I fell deeper down the rabbit hole

I thought everything would be okay if I just kept busy. If I did that, maybe I wouldn't dwell on my inner darkness. By mid-2015 I had gone back to work. I went back to the PFLAG and transgender support groups. I joined the Cedar Rapids Pride committee. I got in a book club. I remember those things. There may have been one or two more. I cannot exactly say that this was a mistake but it did prove to be too much. I felt so much stress that I quit some of these things shortly after starting them. I think the real problem was that Depression was tightening its grip on me. No matter what I did I could not feel good anymore, no joy in anything. And I kept it to myself. Again. After that first incident in February I was afraid to admit to anyone that my mental state was still down in the pit. It became a simmering shitpot. The therapy and medications hadn't erased the depression, I was feeling increasingly stressed by the world around me, and I couldn't bring myself to tell this to anyone. Every thought running through my mind was negative. It seemed to me that it had been a huge mistake to have failed my suicide attempt in February.

By October 2015 I was again feeling that I wanted out of this life. I felt absolutely no hope. So I began making another plan. This time I just had to succeed. On a warm day in November I left work early, went home, and started swallowing all kinds of pills again. This time I saved the ones that would put me to sleep for last. I was well on my way when I started feeling really weird. I felt like I was vibrating and that I was being covered or wrapped up in something so that I could barely move. And I got scared. I wasn't sure how to contact Sue at her workplace and somehow was able to call my therapist for help. She told me to stop everything I was doing and she would call for help and get ahold of Sue. I was only partially aware of everything after that. I must've gotten the front door unlocked because soon there were some cops and firemen in my living room asking questions. I really don't remember much after that until I woke up realizing I was in the hospital ICU again. After a day or two they moved me to the Behavioral Management Unit again. After another week there I was sent home.

Was I cured now of depression? Not likely. But it was back to therapy and an ever changing prescription list intended to help me maintain some semblance of sanity.