The night I wanted to kill myself.

It was the middle of the night when I drove up and parked at the Emergency Room at Wilford Hall Medical Center on Lackland AFB. It was dark outside, and humid. I parked the car, turned it off, and just sat there for a moment, staring at the doors. "I don't have to do this. I could just turn around and go back home.". But no, I knew that I had to do it. I got out of the car and slowly walked inside. I know it only took a minute but each step seemed to take an eternity. I went inside and stepped up to the desk, sat down and produced my military dependent id card, and started filling out the paperwork that everyone has to sign when they go to the ER at Wilford Hall. The person on the other side of the desk asked something along the lines of "What are you here for today?". I took a deep breath, hesitated, and said "I'm 3 months postpartum and I want to hurt myself.". The hardest sentence I'd ever spoken. 1 year earlier, I'd been sure that nothing would ever be harder to say than to tell my parents that my then boyfriend (now husband) and I were pregnant, but I had found a phrase that was more difficult to utter.

I don't really remember too much after that. I remember that the chaplain was there with me, having woken up in the middle of the night to meet me at the ER so that I wouldn't have to do it alone. I remember that they took me straight to the back instead of leaving me in the waiting room. I had my vitals taken and gave my medical history and then I was told that I was going to be given to the Charge Nurse. I don't remember her name, just that she was an officer in the US Air Force and had blonde hair and a very kind face and compassionate tone. She embodied what a nurse should be. She walked me back to a room right outside of one of the desks so that they could have eyes on me at all times. I was given a gown to put on. The Nurse asked me more questions about what was going on. I was crying. I told her my story. I told her that I felt like such a horrible mom and wife for abandoning my husband and baby daughter, that I felt so ashamed, that I was worried that someone would come to take my daughter away, that I was concerned that my husband would lose his security clearance because of me, that I was scared. The truth was, I wasn't scared. I was beyond terrified. I was terrified of how I felt, of what I might do to myself or my baby, and terrified that this would never end.

She was so kind to me. She told me that she had dealt with PPD and that there was nothing wrong with me that couldn't get better and that I hadn't done anything wrong but that I had done something very right by coming to the ER. She told me "I had PPD really bad and now look at me, I'm an officer in the Air Force and a nurse.". That was slightly reassuring. She told me "You will get through this, it won't last forever." and then wasn't offended that that was hard for me to believe.

I was given a gown to change into and my clothes and shoes were taken away, they made sure that there was nothing in the room that I could hurt myself with. They drew blood and ran an EKG on me, explaining that it was to make sure that there wasn't an underlying medical problem causing this. Everything came back normal and a doctor came in and talked to me. I said that yes, I would consent to being hospitalized and off he went to find out which facility out in town had room for me since neither of the military hospitals in town accepted dependents on a Psych hold, only Active Duty. Eventually, I was told that I was going to go to Laurel Ridge. The Chaplain prayed with me and eventually went home while I tried to get some sleep. Really I just laid there in the dark feeling so upset and ashamed, so weak, broken, feeling like a failure, waiting for the ambulance to come pick me up to transfer me to Laurel Ridge. That wouldn't happen until about 8:00am.

It was the longest night of my life. I laid there thinking that it was one of the worst nights of my life and that nothing would ever be the same again, that nothing would ever be better. I felt like I had let my family down. I can't really put into words properly all the emotions that were running through me, I can't depict how it felt. I was lying in a room by myself in the dark where I had to have the door open at all times, I had no privacy. I had to let them know if I needed to use the restroom. I felt dirty, ashamed, broken. It was one of the most humbling experiences I have ever been through. I can't even remember every detail, there's so much about the months leading up to that night, and that night itself, that are a hazy blur. I was there and I hated myself for it. I cried the entire night and a very good portion of the next day. If I finally settled down, someone could just glance in my direction and I would start back up again. I felt every emotion I possibly could and yet I felt nothing. I second guessed whether I should have gone. I was sure that I would regret it in the morning. I kept waiting for someone to ask me where my daughter was so they could take her away. I hated myself, what I had become, what I had almost done, and what I had done. Anyone who thinks that it's easy to admit to having suicidal ideations, PostPartum Depression, needing help, is mistaken. I literally felt like I was in a deep, black hole without any windows and without any sunlight even coming in from above. I wasn't sure I would survive.

I did.

I don't tell you this story to scare you if you need to seek help. I tell this story because I want people to know that I have been there. If you're there now, you will make it through. There is hope, there is help. If you know someone who is in this place right now, don't judge them. They're already doing a good enough job of that on their own. They need your help to be strong.

I tell this story to tell the world that not only did I survive, I came out a stronger and better person. I am a fighter. I am a warrior. I am a survivor. I am proud of it.

World Suicide Prevention Day

Today is World Suicide Prevention Day. Some people say that suicide is a cowardly and selfish act. For some, that may be so. But I don't think it's that black and white. I don't think there's anything about suicide or mental/emotional health that is black and white other than that there is nothing black and white about it. And unless you've been there, been on the brink, you can't really understand, not 100%. Heck, even if you have been there, struggling with the decision of whether or not life is worth living, with whether or not to take your own life, you don't always understand. I don't. And that's okay. Contrary to what society seems to believe about everything, it's okay to not understand and to admit that you don't understand.

I don't really have any deeply profound thoughts or anything, but I want to take this day to remember all those who have committed suicide, pray for their loved ones, hope that the ones who are contemplating suicide reach out for help and find a reason to go on living, and honor those who have gone on living even when they didn't want to. If you are one of those people who has chosen to go on with life, the world is a better place with you in it. Don't let anyone make you feel guilty for wrestling with your own feelings. There is NOTHING wrong with struggling with your emotions, with feeling overwhelmed. Heck, even if you attempted suicide, don't let anyone judge you. If you know someone who has attempted or committed suicide, don't judge. Judgement is for God and God alone. And if you don't believe in God, it is still not your place to judge the emotions, feelings, and choices of another.

To all those who feel alone, you are not. To any who feel hopeless, there is always hope.

Suicide Prevention Week

It has been brought to my attention that September 2 - 8 is Suicide Prevention Week. In all the craziness of moving, I totally missed that. *slaps own wrist* I don't really have any great inspiration for deeply profound things to write on the topic so I"ll just kind of ramble and post links to some resources.

Several thoughts come to mind.
1. There but for the grace of God go I. I am SO thankful that I was able to get help and get past the crisis point. I'm sad for all the people who didn't. I'm thankful for my life and for the people who reached out to me when I was in a very dark place.
2. Why is suicide such a taboo subject in our society? Awareness and openness to talk about it has come a long way but just as with other mental/emotional health topics, there's still a stigma attached. How many people might be more willing to reach out for help if they didn't feel like they'd be labeled or something?

The bottom line for me is this: if someone you know says they are thinking of hurting or killing themselves, do something about it. I had a situation where a friend of mine and my husband's said she was having suicidal ideations. My husband took her to the hospital. She told the docs he misunderstood. I went and told the docs otherwise and a lot of backstory that had to do with it. She was mad at us, and we ended up with some trouble she caused for us over it, but I wouldn't change either of our actions. We did the right thing. Do the right thing, even if you know you'll catch backlash over it. It's called integrity.

If you are the person who is thinking of hurting or killing yourself, please don't. Know that you are not alone, that there is help, that there is hope. Go to the emergency room, call 911, call a helpline. I'll post some links to some resources.
http://psychcentral.com/helpme.htm
http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/
http://www.hopeline.com/
http://suicidehotlines.com/national.html
http://samaritanshope.org/

1-800-273-TALK (8255)

Something else to be aware of before I sign off: suicidal ideations can be caused by underlying medical issues, such as thyroid deficiencies or a pulmonary embolism. It's not always the result of "only" a mental/emotional health issue.

This week, make an effort to reach out to someone who is hurting. You could be the hand that saves them. If you're the one who is hurting, please don't be afraid to reach out to ask for help. The world is a better place with you in it. I mean that.

What do I have to live for?

When I was hitting my lowest point in my struggle with PPD, the night I decided to go to the ER, I had suicidal ideations. Making the choice to reach out for help, to say "Hey, this is how I feel" was incredibly difficult. It's not an easy thing to admit that you struggle with something that is as stigmatized as PPD is and that you need help, that you really can't do it on your own.

What helped me make the choice to make that call? What was it, when I was standing at the top of the stairs looking down and thinking how easy it would be to jump forwards, that moved me to step back and go get the phone and call the Chaplain, to get the car keys and drive to the ER? 

It was the knowledge that my daughter needed her mommy, that I didn't want to hurt her in any way, that my husband loved me and would be so hurt and lonely without me, that did it. I don't even remember that going through my mind as a rational, logical thought process, I just remember that it was there in my thoughts, that I didn't want to end up another Andrea Yates. 

I did it for my daughter, and I would do it again for my daughters. I realize now, on the other side, that I have so much to live for. I have two beautiful, wonderful, healthy daughters. I have a husband who loves me, treats me better than a queen, and who would do anything for me. I have a home, pets I love, family and friends who would (and have) drop anything to help me. To anyone who's reading this who struggles with feeling like their life is worthless, like you don't matter and you and/or anyone else would be better off if you were dead, like you're alone, you're not alone, you are not worthless, you do matter, and someone out there cares. When you ask yourself "What do I have to live for?", stop and think, you might have more to live for than you first realize.

The voice of a friend

A very dear friend read my blog and shared with me her point of view on my PPD, I thought it was very good and got her permission to post it here.

So I went to see my friend and her baby at the hospital. Both looked tired but happy, but birth is such a wonderful thing you focus on the positive.


Then a couple of days later, when my friend got home, I brought her food for a couple of days. Instead of being her over the top grateful self, she was a little more like, "yeah, fine, thanks." I felt like I was intruding.


So about a week after the birth I came by to see what I could do to help and to get my cooler and dishes. This is the first time I never saw my friend smile. Not even a tired one or a faked one. But I wrote it off to the fatigue of being a new mom. I don't have kids so I don't know how it is. I didn't want to be that childless friend who started telling a new mom "how it is".


After picking up my cooler, I went home and spoke to my husband. He looked at the situation very matter of factly. DH asked, "What would you do if someone said I am worried you have psych issues?" And honestly, as much as I hate to say it, I would be taken aback. I would like to think that I would know that the person was coming to me with my best interest at heart, but I don't know if I would.


Over the next couple of weeks, my phone calls were going unanswered. Even offers to come over and clean, do dishes, do laundry didn't get a reply. With my background in medicine, I knew about PPD, but reading it in a text book or seeing it in a patient with severe psych issues is different. My friend had no prior psych issues that I knew of, but I was too scared to ask. How do you ask someone "Hey, have you ever had a problem?"


So I started doubting myself. "Did I do something to step on her toes?", "Am I 'smothering' her?", "Maybe she and her husband really have everything under control and don't need help, but don't want to call me back because they feel like I am begging an invitation over."


By about the six week mark, I took it personally. My friend still wasn't returning calls, so I stopped really calling. Occassionally I would check in with her husband, but even those conversations were 'off'. He was short, terse with me. When I asked how things are, I got a lot of one word answers. Again, instead of seeing this as a sign I needed to step further into the situation, I saw this as my cue to exit.


A few months after the baby was born, I hear through the grapevine that my friend went to the ER and has been hospitalized. I have pretty extensive medical knowledge and this scared me. I felt shame. I should have seen this. I should have helped her stop things sooner. PPD shouldn't be that tough to "diagnose", I was failing her as a friend for not catching this. But once again, I figured if she was in the hospital the best I can do is support her amazing husband. He welcomed the support with open arms.


When she got out she was better, but things still weren't right. And I knew I wasn't seeing the worst of it. I knew she wasn't sleeping, but what could I do. I knew she was having anxiety issues, but again felt like my hands were tied. Then I began to wonder if there was more than I was being told about.


Unfortunately there was. She ended up being hospitalized a second time. This time I stepped up. I finally asked myself, "Would you rather be 'hated' for helping too much than for not being there when she needed you?" And my answer was clear.


Her husband and I went up to visit her. (And I had my first experience with a diaper change requiring a bath.) I had some worries about going to a psych hospital. What if someone I know sees me going in there? What if I say something to make her worse, are they going to kick me out and make a scene? What if something about me sets off a trigger and they think I need help?


After that I babysat (as much as I could). I would make it a point to talk to my friend at least once each week and actually talk. I would inquire how things are and if I felt she was giving me a "one word answer", I would push it. "No really, I want to know how you are." I would offer to come over and help clean. I would encourage her to come out with me.


This was a learning experience. This woman and mother is my closest friend where I live now. I fear I could have lost her because I was too scared to ask the questions. I was terrified to honestly tell her that I saw a problem.


To be blunt would you rather:
A) lose a friend who is wandering through a dark place, looking for help and not seeing it, and eventually comes to a choice that will alter her life forever
Or B) lose a friend for being too interested, too helpful, or too honest?

Still going strong

It's been almost 3 months since I came off of the Celexa and I am doing great. I haven't had a need to go to the ER or talk to a therapist, I haven't had to take Ativan... no more depression, yay! I posted this recently on a forum I'm part of...

Ok. So I realized that it has been 6 months since I took any Ambien or Ativan. Even better, it's been 3 months since I took antidepressants and in that 3 months, I haven't NEEDED to take anything and I haven't had to go to the therapist or the ER or anything like that! It may seem like not that big a deal but it's a HUGE deal to me. Considering that this time a year ago I was in the middle of PPD and just didn't know that's what it was, and I was sure I would never feel normal again, I'm so happy to be off the meds and that everything is under control with the Synthroid.

and

11 months ago, I was being admitted to the hospital and stayed for a little over a week. I felt like the worst mama and wife in the world, I pretty literally couldn't stop crying, and I didn't believe any of the doctors or nurses or staff at the hospital who told me I really would be okay and that it wouldn't last forever. I was so ashamed of what was going on and felt like it was my fault in some way and I thought I would never feel "right" or "normal" again. It's a great feeling to know that I beat that. It was such a rough fight and it really shed a lot of light for me on the stigma and lack of understanding that accompanies any type of mental or emotional issue like PPD. Even DH didn't understand how long it could last and felt like I should have been "better" sooner than I was and got frustrated. I got frustrated with myself. Now I look back and I'm so proud of myself for making it past something I thought was insurmountable and for making myself get the help that I needed even though I was ashamed to. I'm proud of the fact that I'm not ashamed anymore and that I can openly talk about what I went through in hopes of helping someone else, and I'm so happy to have been able to help others who have been in my situation and needed to know they weren't alone. I think this is something God has given me that I can use as a ministry to reach out to others. I'm thankful that I had access to the help I needed and the resources to help me through it. I'm thankful for a husband who supported me even when he didn't understand what was going on, for a family that supported me, for friends who helped out with watching Muffin and getting me out of the house, and for friends online who supported me and were actually part of why I finally admitted I needed to go to the ER.

I used to be ashamed of what happened to me, of what I was dealing with. Now, I know that it wasn't my fault and it didn't say ANYTHING about me as a person, it certainly didn't make me a bad Christian or a bad wife or mother. I thank God for getting me through what He has and for bringing me out a stronger woman. I share my experiences now with people and I'm proud of the fact that I've been able to help others know they're not alone in this. I know what to watch for in myself after I have the next baby and others close to me know what to watch for in me. I no longer see it as a mark of shame but as a badge of courage that I made it. I survived. Last year, I literally wasn't sure I would.

I'm me!

3 months of medication for my thyroid has done what the Celexa and Lexapro and Ativan never could quite do... I feel like myself again! I think it's a misnomer to say that I feel like my old self again, I will never feel like my old self again because I will never BE my old self again. I've had a daughter, adjusted to motherhood, struggled with PPD and suicidal ideations and all the feelings of guilt and inadequacy that come with PPD, and some much more. I'd like to think that I am a stronger woman and to some degree, wiser and more mature although I don't know how far that goes. :P However, I am happy with who I am and where I am and I feel like a PERSON again. I feel like I've stepped out of a land of shadows into the daylight.

I've come off of the antidepressants totally, the last time Celexa touched my lips was March 30 and I haven't had Ativan since December. I'm doing great, I haven't had any relapses into wanting to hurt or kill myself or anyone else, I haven't been sick or anything, I've barely even had any issues with RLS. I'm so incredibly happy to finally be off the meds. It was with the blessing of my psychologist and the GP I saw at the Family Medicine Clinic. It feels like a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders. All the glory for this belongs to God. As incredibly off as my thyroid was (the numbers were HIDEOUS), there's no way that I *should* have gotten to Within Normal Limits in 3 months and on only the second dose they put me on (started on .25 and am now holding steady at .50) but I am not only okay on my thyroid, I'm off the antidepressants faster and easier than I *should* have been.