So, the last post ended with me confessing that I wanted to die, that I wanted to kill myself.
Of course, once my husband and family found out they were upset. I can't say what they felt, because I've never been in their shoes. But I know they were hurting. They were hurting for me. They were hurting because they trusted me, and I lied to them. Not just once. I had been lying for months by this point. My mom felt terrible, and placed a lot of blame on herself. She wondered what she had done wrong in raising me that I ended up like this. I've told her so many times since February that this isn't her fault. There is absolutely zero blame she should place on herself.
My first step in recovery was going to my PCP. She immediately referred me to Laureate (a local psychiatric facility,) She not only referred me, she called them and made sure I could come in that same day. My mom was with me. I didn't want anyone to go with me. But I'm glad she did. Because I don't think I would have gone to Laureate that day. When we got back to the car after leaving the PCP I just sat there for a minute. Trying to come up with a reason why I couldn't go right then. But I didn't have an excuse. So we went.
When we got there I was scared. I didn't know if they would admit me right then and make me stay. It was scary to have to put my purse in a locker and walk through a metal detector.
I had my evaluation, and they told me they could admit me right then if I felt like I needed it. She said she didn't think I needed to stay, but they would make it happen if I wanted to. I didn't want to stay, and I knew I would be ok to go home.
From there I started seeing a psychiatrist. The first step was to change my medication. I was dreading it because of the withdrawals this medicine brings. I had gone through it once before when I ran out of meds and couldn't get a new prescription in time. But I knew it was really my only choice. We had some trouble getting the insurance to pay for the new medicine she put me on, so it took longer to come off the old medicine than we had planned on. We also did "talk therapy." She didn't just throw a prescription at me and push me out the door to handle it on my own. Once again, talking about it out loud was so hard. It's almost surreal to say those words out loud. "I tried to kill myself." But it was good. And it was something that I knew I had to do to get better.
Sidenote: Therapy doesn't work for everyone. A lot of people, me included, think they are smarter than the therapist, so they don't actually allow it to work.
I made the decision to tell my close friends at work what happened. I also told most of the management at my facility. I was so scared of the withdrawals, that I knew they needed to know I may have to step off the line if I got too dizzy or nauseous. My friends at work responded in much the same way that my sisters did. Shocked. Worried. Thankful I was still alive.
For me, opening up to my friends and family has helped me tremendously. That may not be the case for everyone. And I didn't think it would help me as much as it has. But knowing that other people know, so I don't have to fake it, has helped me so much. Along with allowing the therapy to work, having other people I could lean on and talk to helped my recovery.
My mom and I came up with the motto: One Day At A Time. So that's been my motto for 2017. When it gets too overwhelming to think about how I'm going to get through the next week, month, year, I can stop and remind myself, one day at a time. It hasn't been easy. And I still have a lot of rough days. But I'm watching for the warning signs and reaching out when I need help. It's so hard being honest with people. My go-to response is always, "I'm fine." I'm trying not to say it when it's not true. I'm trying to be honest with my family and friends. Being honest is a big deal, since I had spent so much time lying. And I'm trying to teach myself that it's ok to not be ok. I don't have to lie and say I'm fine when I'm not. No one expects me to be 100% better all the time. So I shouldn't expect that of myself.
It's been almost 10 months since I tried to kill myself. I don't ever say I'm recovered. I always just say I'm recovering. I'm pulling myself up from the very bottom, the lowest you can go. I don't know if I'll ever get to the point where I can say I'm recovered, or I'm all better. But I'm better than what I was 10 months ago. I'm still trying to find my purpose here. God put me here for a reason. He kept me alive that day for a reason. So I'm going to live and work and try to find my place and my purpose. I know my babies need me. And now I feel like this is part of God's plan for me. I have to tell my story. I want my story to spread like wildfire. If one person can read my story and realize they are not alone...so they reach out for help instead of ending their life.....it's all worth it. That's why I'm telling my story. I want to help other people. Do me a favor. Share my blog. You never know who could stumble across it at just the right time.
Thank you for reading!! Since we're caught up with how we got here I think my next blog will be migraine related.
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