(Disclosure: The following material discusses mental health and suicide in detail and may be difficult for some readers. Children under the age of 18 should not read unless approved by a guardian. Precaution is advised. If you or someone you know needs medical attention, please contact your local physician or dial 911.)
Remember when I said the year of fighting cancer was what I thought to be the worst year of my life? Well, it happens to have been last year. Due to the overwhelming amount of physical and emotional stress and the number of physicians and medications, my body wanted to shut down. I lost 60 pounds because I couldn’t keep food down, and I had to have home health care to receive daily IV fluids and monitoring. The hospital was my second home, as it had been since that first stay five years ago. Yet, the worst part was my mental condition. Once I started having seizures and was stuck at home, I wanted to give up.
The feelings of depression became increasingly worse when a careless physician abruptly changed and stopped some of my medications. I had to go through an intense immediate detox from seizure medications, an antidepressant, and years of prescribed Xanax use. It was awful, to say the least! (I totally understand addiction now.) That was the final breaking point for me. I wanted to die. I truly wanted to die because I couldn’t handle another day with that kind of pain and suffering. My family had to watch me go in and out of seizures, hospitals, doctor offices, and consciousness. I was in a wheelchair because I was so weak, and I was completely dependent on them for everything. I’m pretty sure my son and daughter are still traumatized from seeing me lying naked on the floor* from a seizure in the shower. (That vision may be the reason my son doesn’t date right now. Ha!) Why wouldn’t I want to end life?
Being a Burden
I was sick and I was a burden. Dying wasn’t a cry for help; it was a blessing for the ones I loved. In my mind, it was how I felt and what I thought to be true. So, I did my research and knew what to do and when to do it. My letters said everything I wanted my family to know. Again, I knew they would be hurt and disappointed but that they would eventually feel relief. I consider myself a devoted believer in God and even felt He would understand my decision. He knew my pain and my weaknesses, and He would expect me to take action. I wasn’t scared of Hell at that time because I was already living it on Earth. Scattered thoughts, overwhelming sadness and anxiety, and body failures plagued me beyond my understanding. It was time.
There I was, my weapon of choice in my hand and some behaviors already executed when my husband found out. In a moment of what I thought was weakness, I told him everything. A few calls later, I agreed to get help. This is where my transformation began.
*If you thought of the song lyrics of Torn by Natalie Imbruglia, you’re my kind of person. Let’s be friends! Ha!
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