Jul 11, 2017
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April 11th, 2016…Nothing seems to make sense.
Everything is my fault.
Nothing is going to get better, there is no way out of this.
Medications were no longer doing their job.
I held enough drugs in my hand that could have taken down a horse and my suicide letter written to my husband. Medications were no longer doing their job. They hand’t in months. My health was not the greatest, I had been off work for a year and I had so much going on in my life.
I was always the one everyone went to when they needed help. I cared for everyone but myself, put on that fake smile and pushed through the day only to head straight back to my bedroom. I had met an amazing group of people through a local online radio station called Blasttheradio.com. The host John Meilke is also an advocate of mental health awareness and had shared his troubles. It is through his little station that I met my best friend two years ago.
The morning of April 11 she had sent me a message, just to check up on me. My single word responses made her so worried, she knew something was wrong. Somehow she knew that I was minutes away from taking my life. My husband was at work, and so were my adult children. She convinced me to call the crisis line. Two hours later I was in my GP’s office. The second she saw me, she knew. I have been a patient of hers for over 20 years. I’ve battled depression for most of that time. And until then, everything had been working.
It was brutal, I felt like death had made its debut.
She sent me straight to the hospital, even calling the hospital to make sure I had made it. My husband was upset, he did not understand what was happening. He wasn’t aware of the magnitude it had reached. I was admitted into the hospital. My stay was two weeks and then a month of outpatient therapy. I was weaned off the medications I had been on. It was brutal, I felt like death had made its debut. But it got better. I was put on the proper medications. Diagnosed properly, Manic Depression, PTSD, Severe Anxiety and Agoraphobia. I was taught techniques in order to live with my disease. It was a slow process, a learning curve not only for myself but for my family and friends. My therapist also said that I had something called Caregiver Burnout.
It was time to focus on myself, as hard as it is.
Each day is a new beginning, I cannot focus on the past.
A year has gone by. Not all roses, but at least I wake up every morning. Some days are better than others but I choose to focus on the good ones. I am back at work, finally. I still see my therapist every three weeks, I take my medications, and have started a new healthy lifestyle. Each day is a new beginning, I cannot focus on the past. I have opened my door to friends and family who need that shoulder. I have focused my free time on helping the less fortunate and look forward to the future. A future I didn’t think I had. Boy was I wrong. July my husband and I celebrate 25 years. And I almost threw that away. Love. Patience. Forgiveness. #SickNotWeak
One Day, one step one breath at a time.