Im Fine*

* Fucked Up Insecure and Neurotic

I did not see it coming, it just hit me with such ferocity that I was completely unable to function.  Yes I had suffered from depression throughout my adult life but this time I could not shake it off.  It was as if my body was diseased, it began to affect everything and slowly the depression took over me I was unable to fight it anymore.  For the first time in my life I gave up my fight and let the depression wash over me.

I was so ashamed of what I felt, I saw it as a failing so I hid my depression, I was a master at hiding my true feelings.  If anyone asked how I was, I would answer ‘fine’ but inside I felt absolute despair.  My life felt hopeless and I felt so helpless and so absolutely alone.  I longed for someone to hold my hand and make everything better but as my depression grew in severity I grew more and more withdrawn.

It was the end of July / early August 2010.  We had had a particularly difficult few months.  My son Seth’s behavior was at its up most worst and I was still finding it difficult to be with him.  I was not sleeping Kenny and I were taking turns to stay up all night will him, I was juggling family life, working part time and trying to shake off post natal depression my life had become too much.

I had stopped living and was merely operating on automatic pilot.  I was able to maintain general day to day routines but I was absolutely exhausted mentally and physically.  If anyone questioned my mood or how I was feeling I would tell them ‘I’m fine’.  I felt that people did not really want to know the truth, it was blatantly obvious that I was anything but Fine but when you tell someone you are fine they don’t usually question you any further. 

I am a very proud and private person and the thought of anyone discovering the truth was devastating.  So instead I swallowed down my emotions and got on with it.  But all the while I would fantasies about killing myself.  I did not want to die, not really but my life felt such absolute and utter despair.  I felt so isolated and alone and in so much pain that I just did not want to continue living.

It was at this time that I began self harming (which in hindsight was a desperate cry for help). 

What started as a potential suicide attempt became a painful addiction.  I knew my depression was spiraling out of control but felt that no one could help me or even cared about me.  I had tried contacting my doctors on a number of occasions but everyday I was told there were no appointments available and to ring again the next day, I telephoned my health visitor who was unable to see my for a week and left a message for my NHS counselor who told me that I was not entitled to anymore sessions and she would put me down for a depression group once a place became available.

With the belief that ending my life would be better that continuing living with the pain I found myself in our family bathroom with a kitchen knife against my wrist.  As I looked at myself in the mirror I didn’t recognise the woman looking back, she was pale with massive black bags under her eyes.  Her once sparkling blue eyes were empty.  All hope, excitement, lust for life had disappeared.

I took a deep breath and started to cut my wrist.  I couldn’t believe it, the knife was blunt - how ironic my husband is a butcher but we had no sharp knifes