Five Years Ago

Five years ago today, on a beautiful late-summer day in Northern Oklahoma, I wrote some letters to my family.

Five years ago today, I kissed my almost-three-year-old for what I was sure would be the last time.

Five years ago today, I washed down the bottle of pain pills with alcohol and prayed for Death to come swiftly.

Five years ago today, I drove my van erratically downtown, hardly able to see through the tears, and parked near the train tracks.

Five years ago today, I staggered down the empty sidewalks, planning to lay on those tracks until the train came.

Five years ago today, I called my brother Matthew to say good-bye.

Five years ago today, he hung up on me and called my husband, Jim.

Five years ago today, Jim raced from his office building and, using the iphone locator app, tried to find me.

Five years ago today, Jim stopped beside a police car that just happened* to be idling by the side of the road to request an ambulance.

Five years ago today, I was intercepted by my distraught man, who clasped me in a bear hug as I beat my fists on his chests and demanded release, cursing him for trying to stop me.

Five years ago today, I was taken to the hospital, handcuffed to a bed in the ER, and given liquid charcoal to drink until it cleared the drugs from my system.

Five years ago today, I entered a mental hospital and stayed for a week, listening and learning.

Five years ago today, I wanted to end the pain. The endless litany of darkness in my mind. The relentless accusatory rhythm of my heart.

Five years ago today, Death beckoned, promising relief.

Five years ago today, I took Death’s hand and walked with him, just for a little while.

Five years ago today, I didn’t think I could ever feel better.

I was wrong.

I am glad.

 

*make of that what you will

 

 

 

8 Comments

  1. (((Jenni))) I am glad you are still here. This past week, my DIL and I were having a discussion about close encounters with self destruction. Her brother (25) said he just couldn’t understand why anyone would even CONSIDER killing their self.
    DIL and I were almost stereo in our response… “If you don’t understand, you have never been that depressed.”
    You have expressed the darkness so well- and turned on a light in the tunnel for so many. Thank you for staying.

  2. Hey Jenni, I’m not good at expressing my thoughts as beautifully and clearly, but just wanted to tell you I am so glad you are here, and so glad that I met you, and so glad we still have a chance to deepen our friendship and share experiences with each other. You inspire me and teach me of so many places in our own soul.

  3. You have such a talent for expressing yourself to people. I am so glad that you are still here to talk to even if it is through the computer. You have given me advice, encouragement and a million laughs through the years. Thanks for being brave enough to share your journey. Huge hugs

    • Jenni Wilson

      August 29, 2018 at 7:57 am

      Thank you, Christine, for the hugs, the kind words, and for your friendship throughout the years!! I treasure you.

  4. Thank you for sharing, Jenni. I can identify to a degree. I am so very glad your man came to rescue you.

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