Well, I've alluded to my suicide attempt last year and it was awful in a million ways and I almost died and you guys would have missed me so much, I know. And I'm sort of sorry, although sometimes I think of the term "failed suicide attempt" and "failed" is the operative word. I know this is crazy, but I feel like a failure at suicide because at the last minute, I apparently changed my mind and got up. I collapsed and woke Bill up (I was sleeping the other room because we'd had a terrible fight and it was all his fault, as you can imagine)when I fell and he came in and somehow got me to the hospital. By the time I got to the hospital I wasn't breathing and it was hairy for everybody, except me, because I was blissfully unconscious. And I think they gave me versed because I don't remember a thing after laying down in bed, wondering if God would be so mad at me He wouldn't let me see my children.
I can see how guys succeed more because they use means that prohibit the changing of the mind. Although I found out first hand what a drug overdose can do to one's system. Hell, I could hardly walk for a month and I surely deserved it. I'm not complaining. Although I've thought more than once after I've done something I regret "if I'd died in July, I wouldn't have done this bad thing" or "I wouldn't have hurt this person" or "Bill would be getting over it by now and he'd have less stress in his life from his crazy wife and the house would always be clean and he'd have more money because I'm insured plus I wouldn't be spending all his money."
Well. You can see how irrational the thought processes of the truly depressed can get. Bill and I have reached a new place of commitment and closeness in our relationship, not because of what happened, but because I had to get concrete help to stay out the state hospital (you better believe I would have blogged about that experience) and I'm in a better frame of mind and body.
Well. Until Bill finds out (which I'm going to try to make sure he doesn't) that I spent a veritable fortune yesterday. I didn't mean to. I was just sort of wandering after a solid week at home resting and taking care of things here. And I wandered into the depot mall, a craft consignment store that has the cutest stuff and bought some cute stuff for the holidays (we're having tons of company) and then I wandered into Wal-Mart, where I bought this buffet thing and a small wood pantry that Bill will have to put together. Me and two girls and a guy put them into the backseat of my car. They're not gaudy or expensive---I always go for cheap stuff, but they're the perfect size for what I needed for my kitchen.
Well. That isn't the bad part. As I was wandering, it was a free day, I wandered into this new cloths store in town called Bealls. And fell in love. Because they have cute clothes, better than Wal-Mart, a little more expensive, but quality clothes. And here's the good part---they have petite!
If I told you how much I weighed, I'd have to hunt you down and kill you because nobody knows that, only the doctors nurse. Not the doctor, we are so not having that discussion. But my waist is about 35 " and my inseam is 31" on a good day. It's really hard to find pants that fit. But I tried on two really cute pairs of levis and they fit. Perfectly! And I don't look fat in them, either. Plus they were marked down from $40 to $28.
And cute jackets and suit pants that fit.
Well, I got carried away and then someone didn't show up to work and they only had two people in the whole store and long lines of people and I just kept buying more stuff.
My psychiatrist keeps asking about my spending, which isn't all that bad, usually. I don't go buy thousands of dollars of stuff or anything like that. I'm not even a clothes horse type of girl. Oh, maybe I should change that. I didn't used to be a clothes horse type of girl.
But I'm pretty sure I'm a dead man when Bill finds out. IF he finds out. You guys, keep your mouth shut. Or start practicing "Bridge Over Troubled Waters" which all my friends will be singing at my funeral. Except my friend, Cathy, who will be playing the flute. It will be a nice and entertaining funeral.