This is Mental Illness Awareness Week. And as you may know by now, I struggle with some mental illness concerns. Depression and I are good friends.
I realized today that at the end of this month we are coming up on the two year anniversary of my first hospital stay, when it became apparent I needed more help than I could quickly get “on the outside.” I swore then it would be my only hospital stay for such issues, but life has not worked out that way; there have been two more just this year.
I hate those hospital stays. Hate them. Like you will never know. But they keep me safe when the depression gets too intense and the days get too dark.
This last time, I drove myself to the hospital. It had been a rough week. I had actually been to the emergency room earlier in the week but was deemed okay to go home. Two days later, the day was sooooo dark, I knew I would only be safe in the hospital.
It is hard to be there, but I am learning to at least be proud of myself for getting the help I need when I need it.
I not only go to the hospital when I need to, I go weekly to see the doctor for medication checks and therapy.
It doesn’t keep all the darkness away but the current medication regime seems to be enough to help me get through most days without too much trouble.
Because I got help. I asked when I needed it. Even though I was hurting, I valued my life. I valued the life of those around me.
If you are struggling and need to get help, reach out. Ask for help.