The stories in the news lately about mentally ill people who don’t get medical attention and start shooting people are starting to affect me. I don’t believe I could potentially do anything such as that, but I feel like I am on the verge of a breakdown again. I recognize the signs because it’s happened to me before. I get suicidal and can’t function in society, or in my own house for that matter. The ups and downs are starting to get closer together and more severe. Many years have passed since my last major episode as I really try to keep myself together for my children. They’ve seen enough. Now that I have escaped their father, they deserve freedom from chaos. I don’t have a job right now, (which is my own fault because I quit) and my medical insurance has expired. I am running out of meds and I am scared. I knew this was approaching, but I just couldn’t do it anymore. I worked in the customer service industry for over 20 years. I couldn’t serve one more ungrateful, entitled prick a cup of coffee. I tried. I really stuck it out as long as possible. When my company got the new POS systems (2 in a matter of 6 months) that was the final straw. With nearly no training, after using the same program for 3 years, I ran to the back office crying at least once a week. I was a manger, and I couldn’t dig myself out a technological hole in front of my employees or a line of customers. I felt so stupid. Like a useless waste of space. I still do.
I just want to feel normal. Whatever normal is, I am not sure. But not crying all the time would be a great place to start. I want to stop hating myself. My daughter said to me yesterday, “You know mom, you’re not going to get fat if you skip one day of working out.” How can she read me like that? I try so hard not to let her know what goes on in this defeated head of mine. I don’t want her to end up like me. I want her to know she is beautiful no matter what. She’s had a different start. As I’ve mentioned before… my first boyfriend made fun of my 16 year old not yet developed breasts. My second boyfriend told me I was fat, and my third boyfriend held me over a 3rd story balcony by my shirt. It’s no surprise I am a mess. My daughter is only 11, but I am still scared…because I am scarred.
Some would say just snap out of it. Well, It’s not that easy. Just like people who roll their eyes and judge women who don’t leave abusive situations. You don’t know unless you’ve been there. When I try and cut back on my medications, I want to crawl into a hole and stay there. When I became this depressed before, I ended up drinking myself into a treatment center because I couldn’t cope with the pain of being alive. My mother supplied me with pain pills and valium. I had to work and take care of my kids. I couldn’t get out of bed without medicating myself.
I was diagnosed clinically depressed with a severe anxiety disorder when I was 22 years old. I am 38 and have tried my hardest to reverse this diagnosis with exercise, food, natural drugs, and writing. Nothing works. I still exercise and eat healthy, but that is mainly motivated by a fear of getting fat. I already can’t stand looking at myself in the mirror. I can barely stand the silence in the room right this very second because it’s filled with me. At the same time, I hate being around people. I have not worked out in 4 days. I never go that long. I know that is part of what is contributing to this sadness I am feeling. But because of this sadness, I don’t have the energy to go outside. I can barely force a smile. This is hard when I live with four other people, 2 of which are my own children. I want to smile. I want them to know I love them, although my face isn’t showing it. It isn’t showing anything. Just indifference.
I would find a way to leave this world if it weren’t for my kids. It feels like my only accomplishment in life is having my kids. They are great. Considering what we’ve been through, they are better than great. They have seen me with my eyes blue and purple, a fat lip from my face being stepped on by their father. They have been backed up against a wall, watching him scream at me and threaten me. All three of us were chased down the stairs by him, trying to steal my car keys as I scrambled to called the police. We barely made it in the car before he banged on the windows screaming at me as I screeched away. Father of the year, I know. I will never know how much they remember, or where they have buried it if they do, but so far an angel has been with them through it all.
I need to be well for them. I need to be happy for them. They deserve it. But when my brain chemistry says otherwise, I find myself in this agonizing pain. It feels like I am being pulled in a million different directions. I feel as though I am actually lower than the ground. Physically. I want to give up, but I know that is not an option. If something were to happen to me, they would go back to their father. Although he is a drug addict with no job, no place to live, and we are divorced, the state would rather give them to him than my significant other. I am in a lesbian relationship, and even if we were to get married, the sperm donor has more rights. Ridiculous! I am trying to get through to DSHS to get mental health assistance. I can’t function this way. I wanted so badly to get off of them and feel okay. It didn’t happen. I am still only taking half off my prescribed dosage of antidepressants, because I am afraid I’ll run out. I have 2 refills left on my anti anxiety medication. I need to get help before the end of the next 2 months. We are hosting Thanksgiving and most likely Christmas. My significant other’s family is going to know I am sick. I am embarrassed and ashamed. I want to get a job again, but what is stopping me is fear of people. I can’t serve people anymore. I will snap.
I feel so bad for those people who are mentally ill and go off the deep end. I understand. The pain is too much. I had a friend in college who, from what I could see, was successful and managing his depression. He had two little boys. He was in a lot of pain and committed suicide a couple months ago. Many would say how selfish that is to take your own life, especially when you have children. I have attempted suicide many times, the first time at the age of 14. I have been hospitalized 3 times because of it. It wasn’t a cry for help. When you want to die, you really want to die. And you don’t tell anyone, you just do it. So if someone judges another for taking their life, I think that person is shallow and ignorant. I learned in church many years ago that it is considered a sin to kill yourself, and you go straight to hell. Well, that’s encouraging. I don’t go to church anymore. For more reasons than that, but that ludicrous thinking is just an example.
I hope no one is going to take this post the wrong way. I am not going to go crazy on the general public, and I am not going to commit suicide. If I was, you wouldn’t be reading about it. I am just expressing my understanding of other’s pain. I am expressing my own pain. Trying to make some sense of it. I am realizing how difficult it is to get help when you don’t have money. It is a sad, frustrating, downward spiral. It is a cycle. People need to be aware of it. Last month was Domestic Violence Awareness month. I heard it mentioned maybe twice. I take a short trip to the grocery store and everything is covered in PINK. Breast cancer is serious. However, there are other tragedies happening right in front of our eyes. Mental health (and lack of help for it) being one of them. Especially in light of the recent tragedies at the hands of mentally ill individuals. It is not their fault. Most of them reached out for help. They were ignored. People are now dead. To be depressed, in pain, and have no one understand is a serious affliction. It hurts my heart, and I hope it does yours. I am going to try and get through to DSHS again before my kids gets home. Thanks for listening.