I took a suicide prevention class last night. It was something they really wanted all the key callers to take. And I’m glad I took it, but it was SO hard to sit through, and it brought up so many memories and feelings, that I had to step out, and when I came back in I was like, I’m sorry, this is just too hard, and it is bringing up memories, and started crying. Nobody in that room knew my story. And I wanted to share, but I didn’t want to share either.
I can’t remember if I’ve told this part of my story here. I know I brought it up to a fellow birth mom blogger. She’s going through her own stuff, with the adoption, because it is way more recent than my adoption, and I really want to help. So I think last night it made it clear I needed to share this part of my story, again, if I already have.
So I’ve dealt with depression for years, been on and off anti-depressants and seeing a therapist and psychiatrist since I was a teenager. When I got pregnant I was off my meds, and out of therapy. I shouldn’t have been, but I was. But when I found out I was pregnant, and started to think about the adoption plan aspect, I knew I needed to get in to see my therapist pronto. So I spent the whole 9 months in therapy, I wasn’t on any medication, I honestly didn’t need it, and I didn’t want to subject that baby to that. But I knew that the minute he was born, I’d need something, I’d need help.
As soon as it was safe, they added anxiety meds to my IV, and I think even that night in the hospital I started Prozac.
When I got home, I went back to therapy and started taking medication regularly. But about a month after his birth, I hit rock bottom. I didn’t know how I was going to go on with my life. I didn’t want to go on with my life. So my therapist and psychiatrist put me on suicide watch for a weekend, and when that didn’t really help, they told me I needed to check myself into the mental hospital. As scary as that was for me, it was really the best thing for me. We got my medication fixed and I got coping skills. I spent maybe a week, but then I had to spend a few weeks doing intensive outpatient, and that also helped, gave me more coping skills, group therapy was also a part of the IOP. It helped, to focus on other’s problems, give them input, it helped to get their input.
I know I took some of my friends for granted during that time. And I really didn’t realize it until it was too late. I have a way of laughing about problems, or staying busy so I can’t think of what’s going on. I came off as faking and making light of what I was going through. But that was just my defense mechanism. I wish I could tell them I’m sorry. I wish they knew that I account them for a large majority of why I survived. I’d like to think they know. That some how they have always known.
I’m doing so much better than I was almost 3 years ago. Sure I’m still on medication, and sure I still see a psychiatrist and therapist, but I have a better outlook on life. And I’m dealing with things in a healthy way.