On this day of international women’s day, I am going to celebrate me by celebrating the voice that I have. Though I am a mental health advocate and author, since around October or November of 2020, I have felt like I shouldn’t let me voice be heard. Why? That’s around the time that my mental relapse started to spiral downhill. On top of the relapse in depression, I found out I was pregnant with baby number 6. So, there were added pregnancy hormones plus the stress of not wanting another baby. “I’ll be okay though. This too shall pass.” I proceeded to convince myself. If I could convince myself that the relapse wasn’t happening, perhaps I could convince everyone else also, right? Well, that’s what I thought until it became harder and harder to want to get out of bed every morning; And, until I was dreading seeing morning come and looking forward to bed time every day. “If I continue to take my medicine (the antidepressants), this will be over soon” I would often say to myself.. until one day, I was taking my last pill. “No big deal. I’ll go to the pharmacy tomorrow to get my refill” I thought.
“You don’t have anymore refills on that medicine. We’ll have to fax your doctor and wait for a fax before we can refill that,” I was told by the pharmacist the next day. I still wasn’t going to tell anyone because my husband doesn’t understand how hard it is to do everyday functions with depression (as he would let me know quite often that I wasn’t fulfilling the role that I should have been around the house- which was a trigger for me) and I’m supposed to be the one helping others. I waited until the next day and contacted the pharmacy again. They let me know that haven’t received a fax back from my doctor, and that they would let me know when they did. “If I don’t hear from them, I’ll just be sure to tell the doctor to refill it when I go back to see them for the pregnancy checkup” I told myself. Except, I didn’t make it to the checkup before I fell face first into rock bottom.
My mental health continued to spiral downhill day after day until I found myself ready to leave this life to end the pain.
“My children don’t deserve a mother like this.”
“I’m not a good wife to my husband because I keep making him mad by not being able to do what I need to do.”
“He doesn’t want me here anyway.”
“Man, I’m such a burden to everyone.”
“I can’t make everyone keep putting up with me.”
“It’s just selfish of me to stay around like this.”
These were all my thoughts at the time, while the devil was sitting there with me co-signing “you’re right.”
I was sitting on the couch with my pills sitting beside me as I had not yet put them back up. I looked down at them as I was crying hysterically. “No, that death will be a slow, miserable one that way,” I thought. So I walked up stairs. I began searching in my husband’s drawers, through the closet, under the pillows, under the bed. I then went to the garage. I could not find a single one of his guns anywhere. At the same time, I was texting my mom telling her my final goodbyes. But.. I couldn’t find a gun. They’re always put up from the kids but not hard for me to find. So, once again, I felt defeated. I couldn’t even do everyone the simply favor by removing my burdensome self. I back to the couch and there they were again- the freshly refilled pill bottle as I had just refilled it a few days earlier at the same time I tried to refill my antidepressants.
“You might as well. You can’t find the gun” I heard the thought in my head say loud and clear.
...February 17, 2021...
I emptied the pill bottle of pills into my hand and took them all.
“This is going to do it for sure because of how many pills are in here,”
...March 8, 2021...
I’m still here. And, my voice still matters.
HAPPY INTERNATIONAL WOMEN’S DAY
-what does this day mean to you?
-How do you celebrate this day?
(Story to be continued)...