The dark days- part 3

Right after I posted my previous entry (part 2) I wondered if it was smart for me to be sharing so much information. I debated taking it down. However, between the responses I got from it and the promise I made to myself, I kept it up and will finish my story. I will warn you, however, that like many things in life, my situation got worse before it got better.
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I want to talk a little more about the mask I wore. I felt like I was two people. On the outside I often times appeared "normal"- I often times could perform my day-to-day activities. I sometimes had a job. I hung out with friends and family. I lived my life. However, on the inside, there was a beast, and the longer I wore my mask the more restless it became and the more agitated I became. I always tried to push this beast to the back of my head. However, it would inevitably come to a point where I was battling myself in my head. I fought this beast, and it fought back. In the end these emotions of sadness, of rage, of confusion would burst out of me, sometimes with no warning. This is when I would get out of control. I could have been telling Davin that I was feeling good every day for the an entire month and suddenly I would explode. Which brought me to hurting myself.

All but one time that I attempted suicide were pure acts of desperation- I needed help and I didn't know what to do. I believe the first time was about a year after we were married. I opened a bottle of Excedrin and began taking them. I just kept popping them in my mouth. After a while I got really scared that I might actually die that I went and told Davin what I had been doing in the bathroom. He rushed me to the nearest hospital. By the time we got there I was shaking violently from the caffeine in the pills. I was lucky enough to not have my stomach pumped. I was forced to drink charcoal which made me throw up over and over- all while my body shook. ...I didn't want to die. If I had, I don't think I would have told Davin what I had done.

Another time I went for a walk. I walked to a nearby overpass and thought about jumping. I ended up calling Davin from my cell phone- he called the police on his way over- the police showed up and pulled me away. Again, if I really wanted to die, I would not have called Davin. One might wonder why I wouldn't just take off that mask and tell Davin I felt out of control and needed help rather than resorting to suicide threats. The answer to that comes back to the beast I was battling. Part of me wanted to ask for help, but for whatever reason, that ugly beast was out to destroy me. There aren't always clear answers when it comes to depression- sometimes it makes no sense at all- that's what makes it so scary.

Being in the hospital mental health unit is a scary place to be. I was surrounded by ill patients- some that suffered from illnesses more violent than my own. People talked to themselves. People yelled at the voices in their heads. I remember thinking "I don't belong here". Which made me doubt that I was sick at all. I didn't hear voices. I didn't see things that weren't there. Therefore I must not be crazy, right? Of course I was there for a reason- for example, I was standing on the edge of an overpass. But when I was suffering from moderate to severe depression and was locked up with others who had schizophrenia or similar illnesses, I started to think maybe I was imagining my illnesses. I felt like I should just get a grip and get over it. This is another battle I had many times. I felt like I was just feeling sorry for myself, and I had better just get over it. I am telling you right now, one should never have to have that battle in their head. If you ever feel you are depressed- you have a hard time dealing with the little and big things in life, or want to die, don't second guess yourself. Ever. You deserve help just as much as the next person.

The hospital I was in also had an outpatient program called partial hospitalization. I went through it on two separate occasions, and it proved to be very useful to me. The program was 9-3, Monday through Friday. It involved many activities, including daily group therapy. The program is meant to get you back on track with your life. Patients learn skills to cope with stresses in their lives, and help them figure out exactly how they are going to handle day to day life when they finish the program. It also provided monitoring and 'tweaking' of your medications.

I originally didn't want to be on meds- who does?- but I gave in. I accepted that my depression was more than a bump in the road, that I had a chemical imbalance in my brain. Mental illness, for some reason, is often compared to diabetes. Basically, you do not choose to have diabetes, just as you do not choose to have depression. So I went on medication. It took a lot of tweaking. a couple years worth. But the correct medication and dosage was eventually found for me, and I take it to this day. I still see my psychiatrist every few months for maintenance, and sometimes, tweaking. I have accepted I will always be on medication. Why? Because today I am happy. Today I am stable. I live what I consider 'normal'- I have felt 'normal' for several years now. Why on earth would I mess with that? I want to be a healthy mom for my children. I want to be a healthy wife and friend. I have an illness, but with medication and the skills that I have learned it is no longer part of my life. If I go off meds, that beast will come forward again, and there is no way I am letting that happen!

...I have at least one more post coming. Once I re-straighten my thoughts.