I’d like to say straight away there may be things in this post you find upsetting or that might act as triggers.
The other day I wrote a note. I’m being disingenuous when I say it was little. In physical size yes-A4 if you’re interested. But in content it was huge.
It was a farewell note. An ‘I love you but I’ve let you all down’ note. It was an ‘I’m scared and confused and I am hurting people I love’ note. It was an ‘I can’t go on’ note. It was an ‘I hate myself for being ill and I’m not sure I can keep protecting you all from it’ note.
It was written, inside a sealed envelope, for my husband to find. I should say now that he knows about all of this and he knows I’m writing about it here too. I was ready to go. Mental illness takes you into depths of despair you never believed could exist.
And then my husband came and sat next to me. He didn’t say anything, he just sat. And then my son came up and gave me a hug. And I realised I had to fight. I had to for them. I haven’t got to the point of being able to fight for me just yet. I’m still in need of convincing I’m worth saving.
But my family. They are worth protecting. For a moment I thought they would be better off being protected from me if I wasn’t there. But my husband listened to me as I spoke through tears. And he, along with my children, gave me hope that this is an illness and I can beat it. One slow step at a time.
You see, when you’re head is ill it feels like you’re choosing to be ill. But as my husband said to me, ‘why would you choose to suffer the way you are?’ He’s right, I haven’t chosen this. It chose me.
I feel lost. I don’t want to be the person I was before I was ill but I don’t know how to be me now either. So I’m blundering on, making mistakes. Messing up, hurting people. And it feels awful. But I will keep going. I have to win. I have to.
I hope if you stuck with me to the end that I haven’t upset you. I’m being honest. And I’m trying to use my blog as another weapon to fight this utter desolation of depression.