It's not ok to not be ok.

There is a popular saying about mental health-"It's ok to not be ok." It references mental health and the struggle to tell others when you need help, instead of letting it get the best of you. It means that you don't have to act like everything is ok when it's not. It gives a sense that if you are struggling and ask for help, that you will get that help, without negative consequences. After all, you are doing the right thing by taking care of yourself, right?

I am here to tell you the truth. It's not ok to not be ok. You certainly can ask for help. You can seek out a friend, or professional, and you will get the help you need. What they don't tell you though, is that the help comes with a price. Not a monetary cost. A cost that is much higher that one could pay with material things.

The short version of my story is this; I have silently dealt with mental health issues since around the age of 16. Back then, I just didn't tell anyone about how I felt. I had certain feelings. I would lay in bed at night and plan my death. Eventually though, it worked itself out, so I thought I had a handle on it. No need to involve adults. Through out adulthood, I continued to have problems from time to time. I was on anti-depressants here and there, but they never really helped much. I was married, had two children, got divorced. Started a new relationship and got pregnant. The baby was born, then died two months later. I was the force holding everyone together though, so no tears for me. I pushed on. I had two more children, and then had to kick my second husband out. He was addicted to pain killers and had a controlling personality. Still, I persevered. I was a single mom and was rocking it.

I reconnected with a highschool friend. We became best friends. He moved in and became a part my children and mines lives. Life was good. Until it wasn't. It didn't all fall apart at once. It was gradual. I started drinking. Just a glass of wine at night to take the edge off. My temper started to flare. My patience were thin. I started acting irrationally. Throwing things, jumping out of moving cars when upset. Oh, and I was a cutter. You know, a person who uses a sharp object to hurt themselves. It was one of the only ways I could release some of my pain and anxiety.

One day, my partner and best friend decided he'd had enough and couldn't handle my behavior anymore. He left me. I thought if I got help, he'd want to work things out. I started seeking out a psychiatrist, only to learn that everyone was book 3 to 6 months out. Knowing I wouldn't make it that long without something really bad happening, I ended up on the doorstep of an inpatient mental health facility.

After a thorough examine, it was decided it was best to be admitted. Just three days-straighten out my meds and I would leave with an outpatient psychiatrist lined up for me. It seemed like my best option at the moment.

I tried to make proper arrangements for my kids, which didn't work out the way I'd wanted and ended up causing major issues between my sister and I. Ultimately though, they ended up with their dads and it mostly worked out.

My stay ended up being five or so days, because of the weekend. It ended up well though. I got a lot out of the program and new meds. Great.

When I went home, my older kids dad said he'd keep them for the summer so that I could work on myself. Sounded like a good plan, but looking back, that was a mistake.

I felt a bit better for a couple weeks, but my partner decided he didn't want anything to do with me, in spite of me getting help. This took a big toll on me mentally. Being away from my kids for such a long time in a row also wore on me.

About a month later, I was back a square one. Feeling so down and anxiety ridden that I was severely suicidal. I had a very well planned out idea of how and when I'd do it. I didn't want to die, necessarily, but I wanted the way I felt to go away; the depression, the extreme anxiety. It seemed the only way to do that was to die.

On a particularly bad day, a day that I had decided I was done with life, I decided to text a friend that I had really been in touch with in years. We were very close as school friends, and a bit in adulthood, but it had been at least 8 years since we had really had much of a relationship. He was someone I trusted and who had helped me through some tough spots in life, so I spilled my beans about the last 8 years and everything I was currently going through, leaving out the part about planning to kill myself the next day.

He knew me well enough to know something was really wrong, and he showed up at my house that day. After talking for hours and hours, mostly about life in general, not really about the problem at hand, around midnight he decided to leave. I broke down. I thought spending time with him would make me feel better. I thought it would make me change my mind about the next day, but it didn't. I called him and asked him to come back.

He did, and he spent the rest of the night with me trying to convince me that life was worth living. His wife was so patient that night. She invited me to dinner the next day. I declined, but eventually gave in and agreed to lunch, since I'd still have time to carry out my plan then.

Around 6 am, when Aj, my friend, was comfortable I'd live until lunch time, we parted ways.

I ended up spending the entire day with Aj and his family. It would be the beginning of a new and wonderful relationship with all five of them. I never ended up carrying out my plan because I was having such a good time with his family, I just never left to do it. Late that evening when I did go home, I actually felt a lot better, although the feeling would be temporary.

A few more weeks pasted. I started going to church with Aj and his family. I had gotten away from church for several years, but felt at home in their church.

I planned a last minute beach trip for the kids and I. Just an over night thing in Wildwood. We had a blast. The hotel was nice. The kibeds behaved perfectly. It was a great weekend. I took my older two kids home, and then the trouble started. I bought the younger two some icecream and we sat outside. They eat their treat and I started drinking. I was messaging a friend, who eventually got worried and contacted another friend, both from my time in the hospital, and the police got involved. An officer showed up and said he needed to do a wellness check. I explained I was just having a bad night and drank a little too much, but I was fine. He agreed and told me to call him if I did need anything.

The night went down hill from their. I messaged Aj, asking him to come over, but making him promise not to call anyone for help. He showed up, accessed the scene and made a decision that would change my life forever. He had his parents call 911 so that he technically kept his promise. I never tried to hurt myself that night. I have no suicidal attempts. Just plans. Plans that I never carried out. I was a mess though, and agreed to go to the emergency room to be evaluated. I could have done the wrong thing. I could have lied and gotten to go back home. I probably wouldn't be telling this story then, because I'd be dead. I decided to do the right thing. I told the truth and it was decided I should be admitted to the hospital again.

That decision will haunt me for the rest of my life. Aj's decision will haunt me for the rest of my life. Did we both make the right choices? Absolutely! Did those choices destroy my life? Absolutely!

While I was in the hospital, both of my kids dads decided to take my kids away from me permanently. I found out about my older kids when I called to check on them. A hearing took plMce without me even knowing about it.

I lost it that night. I refused to take my meds, to sleep. My kids were my life. They had never been in danger. I was a good mom. They didnt see mental health issues. I had always protected them. Now my entire world was lost.

The day I left the hospital, I was served with papers about the hearing for my younger two. I thought it that one would be an easy win. My older kids dad at least was a good dad. The younger kids dad, not so much. Any judge would see that.

I went to court that morning over confident. I realized the judge was the same judge that had dealt with all of my ex's child support contempt issues. He owed me over $14, 000 in back support. Surely this would be a no brainer. The judge knew my ex's personality. He knew he was irresponsible. His laywer tried to talk to me and I made some snide comments. We went before the judge. I explained my case. The judge didn't care what I had to say, to my surprise. All that mattered to him was that I apparently "tried to kill myself" because that's the lie that was put into the report filed in court, and that I had been hospitalized. He didn't care that I was a good mom. He didn't care that my ex wasn't a good dad.

He granted custody. to my ex and my already fragile world crumbled. This would begin months of court time and a long custody battle.

My ex's lawyer was relentless. He gave me no credit. He refused several times to even consider changing the agreement, which only gave me two weekends a month with the children I had previously been raising full 0time5.

At one point, my ex and I had agreed to 50/50 but once we were in court, he went back on that. It was the hardest year of my life. Having to fight for even SOME time with my children. Everything about my life was under a microscope. I had to walk the line every single minute and still got nowwhere for months.

Finally, I requested to go before a judge and go to trial. I didn't have a lawyer, but I felt like I could hold my own. Days before the trial, My ex's laywer submitted a deal to me. It wasn't what I wanted but I thought I could handle it. After further discussing it with my ex, we agreed to every other week of Thursday to Monday. Not exactly 50/50 but close.

It's been almost two years since my hospitalization. I see my older kids every other weekend from Friday to Sunday and my younger two still on the same schedule as above. Where as it is nice to have time to myself, I hate every minute of both these arrangements.

I want to be with my kids all the time, and they want to be with me. They don't understand why they were taken away, as again, they were always safe and well cared for.

Some days I am adamant about getting a lawyer and going back to court, but most days I just suffer in silence. I can't afford a lawyer and I was so beaten down emotionally from the last battle that I don't know if I can go through it again.

So, in conclusion, it's not ok to not be ok. Youg can get help, but in the process you will lose the very things that make you want to live. You will lose your dignity. Your freedom. Your kids. Your life as you know it.

Am I telling you not to get help? No. Get the help. I just want to prepare you for consequences of getting the help you need. I want to inform you that the world hasn't caught up with the reality of mental health yet. They still think we are just crazy and a danger to those around us.

Hang in there though. It does get better. And find a friend! Aj and his family have saved my life in more ways then one!