A lot of time has passed since my argument with Dr Dunn and I’ve had my share of ups and downs, like being hospitalized for six months after a bottle of pills I took, didn’t take.
I wasn’t trying to kill myself and I resent that he calls it a failed suicide attempt. I just was so sick of living, I didn’t know what else to do. If I had other options, I’d have done something different. I’m sure of that.
One morning I asked myself the age old question: Should I kill myself or have a cup of coffee? And this time, I was all out of coffee. The whole thing was an embarrassment and a misunderstanding.
I don’t want to say too much more about it. It needed to happen. I guess. Because here I am, feeling serendipitous about it all. And that’s progress.
It took a long time to get my meds right after that, I fucked up my chemistry permanently it seems, but eventually I was released and allowed to move back to my home on Wonderland (though I’m no longer allowed to live alone) and surprisingly enough, when I walked through my front door again, it felt like I had come home. Wonderland is my safe place to land.
I don’t have room in my heart for anger anymore. I let go of the frustration I felt towards Dr Dunn and him for leading me down a path where I thought there was no future for me. That I would have been better off dead than cut of from my children. And I felt lighter inside. As long as I could get out of the hospital, I’d say yes to all of their rules once again and for good. That made them happy, and I was as close to happy as they’d let me get.
You have to understand, my old life was taken away without my consent a long time ago. It’s neither here nor there at this point what I really think. But something about Wonderland makes me feel ok with the permanency of this arrangement. Finally.
He bought the house, put it in my name. It’s mine now. And in some really strange way, it feels like mine. And I’m resigned to life without my twins. They’re getting older. Their idea of home has been redefined too. And, like me, they’re probably comfortable in the arrangement. It would be selfish for me to go back there now. So I’m going to stay.
My roommate is nice but she’s not the one who is gonna save me from myself if it ever came down to that again. She can barely keep her own head upright. But it’s nice to have someone to share the hammock with while we listen to Jared write his next album. There’s something energizing about creating neatness for the sake of others. Order and routines. She brings me tea when she’s made herself a cup. I don’t leave wet towels on the floor. We split the groceries. It’s ok. Really. It’s ok.
I’ve come to accept that I’m not going anywhere, any time soon (or ever). But I am looking up. Most days. Like good old Sisyphus, I keep pushing my big boulder up the hill and when it starts to roll back down, I cry, like everyone else would do. And I let it land where it wants to land. And I mourn for what was. But I also march my ass right back down the bottom, assess the damage and within a day or two, I start pushing that goddamn boulder back up the hill. Because that’s what needs to be done. And I need to get it done. Once and for all.