This is hard to share. I’ve been talking and writing about how I am working through my current battle with my mental state because it helps me to sort through all my thoughts and feelings. It helps me to think that someone might stumble upon my words out here and not feel alone. It helps me to think I might help someone else.
That’s why it has been important to me that I find a way to share my lowest point. But I’ve been afraid to because I fear people will think differently of me. They will not want to be around me anymore. They will decide I’m too much to deal with. I fear I will lose people I care about.
But I have to take that chance if I really want to lessen the shame and stigma of mental illness.
This was a day in early August that I believe I have enough perspective on to finally share. I’ve worked on enough to know I’m in a better place than I was then.
Trigger warning: Suicidal talk
The morning was frustrating. Not really any more than other days. The kids weren’t all that cooperative about getting ready for camp. We were running late. The usual.
I felt annoyed and angry. I felt sad. I dropped them off and headed towards work.
My mind began to go over the morning, go over and over everything. Go over the past. Revisiting and rethinking and reevaluating whatever floats into my brain.
I was just merging onto the highway when I realized the magnitude of what I was thinking.
I wouldn’t want my family to find me. That would be terrible for them. They wouldn’t be able to forget the scene.
I would have to go somewhere else. A park maybe. Somewhere I would be found but not by my family. Somewhere I wouldn’t be lost for long so they wouldn’t have to wonder what happened.
I couldn’t really handle a lot of pain or blood. I don’t know if I could rig some kind of hanging.
It would have to be pills. Something where I went to sleep and never woke up. I don’t know what pills but I could find out. It can’t be that hard to get my hands on something.
I’m planning. How did I get to here? How am I planning my suicide?
I begin sobbing. I’m scared. This can’t be happening. I can’t be planning.
I call my husband.
“Can you talk to me?” I utter through sobs. He sounds concerned and he says he can. “What’s wrong?”
I explain where my mind is, how scared I am, I say I need to talk, I need to not be alone.
He listens, he asks questions, he’s there. He’s helping as best as a frightened husband of a wife talking about suicide can be when only connected at the time by phone.
I get to the parking lot at work and I sob and we talk for a while more. I feel as if I have to go in, to start the day, to go into what’s normal to move through and past what just happened in my mind.
It’s a rough day to get through. But I feel I need to be around people even if I don’t really want to be around people.
He was going to drive me home but I believe I’m ok to do it myself. But I was wrong and I am wondering where the parks are as I drive and cry.
I get home and I know I have to get more help.
I have never been like this before. I’ve never begun planning. I’m scared.
But I keep going. One day at a time. I have to get better. This is not how my story ends.