Long Road to Recovery

Last February, I was in the worst place I had ever been.

Drowning under a career I couldn’t handle, struggling to pay those ever-mounting bills, dealing with my overbearing parents, and in the back ground, I was facing depression and anxiety.

If you’re reading this you might just know how it starts; struggling to keep your eyes open, finding it hard to string a sentence together, not being able to think straight and feeling as if the world loses all importance.

Slowly those thoughts, you know the ones, start to whisper to you and the worst part is that you begin to listen to them. They start to make sense to you.

You feel like you can’t talk to anyone about it. You tell yourself that they wouldn't understand. How would you bring it up in conversation? Would they think you were weak? Would they think you are crazy?

You begin to withdraw, you call in sick from work, you don't speak to friends or family anymore. You eat too much or too little. You can't remember the last time you showered.

On February 16, I tried to take my own life.

I won’t go into detail about it because reliving it is upsetting. I'm writing this so you can probably guess the outcome anyway. My partner saved my life that night. I feel bad about that part. He didn't deserve what I put him through.

The next morning he took me to the doctors (despite me begging him not to) and I had the most difficult conversation I have ever had in my life. I couldn't explain to the doctor what had happened. I couldn't face the words. I wrote it down for him so I didn't have to talk about it. It was so scary to get the help that I needed.

My partner wrapped his arms around me when I got home and he told me he was so proud of me. I broke down in tears. I had only been able to see my weakness but he was able to see how strong I had been and how tough it was for me to go.

Getting Treatment:

I was afraid that they would lock me away or that they would put me on so much medication I wouldn’t know what my name was.

That didn't happen.

I was scheduled an appointment at the Mental Health Clinic and I had therapy there for a while. I was allowed to go home. I wasn’t held at the clinic like I envisioned. In fact the whole process wasn’t anything like I envisioned at all.

It was hard. I won’t pretend like I saw a doctor and my mental illness magically disappeared. But I did get better.

I had to have a tough conversation with my parents which was an important part of my recovery. The hardest part for me was admitting what had happened. I had to tell them what I needed and what would help me. And for the most part they did their best to help because despite what those thoughts had whispered to me, my parents did love me.

Ten Months On:

I went back to work in November. I got married. I’m planning a holiday. This doesn’t mean that I don’t have bad days and sometimes those thoughts do start to creep back. But when those thoughts do come back I remember my husband, I remember all of the things that I still want to do and I push them away. I always remember to ask for help if I need it because sometimes you can't take on the world all alone.

If you take nothing else from this article, remember this part: you aren’t suffering alone. There is someone who loves you. Your thoughts don’t always tell you the truth. It’s okay to not be okay. And most importantly: you are allowed to need help and to ask for it.