Coming Out of the Dark

This year, I had a major setback in my depression. For the first time, I actually contemplated suicide. The thought of leaving my children with no mother is what has stopped me all these years. But this time was different. I reasoned that they were adults now, 19 and 20 years old, and they would be fine without me. I started to read about how to go about getting a gun permit.

It seemed so complicated, the waiting period, and all the steps I would have to go through.

Then one morning as I waited for the train, it hit me. It was so simple. All I had to do was got to the wooded area between two of the stops. There were backstreets that dead-ended close to the tracks. Dress in colors that would blend into the color of the gravel on the tracks, and jump out in front of the Acella train. This train moved so fast, if I just stuck my head in front of it, I would be toast. There wouldn't be anything left of me. Easier that shooting myself and possibly missing.

Before I did it, I decided to go back on the Zoloft. It had always worked for me like an old friend, so I did, and I felt better.

I came to the realization that I would never be able to go off of these meds. I started to read about bipolar disorder, because it was when I felt really good that it simply seemed unecessary for me to need the zoloft. I'd go off it, and I'd sink into the abyss again. But the "high" times weren't the typical highs that I remember reading about being associated with bipolar disorder. I just simply felt happy.

In my new research, I discovered I was experiencing hypomania. A toned down form of the manic phase of bipolar disorder. I also read that folks who go on and off their antidepressant meds (like I had been doing) can increase the frequency of the high-low cycling.

I decided I needed to believe that Zoloft was to me what Insulin was to a Type I diabetic. I had to stay on it. It's been 5 months now, and I feel stable.

About two weeks ago, I was standing on my back porch letting the dogs out for a tinkle. My neighbor was busy preparing for her son's first birthday party. They had rented tables and tents, they set up a food table, a BBQ area, and a drink area. They put balloons all over. She and her mom worked busily and happily to make a terrific party. They had a Safari theme.

Looking at them, I realized I never had that support from a parent, my own or Dave's parents, when my kids were little. I had the brunt of it on myself as Dave rotated shifts and was drinking. I am not bitter at all, that is not the point. But it suddenly occurred to me, my daughter at least, will always need me. I want to be here for her in a way that my mother never was for me. And I felt really happy for the first time, that I didn't actually go through with my plan. I was happy that I decided to give the medicine one more try.

I just wanted to write this down so I remember it.