Last Friday, I stared at two pill bottles. I felt the weight of what I was about to do, but no emotion towards it. I felt no joy, no sorrow, no pain. Just...nothing.
I didn't think about the fact that the next day my twins were celebrating their 5th birthday with friends at their first big party. I didn't think about watching all three of them growing up, graduating, getting married. I didn't think about the people I know who have lost parents and have felt that sadness every day since.
I thought about how ending everything would make my boys' lives easier. How they would have happier memories with no mother at all than they would with a mommy whose moods fluctuate so greatly. I thought about my husband not needing to worry about me anymore. How the burden of my disease would be lifted off his shoulders and he could find someone "normal."
So I took the pills. A lot of them. And when my husband got home he saw it in my eyes.
"What did you do?!"
So I told him. I think I was honest because I didn't really want to die. I just wanted everyone else's lives to be better. I don't know. I still can't fully comprehend why I didn't just keep it to myself until it was too late. And I wish I could say I'm glad I told him, but I'm not.
I'm still suicidal. I still don't want to be here. I still feel empty. Tired. There's no joy left.
But I'm working on it. I've been trying to express my feelings to my support system. I have calls into my doctor. I'm trying to find things out of the house to give me purpose. Because as much as I love my kids with all my heart, I need something else. So I'm putting myself out there and hoping for the best.
But friends, I need prayer. I need healing. I need something. And I know that something will come; it always does. I just need it to come fast.