Day Twelve: Barbecue, Holy Oils, and Big Books....Oh My!

It is the day after my tears have returned and we are sitting around my parents' kitchen table, eating barbecue, potato salad, baked beans, and other assorted slightly special summertime foods. It is July 4th and there are fireworks on TV as we eat. I did not want to do this today, but felt like it was too late to back out of it. I am still wasted from yesterday's session with Pendragon and still trying to find right side up in my emotions. I take a bite of my barbecue sandwich, but don't really enjoy it. Truthfully, I barely even taste it. Although it may not look like it from the outside, I am miles away inside and want to just eat and go, but we won't be able to get away that quickly. After our late lunch, we will have to wait a bit before dessert and then a bit after that before we can make our excuses and go. Gray and I have already discussed that he will say that we need to leave so we can get home before too late and he can get to bed at his regular time because he has work the next day. It is true, but it is also an excuse.

I am afraid to stay too long because I feel like I am barely able to keep it together and if we stay too long that somehow I'll wind up in tears and feel obligated to say why I'm crying. I do not want to share this with my parents. I love them, but I have never shared this with them. They would be sympathetic and loving, but this is so intensely personal and so, so difficult that I just don't want to add to the difficulty by having to explain to them everything that is going on with me, what I am doing about treatment, what I am planning to do at the beginning of next week, and what brought me to this place. I don't want to have to field the inevitable "how are you?" questions that mean so much more than just "how are you?" that will come in the days and weeks to come if I break down today. I just want to eat and go home. I don't even care about dessert.

We wind up staying through dessert and a bit after, but then Gray makes his excuse and starts rounding up our girls to go home. After brief hugs, we head out. I sink into the passenger's seat across from Gray and let out a long sigh. He reaches over and squeezes my hand. I squeeze back, letting the mask slip off my face and close my eyes for the duration of the drive home.

 ****

The weekend passes quickly and before I can blink, my alarm is going off and it's Monday morning. It is the first day of my stint in Green Tree's partial hospitalisation program. I have been nervous about this day since last Wednesday when Pendragon said he would get the ball rolling. I am not anxious about the unknown with regard to what this program entails. I've actually done this program once before about four years ago. At the time I was struggling with another severe episode of depression that I couldn't really shake. I was also actively using self-harm as a means of coping with the depression. I began cutting myself when I was in college (yet another episode of depression) and although I hated it, I found that it did relieve some of the emotional distress for me. When I went through Green Tree's partial hospitalisation program four years ago, I finally was able to kick that habit and haven't self-injured in four years. At the moment though, none of that matters. What I am nervous about is whether or not this program is going to help me a second time. Quite honestly, I am very skeptical that it will, but I have three children and a husband that apparently need me. I still believe that they would be better off without me, but that's neither here or there. I have committed to doing this.

It is earlier than I need to leave to get there on time, but I made the decision this weekend that I am going to leave early enough each day to attend daily Mass before I go to the program for the day. The thought I had is that I could do with the graces of the Holy Eucharist and that it seems a good footing to get on for each day. As I walk out the door this morning, I consider that perhaps it wouldn't hurt to ask the priest to give me the Anointing of the Sick after Mass. I decide as I drive that I will definitely do this. I park, put on my veil, and enter the chapel. It is quiet and people are praying. I dip my fingers in the holy water font and make the sign of the cross, blessing myself as I make my way to a pew. Grasping the end of the pew, I genuflect in front of the tabernacle, make the sign of the cross again and utter a brief, "Please help me, Jesus" before rising and entering the pew. Mass proceeds as normal and although I am listening intently to the priest's homily and the prayers of the Liturgy of the Eucharist, I feel disconnected from all of it. When Mass is finished and people file out, I find Father Raphael and ask if he would be willing to give me the Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick. After a brief conversation, he agrees and gives me the Sacrament. He reads a brief passage of scripture, lays hands on me and prays over me before anointing me with the Oil of the Sick on my forehead and hands. He then prays a final prayer over me, gives me a special priestly blessing and we are done.

I leave and get in my car to head to the partial hospitalisation progam. I wish I could say that I feel buoyed by the graces I have just received, but I feel depressed and apprehensive. Pendragon told me that Samantha, who was the therapist when I went through this program before, is still there and still leads the group I'll be a part of for the next three weeks. Although I am glad of this because I liked Samantha very much the last time, I am not very heartened by this thought either. I arrive at the program and check in at the front desk. Samantha comes out and greets me with a smile, "Good to see you!" she says and then checks herself a bit, "Well, not really good. I mean I'm sorry you're back here, but it's good to see you."

I force a small nervous smile. "I know what you mean. It's good to see you too, although obviously I wish it were different circumstances." We sit down at a table in an adjacent group room for her to do my intake and paperwork. She gives me the huge three-ring binder full of educational materials -- my "book" for the next three weeks. I heave an audible sigh at the sight of it. I have its twin at home. I wish I were home and not here. I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this. I say nothing of these thoughts to Samantha. It isn't that I'm trying to hide them from her, but just that I am hoping that it is just nerves and that I'll feel differently at the end of the day. We finish up and head to the main group room where the rest of my group is already there, sipping coffee and working on their daily check-in sheets. I find a seat and start on mine. I know the drill. The day passes by without major incident and without any new revelations. I just feel nothing. My mood worsens as the day goes on and when we are dismissed at 4:00 to go home, I am the first one out the door and gone.

One day down. Fourteen left to go. The darkness that consumed me so recently has not really receded much, even with being so shaken over my near attempt and the release of some of my emotions in tears. This day has proven pointless and has only served to intensify my fears and allow the deep soul-crushing black fog to descend again, clouding all thought and reason. I am still aware of everything, but I know that this won't last and so my brain begins to plan anew.

Oh God, this isn't going to work. There's no way this is going to work. I can't do this. I can't go back tomorrow. There is no hope for me. I can't....I just can't....