So What Happened? Part I

A WORD OF CAUTION/TRIGGER WARNING: This post discusses heavy subject matter like suicide and self harm and is not suitable for children.

Being on psychiatric medications, as I'm sure some of you know, can be quite a challenge. They can cause all sorts of fun side effects. The doctors tell you things like, "so you might experience fatigue, weight gain, dizziness, dry mouth, nausea, etc." but they never include things like, "when I say weight gain, I mean like 80 pounds and counting, girl" or "you might feel like you could nail an audition for The Walking Dead because you will be the next best thing to a real-life zombie" or "you might feel like passing out if you're on your feet for longer than 10 minutes"or "the couch is going to be your new best friend" or "you may have a hard time leaving the house and you may hardly do it at all." Heck, I would have been down with a recommendation to stock up on sweatpants because when you're on a heavy psych med cocktail, that's the outfit of the day - everyday.

So I'm ready to share my story. Some of you know it already. Some of you know bits and pieces. Some of you had no idea. Some of you might even be going through something similar. I love to write. I love to share. Take what you will. Use what you may. Here we go.

Having 2 kids did a number on my brain. I had been dealing with a manageable dose of depression for a decade before having kids but the stress of pregnancy, nursing, many late nights and all the overwhelming challenges of motherhood took what sanity I had left and turned it against me.

Last September, before being admitted to a psychiatric hospital, here are the symptoms I had been experiencing:

-Hearing intrusive voices in my head that told me horrible things about how I was the worst mother in the universe - 2 voices, both male
-I could go from being completely calm to being so painfully angry that I wanted to literally explode
-I had suicidal fantasies - very specific in nature - that calmed me but also sorely tempted me. I would stare at my wrists for long periods of time.
-Painful depressive waves. Such emotional agony that would ripple through me like a slowly encroaching wave of deep blackness. These waves happened 2-3 times a week, each one a little worse than the one before with no time to catch my breath in between.

One night, at the end of last September, the house was dark. Everyone was asleep except me as I had another appointment with Agony. I was lying on my back, eyes tightly shut, body trembling, teeth and fists clenched, a constant stream of tears on my temples. I imagined that my ankles and wrists were bolted to the bed. I didn't move. I couldn't allow any movement, not even to turn on my side, not even to scratch an itch. In that moment, there was a war in my head between two armies - Life and Death. In this moment, the scales were perfectly balanced but one small movement could tip them. I lie there paralyzed on my back until I fell asleep. By the time I woke up, I was still flat on my back. The tears started pouring again. I let out a sob and turned over on my side in a fetal position. I made it through the night. I survived. But with that knowledge came something new. I knew, without a doubt, that when the next episode came, I would have a plan in place to take my life. It would be a perfectly executed plan. It would be a beautiful plan because Agony could not torture someone who was dead.

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I am sorry this is such a heavy and depressing read. I can't finish this story in one post. It's too traumatic and too big of a bite to chew all at once. I wonder if this might perhaps seem controversial and too intense, but part of my treatment process has taught me that these struggles are okay to talk about and that they don't make me a bad person. I just hope that sharing my experience will help people feel less alone, and also help family members of those with mental illness. I will continue to share my story as time goes on. Thanks for reading!