I am so glad you are over. I have been waiting for over 180 days for you to be gone & it finally happened. That’s right, I knew about half way in that you weren’t any good but I stayed the course, hoping that you would get better but you never did. But if anything, as time went on, you got worse.
You have put me through so much: Life, death, sadness, fear, anguish & so much more. I had such high hopes for you. I thought you were going to be good to me. My hopes & expectations were invested in you because of the year before. In 2017, I had a great year! Things fell into place throughout that year, so when it came to a close, I just knew you were going to be even better. But it wasn’t; you were a letdown. You didn’t live up to the expectations of the year that came before you.
What happened to you? Why didn’t you come thru for me? Why did you cause me so much pain & heartache and leave me without any happiness? It’s almost like you set me up to either have a much worse year or possibly the best year of my life in 2019. It’s too early to tell, but I am praying that 2019 is better to me than you were.
I am so glad to be done with you!
Is there anything you miss from2018?!
Chester Himes, in full Chester Bomar Himes, (born July 29, 1909, Jefferson City, Mo., U.S.—died Nov. 12, 1984, Moraira, Spain), African-American writer whose novels reflect his encounters with racism. As an expatriate in Paris, he published a series of black detective novels.
The domination of his dark-skinned father by his light-skinned mother was a source of deep resentment that shaped Himes’s racial outlook. The family’s frequent relocations, as well as the accidental blinding of his brother, further disrupted his childhood. Himes attended Ohio State University. From 1929 to 1936 he was jailed at the Ohio State Penitentiary for armed robbery, and while there he began to write fiction. A number of his stories appeared in Esquire and other American magazines. After his release from prison, he worked at numerous odd jobs and joined the Works Progress Administration, eventually serving as a writer with the Ohio Writers’ Project.
His first novel, If He Hollers Let Him Go (1945), details the fear, anger, and humiliation of a black employee of a racist defense plant during World War II. Lonely Crusade (1947) concerns racism in the labour movement. Cast the First Stone (1952) portrays prison life, and The Third Generation (1954) examines family life.
In the mid-1950s Himes moved to Paris. There he wrote chiefly murder mysteries set in New York City’s Harlem. These include The Crazy Kill (1959), Cotton Comes to Harlem (1965; film, 1970), and Blind Man with a Pistol (1969; later retitled Hot Day, Hot Night). Among his other works are Run Man, Run (1966), a thriller; Pinktoes (1961), a satirical work of interracial erotica; and Black on Black (1973), a collection of stories. He also published two volumes of autobiography, The Quality of Hurt (1972) and My Life As Absurdity (1976).
Himes, who moved to Spain in 1969, died there in 1984. In 1985, A Case of Rape was first published posthumously.
I have had major depressive disorder (MDD) for the majority of my life. I am now on the verge of 38, married for over a dozen years, two awesome kids, been hospitalized for my depression and have attempted to take my own life. I thought that after my attempt I would have a revitalized spirit for life and being alive, but that wasn’t the case. I thought I would gain some sense of purpose or have some wild existential beliefs… but alas, here I am — still depressed. Even though I didn’t lose my life, I still lost numerous things as a result of my attempt.
1. I lost the trust of my family.
I can no longer have a bad day without getting a leering eye that there is something more to it. They don’t trust me with medication. They don’t trust me to be alone for extended amounts of time. They don’t trust me when I tell them I am going to be OK. They don’t trust me when I say, “I won’t do it again.” I have lost their trust.
2. I lost faith in myself.
I never thought I would go to that extreme. I always thought I was “stronger” than that. Suicide has always been a solution in my mind but it was a line I never thought I would cross. I always thought I had enough coping skills to manage it on my own. I thought they were just intrusive thoughts I would never act on. I feel, in a sense, I let myself down. I don’t trust myself anymore, now.
3. I lost time.
When you attempt to take your life and you survive, life doesn’t just go on when you wake up. There is a lot of work on the backend of an attempt. Time, in essence, freezes for you and you try and determine how you got there. You take time to develop how you are going to move forward. The world continues to spin. But now things are different for me and I need to rearrange accordingly. I lost precious time with my kids. I missed shopping for kindergarten supplies with my son for his first day of school because I was in treatment. I missed important family time when my aunt passed away because I was trying to put the pieces back together. I missed mornings with my family. I missed meetings at work because I was at doctor appointments. Some are more mundane and some are important, but there still is time I lost and I will never get back.
4. I lost friends.
Everyone appears to try and be supportive, and for that, I am very grateful. However, and understandably so, it was too much for some people to digest and accept. While some were concerned and leaning in to help and be there for me, others were walking away. I don’t know how they perceive me now and I wish I could tell them I am still me, but I can’t expect everyone to understand. They have since moved on, but I still think about them.
5. I lost perspective.
I used to have a good idea of what was important in life and have priorities and perspective. All of that has changed. I used to prioritize family, work, music, my dogs and so on. Now… I don’t know what is important. The focus is day-to-day. None of the big stuff carries the same weight as it used to. Work has become a necessary evil, and I struggle to find motivation and energy to put any considerable effort into it. Family has become a repetitive chore; I mindlessly go through the motions to get the kids off to school and in bed. My dogs have been neglected; I don’t remember the last time they got a good walk out of me. Every day, I have imagined how what I am currently doing would be different had I completed suicide. How would things be different? Life feels like a blur and I don’t know how to get back to life before.
I am grateful my attempt was not successful. I truly did gain an appreciation for the little things in life and I can honestly say I am happy to be here. I hope to never be in that dark place again. Since my attempt, I have been seeing a therapist twice a month, my psychiatrist monthly and attending a support group every week; this keeps me focused on my recovery and my own mental wellness.
I may have lost a lot from my attempt, but I didn’t lose what was most important.
*Originally posted on Moving Away From Darkness.