This is going to be a shorter piece than usual because I am extremely pensive at the moment. TRIGGER WARNING: Discussion of depression, anxiety, PTSD, and the mental ward.
Today, I intended on writing something really lighthearted. I wanted to write a fluff piece, something to take my mind off of the hard things in my life right now. But, I can’t.
A year ago, to the day, I was in the mental ward at a hospital. I asked my husband to take me in to the Emergency room, and I checked myself in for a 72 hour hold. I was having serious thoughts of wanting to hurt myself. I knew how quickly that could spiral into suicidal thoughts or attempts, and I refused to let myself get to that point again. I made the hard choice to reach out for help even though I wanted nothing more than to fade into nonexistence.
On that day, I acknowledged to other people one of the worst things that has ever happened to me. (I am not ashamed of my experiences. I am not going to publicize that information for my own privacy though.) I took the first steps towards healing.
I had been fractured internally, and I needed to fall apart in order to put the pieces back together.
When I got out, I went straight into trauma therapy. My doctor and I switched the antidepressants I was on, started me on PTSD meds, and found something to help with my anxiety and panic attacks. After many trials and errors, I finally found Pristiq. Pristiq is the first medication that has truly relieved my depression and anxiety. It isn’t gone by any means, but it has made me capable of living and coping and functioning.
Some days are harder than others. There are days that I fall completely apart. I am self-critical and anxious. I deal with a lot of emotions, ones which I previously suppressed and shut out. Today happens to be one of those days.
But, I refuse to stop fighting. I refuse to give up on myself. I may have to deal with this for the rest of my life, but that doesn’t make life worth living.
And I will keep living.