This Mad Season

I pulled Charlie out to dinner after the Drinking of the Titanic to talk about the things he said. Ophelia had told me he was already having trouble that night, and Red getting sick just exacerbated it. I told him he matters - to all of us - and the part of his brain that tells him otherwise is a lying sack of shit. He said part of him understands that. I told him there are trained professionals who can help turn down the volume on the bad thoughts. I asked him if he's made plans, he wouldn't answer. I asked him if he would come to one of us if he were in danger, and he wouldn't promise, said he doesn't want to be a bother. I told him it's a bother to let him suffer for no reason. I'm gently encouraging the others to reach out and make sure he knows he is wanted in our circle and that we are here to support him. That's a tricky balancing act for Ophelia right now, though.

She has just started an intensive outpatient program. She says suicidal thoughts are not new to her, but she is having unusually strong and persistent urges. She believes in medically assisted suicide for terminal conditions, and is stuck in a place where she feels like things will always be that bad and so death is a mercy. Anthony told me that she is not giving the same red flags she usually does when it is this bad, and I told him I'm glad she has resources and is being proactive about using them, because it frightens me more that she is suicidal and able to act normally than if she were in obvious distress. They have agreed, under guidance from her therapist, for him to manage her psych meds and keep all sharp objects out of the house. 

I have spent the week in various states of dissociation and panic. I am still not eating, and my brain is doing this demented teeter totter between wanting someone to notice to show they give a shit and wanting everyone to just ignore it because interference doesn't help. I guess right now it is what it is.

We are all still hot messes.