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Climbing Out Of The Emotional Chasm

Last week I found myself in the middle of a deep depression. The medicines prescribed by my doctor weren't working well. It looks like the dose will have to be increased (I'm now on the minimum of six possible doses manufactured).

Add to the depression weeks of stress at work (things just aren't going very well there, but that's another story). Symptoms of depression were all but knocking me over the head. I didn't eat well, I had little interest in anything. I managed to work (and node) because the old adage, "move a muscle; change a thought" is indeed true.

By early last week, I just couldn't stop crying all day. I couldn't see the light at the end of the tunnel. A few stiff drinks couldn't calm me to sleep. So I had a few more and swallowed every pill in the house (after, of course, looking up the dose of each one which would be fatal; it turned out that none of the prescription medicines I had were in sufficient quantity to guarantee a fatal result). That made me angry. I figured the chemical "cocktail" and plenty of booze would do me in nonetheless.

I obviously, deep down inside, had a will to live if only for two reasons: I didn't cut my wrists. I left a note explaining why I'd chosen suicide with someone, a note I thought wouldn't be read that day. Well, it was.

EMTs and a couple policemen burst into my bedroom that afternoon. I was in quite a stupor; peculiarly, a pleasant one. I was cooperative but lied about how many pills I'd taken because I didn't want to suffer a dose of charcoal (the remedy of choice for medicine overdose). Against my insistence that I was alright, they took me to the hospital.

I stayed in the hospital for exactly a week. The last three days were because my blood pressure was dangerously high and they couldn't manage to bring it down despite trying a whole bunch of different medicines. The doctors were hesitant to treat the symptom, using a medicine which reduces one's blood pressure. They'd have much preferred to find the cause.

There will be more tests and daily visits to my M.D.
 

I was quite touched by the notes in my inbox, and the ones which followed after everybody discovered I was alright. A few were angry; I can understand how frustrating it is. But I can guarantee you that there are few things as frustrating as being deeply depressed and having no real reason at all to be depressed.

Working from home is what I plan to do for the next few days. I need the rest (boy, am I sleep-deprived; the hospital is not the place to get any sort of good straight sleep; noise, lights, nurses poking and prodding make eight hours asleep a virtual impossibility.)

Again, thanks to all of those who voiced their concern (even the noder who threatened to beat me with a stick if I ever tried something silly like this again)!

Although I'm hazy about what exactly you-all did, I'd like to thank those of you who phoned my office and the police and summoned help.

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