I just finished reading from Socks to Insanity by Patsy Scott.
She isn't a best selling world wide author. Just an ordinary gal like me who
has been to hell and back. I bought this little E Book a couple of weeks ago
whilst in a suicidal mode. I don't know if I was looking for some kind of
reason to go on living or one to completely end life. Not that her book is
either. I was curious how other people who live with manic or clinical
depression/bi-polar live or why they kill themselves. Patsy didn't kill
herself, although she gave it a go and she was lucky to find a man who
supported her and watched her. Personally I think her first husband was part
and parcel of the original problem. She probably never saw herself as victim of
domestic abuse by him and people don't if they are not physically battered. The
emotional abuse along with trying to do too much, running a home and keeping a
job down and then her husband 'needing time alone' takes it's toll on you.
Sometimes as women, we try to be super heroes. Society expects us to be super
heroes. We are expected to be everything to all people and keep the house and
the kids in order and do a job of a work and be a social creature and end the
of the day be life and soul of the party and make love to our husbands. We are
expected to be great parents, grandparents, daughters and aunties and sisters and
friends- the list goes on and on. Years and years of this doesn't work well for
all that many of us if we are really truthful. The survivors are the ones who
can say no to people. The ones who can take time out just for themselves. The
ones that fall apart are the YES women. The women who take it all on and try to
solve all problems for the world and his wife- even sometimes neglecting time
spent with our own husband and children- then this causes another problem of
resentment. I am speaking from experience. Patsy was one such woman. Then they
wonder why we crack. Patsy cracked. I did. I didn't self harm- I am too much of
a coward- I don't like pain. Its maybe why I have still not killed myself - I am
like everyone else I guess. I want to die painlessly and quickly. Just slip
away. Pills don't usually do that they- they rip you apart with excruciating
pain and they make you sick. I hate being sick. And if someone finds you they
will probably get you to a hospital and get your stomach pumped. Then you fail
at something else. Because I believe that's partly why we crack. We can't do it
all and we feel like we are failing everyone. Now I sit here day after day.
No-one wants me for anything or needs me anymore because I learnt to say no
after I cracked. Sure I keep husband number two's home tidyish and cleanish and
I cook for him. But he pays the rent and keeps me fed and clothed- and fair
exchange is no robbery. I don't think I am much good at any of it though. I am
always feeling poorly and I am always in pain. I struggle daily. I am a failure
at everything. Although he seems fairly satisfied with his dinner everyday. And
I haven't given him food poisoning yet.
So What about Patsy's book- from Socks to Insanity?. It made
me sad really to think of her struggling and everyone trying to figure why she
cracked up. She ended up in mental hospitals. She knew she was in the wrong
place- she wasn't getting the right help- not a useful psychiatrist in the
place it seems. All with different ideas and methods and little interest in
Patsy or anyone else. One even seemed more mad than the patients. Some of the
patients seemed very well aware of what they were about and very clever and
very crafty. And the nursing staff knew that. By the time I had finished the
book I found I seen a little bit of some of the people she encountered in there
in me too. That frightened me. I am not normal. I am afraid of becoming like
them. I am afraid for my husband. I would hate for him to see me like Patsy's
husband seen her. Patsy's husband was a very special man who was sent by an
angel I am sure to be her support when she needed it most and we all need that.
I felt the same about my current husband when I had my breakdown. I don't think
he would have been as strong or as patient as Patsy's husband though if he had
come in to find me self harming with razor blades and broken glass. He, I am
sure, would have had me committed himself. But then if I had been like Patsy
then maybe the angels would have had to have sent a different person to get me
through. Patsy's husband sometimes despaired and didn't know what the next
thing would be- but to be fair neither did Patsy. He stuck by her, he married
her, he loved her. I would have loved to have read the story from his
perspective too. I know my husband doesn't know how to help me sometimes. I am
doing this without drugs to fog up my head. I am doing this without psychiatrists
and doctors. I don't want to end up in a mental hospital. I want to get over
the bad days and enjoy the good days. I don't want my husband to see the bad
days. I don't want him to add to them because over the years he has and he
knows he has because he has his own idea of life and likes to do things his own
way- even if it frustrates and hurts me. He is much less selfish than he used
to be but the easiest thing would be to let him just get on with it. But that's
harder said than done. I am not a baby. I don't want or need constant attention
but some is nice. I wouldn't go as far as to self harm to release anxiety or
pain unless it was a permanent end to my misery. My husband gets it. Patsy's
husband never saw Patsy's death as an option. My husband can see why I feel I
would be better off. He says he doesn't like the idea of it but that he would
understand it if I did it. He doesn't watch over me. Even real suicidal days he
goes off to work and leaves me to it. He probably thinks I won't do it. I
sometimes think it would be a release for both of us. I picture him heaving a
big sigh of relief. I also see all my children doing the same. Just like Patsy
and countless other suicidal people- you see your friends and relatives all
being relieved of the burden of having someone they don't really understand or
don't really want to be close to being gone. I know people who have killed themselves
and I see the pain in the remaining relatives. I see them in anguish. I see
mothers and fathers daily tormented by the fact their child has been so bad
they have taken their lives. Some say how selfish it is. Don't be so silly. (That
hurts sooo much- when you are in torment you don't want the self righteous know
it all ass calling you silly when you need love and tenderness.) Think of what
you are leaving behind. Think of ME! Well I say how about you think of ME! I
say maybe the relatives could spare a thought or several thoughts for the
sufferer and his or her anguish. You truly have to be a sufferer to understand.
I read stories about people have been to that point and survived and are glad
because their lives have now turned around- Patsy being one. Of course no-one
really wants death. We want a quality of life that others enjoy. When I am out
in the country or down by the beach, the sun is shining and I am looking at
beautiful things, or when one of my kids tell me they love me I want to be
alive. I want to enjoy life. When I see other people enjoying the family life I
had always hope I would have - their kids coming to see them for the weekend
with their kids in tow I feel a deep envy and sadness. That was what I wanted
for me before depression took a hold and swung me round by the balls. My kids will
never know of this sadness or even care I don't expect. They won't read this,
probably not until I am long gone. And if they did they won't do anything about
it. I have a son who doesn't speak to me or let me see my grand children. I
have a daughter who barely speaks because her alcoholic controlling freaky
boyfriend is oversensitive and knows I know about him being a total whatnotpot.
The youngest is a very busy chap and would be here in an instant but again its
been a very hit and miss relationship since I left when I had my original
breakdown in 2003. It is my own fault. I failed them. I failed me. I failed my
family. I fail my new husband. Even being on a spiritual path is considered
part of being nutty. Is it any wonder I and others like me don't know where to
turn- really? Is it any wonder our partners leave and find comfort elsewhere?
Is it any wonder they all switch off and pretend we aren't there? Is it our
faults or theirs? We need superheroes.
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