As a child I grew up in a very unhappy home my stepfather was abusive some physical but mainly verbal. By the time I was a teen I was anorexic, cutting myself and obsessed with death. When I was 13 I made my first suicide attempt taking over the counter meds, all that happened was I woke up very sick the next day.
In high school I started dating a student 4 years older than me. I was loving the attention I got from him. But one day I showed up at home with him with a hickey on my neck and my parents were furious and banned me from ever seeing him again. It didn’t stop us and one day he took me to his house and locked us in his bedroom, when he wanted to go further I told him no but he wouldn’t stop and he raped me.
I couldn’t tell anyone because I was afraid of getting in trouble. So I just kept it to myself. I then let other boys use me because I felt like that was all I deserved. A year later after a major back injury I again tried to take my own life with my pain killers, again I just woke up very sick the next day.
After I graduated and received several music scholarships to a local college I moved out of my parents home and thought everything was going to be better. While I was working as a waitress I met my now husband. We moved in together after a month of dating, were engaged two months later and six months after that we were married.
He became very jealous and abusive.
I dropped out of school when my music instructor started questioning the bruises on my arm and my husband was constantly accusing me of cheating on him. I left him when I became pregnant with our first child, but he convinced me he would change and I came back.
He did stop hurting me.
But during this time my depression was coming back and with each of my next two pregnancies I had a harder time. During my third pregnancy my only sister killed herself. This prompted me to finally seek help. I started on an antidepressant that just made me feel numb and when we didn’t have insurance I couldn’t afford it so I stopped taking the medicine.
Over the years my depression just got worse. I would get panic attacks and become very suicidal every summer around the time I was raped. When my husband got a job with insurance I went to a family doctor and she immediately got me in with a psychiatrist.
The psychiatrist tried multiple combinations but nothing was working and for the third time I tried to overdose this time with my antidepressants. I ended up in the ER and was admitted to the behavioural health ward. It wasn’t scary like the movies, I was treated with respect and by staff that really seemed to care.
After about 5 days I was released and a few days later I had a complete psychotic breakdown (I assume it had to do with coming down off all the meds I have overdosed on) I began seeing things and hearing voices. I called the police out twice thinking someone was in the house. After the second time the officer was worried about the safety of the children since my husband was out of the country. He had my father in law take the kids and I was sent back to the hospital.
After a day I wanted to go home and I got into an argument with my psychiatrist who threatened to get a court order to force me to stay. A few days later I had calmed down and apologized to her.
After I was released I still had suicidal thoughts but they weren’t as severe and I could usually push them away. But a few months later they had gotten worse and I was afraid I would act on them. I went to my psychiatrist who could tell how distraught I was and admitted me straight into the hospital again.
At this point my husband became tired of it and was ready to walk away from me and take the kids.
He thought I needed to be in a group home. But after having a family session with the social worker he began to understand my illness more and since then has been extremely supportive. He has taken over for me with the majority of the home duties and with the kids. I still have a hard time being around my children as I get overwhelmed and frustrated easily.
I feel less depressed but I still have the suicidal thoughts like they have become a part of me. I keep a bottle of pills that I have saved up, the last time I overdosed the nurse told me only one of my meds were dangerous so I haven’t been taken it and instead have been keeping them.
It gives me some control in my life to know that I have them and that I have the choice to live or die. But I also know that help is there for me when I need it.
This anonymous guest post was submitted to me by email, if you have an experience that you would like to share in confidence please feel free to contact me .