Seven years ago, I spent the night in a mental hospital for attempting to end my life. Honestly, it was one of the worst experiences of my life. I felt lonely and vulnerable and scared. My head hurt from banging it against walls during my attempt. And the nurses and doctors didn’t seem to care. I felt trapped, confined, helpless, and hopeless.I stumbled upon these secrets from others who stayed in mental hospitals. Numbers 6 and 7 describe how I felt. I never wanted to die more than when they told me I couldn’t leave. I had gone voluntarily and they had told me I could leave at will, but then they wouldn’t let me. I felt betrayed, lied to, and imprisoned.
Yet… This past week, I considered admitting myself to a mental hospital again. I have never felt so broken in my life. Depression consumed me to the point where I was struggling to breathe. I felt a heavy burden. I felt so broken that even suicide didn’t seem like an escape.
Yesterday though, it got better. I just felt better. There wasn’t really an explanation why. Maybe it was sleep or people’s prayers or simply something in my brain that clicked, but whatever the reason, I am so grateful for the respite. It feels like such a relief to not feel depressed anymore. The weight has been lifted and I can breathe again.
I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. I don’t know if the feelings of depression will return. I don’t know if they will become that bad again. What I do know is that I didn’t give up. And I won’t give up. As long as there is one person still alive, I have a reason to not give up. I can help someone. I can make a difference. I can love. And I do. And I will. And no matter how bad the depression gets, I have hope that things will get better eventually. And I am very grateful that I do not have to do this alone.
You never have to do this alone. ❤