Liar

Warning: this is a very long post. Serious as well.

At the end of the summer I saw a program on television about why and how men commit suicide. Their reasons and methods being different from those of women. It was an extremely interesting program and there was one person in particular who talked quite frankly about his attempts and why or why not he would continue with them. And one of the things he said was that 'depression makes a liar out of you'. 

People who kill themselves don't want to kill themselves. But they are told by themselves that they are worthless, pointless, awful people. And the voice saying they do have worth and a point and they are not awful is drowned out by the first one. 

Let's get one thing straight: I have never wanted to kill myself! Ever!! Honestly!!!! I have however felt homicidal which was as scary an experience, as it was so real to me at the time. And even when somebody told me I would never do that, I just thought: just hand me that AK47 and I will show you! Perhaps some backtracking is in order...

Back in 2012, while on a job driving to England, I had an accident in France. I hit a person who had been crossing the motorway in the middle of the night and he was killed on impact. 100 km/hour (62 miles/hour) meeting a person is never a good thing. I phoned the police who arrived a short time later, together with ambulances (I had a busload of people with me). They took everything off me: passport, driver's licence, bus papers and eventually they took me away in a police car to the motorway police office. 

Fortunately I speak French and was able to understand what was going on and the police had told me from arrival onwards that I was not to blame. I still had to go through the whole rigmarole of bus testing, tachograph testing etc. By 4 in the afternoon the verdict was official: not to blame, it was a sad accident and I was free to go.

With the help of a company psychologist, colleagues, friends and family I made it through and within a couple of weeks I was back driving the bus, including a trip to France (with two colleagues who kept their beady eyes on me all the way).

A couple of months later I moved from the Netherlands to Norway. A new country, a new language, new people, a new life. It was good. I settled in, I liked it there. I got invited to parties, to walks (which turned out to be mountain hikes, but that's a different story) and I had a lovely social life. The accident was a footnote in history at that point. 

Two years into my stay in Norway I had to have an operation. I had never been to hospital before and that includes my birth. The operation was to be a big one that would last several hours and in the end it turned out to last even longer than that. It was serious as well, as I realised later: if I hadn't had that operation then, I would probably have been dead within a year due to a burst urinary tract or bowel as my body was strangling both of them. 

I stayed home for six weeks after the operation to get back on my feet. My mother came to look after me, which was absolutely lovely. Unfortunately my father hadn't been able to come: finances on both sides prevented that happening, as it was, my mother's trip had already been paid for by both of us. I got back to work after my sick leave and starting working full time almost from the get-go. My body was holding out fine and I was doing fine.

Then one night I was watching the news and what I saw made my blood boil. And I got so angry and was so upset it was scaring me. In the middle of the night I emailed my HR person and said I needed help. Her email back the following day didn't help me much, so on the second day I went to see her. I broke down, I cried and when I finally went back down to start work, I found I couldn't log in: she had take me off work. She arranged for someone to talk to, who listened to my story and when I told her about the homicidal feelings she said she didn't think I could go through with it. Which I completely disbelieved of course...

Last year my Mum got ill. I went home a lot more than normal and realised I really missed family and friends who know my Mum (and Dad for that matter). I missed being able to talk to someone in person who has had the same experiences as me. And even though my friends back in Norway were helpful and were giving me hugs and support, it wasn't the same. At the end of last year I made the decision to move towards my sister. 

I got the job, I moved within a very short time and have lived here ever since. But where in Norway I was immediately taken to parties and on walks (b****y mountain hikes), over here: nothing. I barely saw any of my colleagues and the hours I made were not conducive to meeting new people. By the time I finished those long hours, all I wanted to do was sleep and when I was not sleeping, I needed to do laundry and dishes and whathaveyou. 

I am someone who needs people. I need physical contact. I need hugs. And virtual ones, however fantastic and soul lifting they are, are not enough. I started feeling depressed and lonely. Very very lonely. A feeling I had never known before. Even in Norway, while barely understanding people, I had never felt lonely. 

The other day my sister and I went to a celebration of her company. It existed 50 years and they were celebrating it with the company choir and a school choir. The proceeds of that day were to go to three different charities, one of them being PIPS. A charity to prevent suicide and further mental health. I had been emotional earlier that evening because of a beautiful rendition of 'Oh Holy Night' and was still a bit tearful. When I wanted to thank the lady of PIPS for all the good work, even though I have never been suicidal, I broke down and had to get behind the curtains. 

When my sister came to pick me up a while later (she was in the choir), she found me with tears streaming down my face, being hugged by the PIPS lady. My sister has never seen me cry, basically because she is the one person who makes me feel good here and I don't have the need to cry when I am with her. Last night I spoke to my 'ex-husband', who nearly made me cry again (he could hear the tears in my voice he said).

With all this being said, changes need to be made. I don't want my mind to make a liar out of me and one day telling me that I am worthless or pointless or an awful person. I KNOW I AM NOT!