Scary Stuff

Here's one symptom not mentioned in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual used to diagnose depression, total blackout. In speaking with friends and coworkers I've become aware that I remember little to nothing from approximately February 20th through my first inpatient day on February 28th. I've been reconstructing things based on their accounts and by reviewing my texts, e-mails, and blog posts. It's pretty frightening.

For example, it was frightening to be told by a coworker that she came to visit one evening. "Remember," she said, "you wrote a blog post about it." Really? I checked. Sure enough, there was a blog post about my coworker coming to visit and giving me a hug. I don't remember that.

Worse, in that same blog post I wrote about going for a drive in the dark. Nothing. I don't remember that at all. I wonder where I went, how long I was gone, or if I even locked my house? Who knows, maybe I didn't even shut the door! Going for a drive, completely sober of course, and having no recollection of it really scares me. How does that happen?

I still don't know how it happened. So I'm trying to piece together the last week of February, 2019, so I at least have an idea of what occurred. One thing is certain, I went downhill fast! That scares me, too.

There's unfortunately another thing which has become quite clear. During the last week of February I scared the crap out of my friends and coworkers. That makes me sad. Every single person who has talked to me in the last 14 days talked about how frightened they were. I hated hearing that. They tried everything, it seems, to get me into the hospital earlier, but I wouldn't go. I'm sorry about that.

It seems things got so messy and so ugly so fast I was just lost. I hate that I scared people. I hate that they were worried they would wake up to hear I was dead. As I reconstruct what happened, I get it. I should have been scared, too. I wasn't, I guess, but now I feel sick to have worried them so much.

This episode was, and kind of still is, a very scary dive into depression. It was fast, and aggressive, and obviously too much for my brain. I couldn't even form memories! It's still mostly a blur. My broken brain seems to have taken a rocket ship into the black hole over a period of 7 or 8 days. I was sick.

When I'm not well, at times like this, my friend Wendy always says, "I hate your sick brain!" Me, too, Wendy. Me, too. I'm sorry my sick brain and I frightened people.