day now, to check on me. They keep asking if I want to kill myself. Every day they ask. I keep saying no. They don’t seem to believe me. But I keep saying no. I won’t. Even though I feel worthless, even though I’m sure my husband would be better off without me, I won’t. I want to live. I want to grow old. And I want to see this hell through and come out victorious on the other side.