Hey, internets.  I’ve missed you.  Being without any kind of connection to this part of my life was difficult, to say the least.  I did a ton of writing while I was on “vacation” but I had to do it by hand.  Man, has my handwriting deteriorated.  I could barely read it and my hand kept cramping up whenever I wrote for too long.  I would have sold my soul for a computer while I was gone.

When I finally reconnected today, I had 283 messages, a ton of voice mails, and 12 orders to process.  Thankfully I was able to do a lot of yoga breathing and only freaked out when I realized Mike had tried to “fix” the wireless and actually ended up connecting it incorrectly.  It took about an hour and a phone call to Verizon, but I’m online again and halfway caught up. 

This post is not going to be pretty.  I’ve spent a lot of time deciding whether I was going to write about where I’ve been since Wednesday, and in the end, I’m doing what I always do.  I’m accepting who I am and where I’ve been and if you want to ride this train with me, there will be ups and downs.  I went through, and am currently going through, the lowest point of my life, hands-down.  The blogs I read are other writers who can be honest and raw and brutal with their lives. It appeals to me, and has helped me immensely when I’ve gone through my own trials and tribulations as a wife, a woman, a mother, a daughter, a business owner, a friend, and a writer.  I wear a lot of hats - and this hat I’m wearing right now is not something to be ashamed off.  So much stigma surrounds mental health and depression.  Here, within the confines of the borders on my blog, I’m creating a bubble where it is perfectly safe to discuss what I’ve been through.  If a future employer or random person from my past stumbles on this post and thinks, “Holy batshit this girl is crazy!” then so be it. 

Wednesday was, um, a pretty bad day for me.  Some of my friends who know where I’ve been have asked what happened.  To the best of my ability to explain how this happened, these are the factors that lead up to Wednesday:

1.  I hadn’t been sleeping well in about 4 weeks (averaging 3-5 hours a night)
2.  I had separated from my husband and was going back and forth between two houses, all the while trying to keep up with the normal household duties I have. 
3.  I had a lot of stress and despair over a couple of relationships in my life and I was hurting pretty badly. 
4.  I was trying to pretend to EVERYONE, even my closest friends, that all was a-okay and I was fine and strong and clear.  With the exception of one person (hi Susan!), I didn’t let anyone know how hellishly bad I was feeling.
5.  Wearing a mask 24/7 takes a lot out of person.
6.  I was expending energy on things that weren’t giving any energy back to me.  Think black hole. 
7.  I wasn’t eating very much.
8.  I was trying to figure out my financial future, and it looked very grim. 

So back to Wednesday.  I had a realtor come to the house and give me a comparative market analysis on our house.  She looked grim when I came to the door, so I knew it wasn’t going to be good.  Because she is a friend of mine, she told me she cut commissions to the core (1.5%) and still had no good news.  We bought our house at the peak of the market and proceeded to renovate and redo a bunch of stuff.  We still had an equity line from our old house that we rolled over.  The short version of the long story is that we are upside down on our mortgage.  The house is worth $100K less today than it was when we bought it.  Yay us! 

Some other factors on Wednesday that will remain private happened right after the enlightening discussion with the realtor.  I literally felt like that last vestige of hope I had was stripped away.  I was thinking that if Mike and I stayed separated, we could sell the house and both of us would end up with a small nest egg and we could start over.  Even if we stayed together, I wanted to get rid of this house - it’s come to represent a lot of things that I feel are wrong and fake about my life.  I’m not stupid enough to think that it’s the house’s fault - it’s just brick and mortar and light fixtures - but it’s symbolic. 

I held it together while I picked up Lily from the bus. I smiled and waved and did my Robo-Mom impression.  I made snacks and got juice out of the fridge.  I changed a load of laundry and folded some.  I even ironed.  Then I just felt everything fall apart.  I literally stood up from the ironing board and felt as though my insides were falling out.  I sent the girls downstairs and put on the electronic babysitter (tv).  I started crying.  I called Mike at work.  I told him to come home, that I couldn’t take care of the kids.  I went upstairs and I got in bed.  I had my second panic attack in two weeks.  My heart was pounding, my face was tingling, and I couldn’t breathe.  By the time Mike got home, I had totally lost it.  I couldn’t form a sentence and I was trying to call my therapist and talk to him at the same time.  Somewhere in those two conversations, the therapist suggested going to St. Mary’s since they have a mental health unit.  We dropped the kids with a neighbor, called my parents to come up, and left for the hospital. 

Thankfully I have a few good friends in Richmond. I was able to text them on the way to the hospital and all of them immediately went into action mode, sending emails, canceling things, helping me with my website, telling me not to worry, sending love, just virtually holding my hand. 

I find myself unable to really talk about St. Mary’s and the time I spent there.  It truly was the darkest time of my life.  When one of the docs asked me if I was suicidal, I think I responded something to the effect of ‘No, but I don’t want to be here in this body anymore.  I can’t take one more piece of bad news.  I thought I was strong but I think I’ve broken and I don’t know how to survive this.” 

During a blood draw, I passed out and had some sort of seizure and kicked over a table and bumped my head.  When I came to, I was only conscious for another minute before I passed out again.  When I woke up the second time, I was in a bed and I was literally sweating ice.  I was shivering and nauseous and panicking because I had no idea where I was.  There were no beds available for me at St. Mary’s, so I was transferred elsewhere.  By the time I got through intake and was screened and searched by a nurse, it was 4 am. 

Thursday was a haze.  I looked like a b-grade zombie actor trying to function.  I kept thinking I was going to wake up from my nightmare.  When I realized I wasn’t allowed to have hairspray in my room (I might hurt myself with the aerosol nozzle), I knew where I was and the reality hit me like a ton of bricks.  I was ashamed, embarrassed, scared as hell, needy, isolated - you name it.  Unfortunately the first person I came into contact with was not very affectionately nicknamed “Bible Lady” on the ward - she got messages from God in her ears and by laying on floors and predicted things like the Lions winning the Superbowl this year based on God’s word.  She also said I was going to end up married to another guy on the ward and that another guy was going to become a professional boxer and be trained by George Foreman.  My first experience was waiting in line for vital signs while she sang “Amazing Grace” at full volume.  This was at 6 AM, and I had no caffeine in my system.  I thought that if I wasn’t crazy before, any more time around her would make it so. 

Then I met a couple of other people who made a huge difference in my stay.  I attended every group session, every group meeting, every activity, and I wrote like my hand was on fire.  I wrote letters to my daughters. I wrote one to Mike.  I wrote one to a close friend of mine.  I wrote to myself.  I forced myself to talk to people.  My medication, which had been at a literal pediatric dose, was doubled.  I learned ways to manage my panic and anxiety attacks.  And while I was there, I realized I was about to lose another friend in this whole process.  I could feel it coming, and I used some of my time there to deal with the sadness I felt.  Some people in my life can hang with me right now and just comfort me by being there.  Others can’t, and I respect the honesty it takes to admit that I am too much for them to handle.  At least I have no illusions about where I stand, and clarity is half the battle.

I got a chance to sleep a little bit.  When I met Chris and Amanda, both suffering from severe depression and some other stuff, I had my unit buddies.  We ate together.  I learned how to play Spades.  I had long conversations with Chris about what it’s like to raise kids alone (he’s only 29, and his wife died 4 years ago).  Amanda and I talked about our children and we shared the stories of how we ended up together.  We were an unlikely bunch from various backgrounds, but Chris said, “Hey, just because we’re in here doesn’t mean we’re crazy.”  That single statement sustained me.  I was there to get better for my children. I was there to learn how to cope better.  I was going to have to make some painful cuts in my life, and I needed to build up as much strength as possible in order to do so. 

People who give up and off themselves are the biggest cowards alive.  It’s such a cop out and it leaves the rest of the world to pick up your mess and your pieces.  I knew that I was hitting the wall, and I knew that I had to take drastic steps to get better. 

I will be honest and say that coming home today has been hard.  Dealing with the pile of work on my desk, a friend breaking plans with me, seeing how Mike looks, being hugged by my children and feeling the guilt of being gone wash over me - it was all a bit much.  I used some of the tools I learned in the hospital but I’m taking it minute by minute.  As usual, a bunch of people stepped up today and are there for me.  I’m having coffee with TCG, Bradley said I inspired him to do something major, and Dan has been listening to my litany for weeks now.  I made a difference to Chris and Amanda in the hospital, especially when Amanda got some bad news.  I made people laugh, which makes me feel better.  I realized what a great mom I was and how much better I could be if I only would focus.  I told myself the rest would work out, and it surely will. It’s just never the way you think it’s supposed to.

So that’s where I’ve been.  Can’t wait to take a shower and shave.  I look like Chewbacca, but the idea of shaving in front of a nurse held no appeal for me.  I’m mostly glad to be back. You can only hide out in the ward for so long before you try out the new legs you’ve grown while inside, and take the first few steps.