Where Do I Go From Here?

"The battle's done and we 'kinda' won,
So we sound our vict'ry cheer,
Where do we go from here?...

Understand we'll go hand in hand,
But we'll walk alone in fear,
Where do we go from here?"
Buffy The Vampire Slayer Cast/ Joss Whedon "Where Do We Go From Here"

After I almost killed myself, I went pretty silent for a few days. I hid away and was contemplating a lot: Why didn't I do it? Why did I allow myself to get to the point of ending my life? Where do I go from here? Thoughts and questions spun around in my head as I tried to figure out what to do about this. I couldn't allow myself to get to that place again; That dark, haunted and all-consuming forest where I was being hunted down by myself.

It took me four days to finally pluck up the courage to visit the doctors surgery and book an appointment to speak to someone, then a further week until their earliest available appointment took place. That week was excruciating - a mixture of fear, dread, confusion, nerves. As much as I needed the help, I knew that this solidified everything. Telling a professional made this real: I have a problem.

The morning of the appointment was a struggle. I slept for about three hours the night before, unable to calm myself at the prospect of what they could say or think - whether I could even manage to get the words out when it came to it. I lay in bed longer than I should have done, looking up at the ceiling and wishing I had ended everything when I had the chance, but then thinking that I should be thankful that I didn't allow myself to die. That conflict is the hardest thing and the mood changes that accompany it are unbearable.

As I left home, I could feel myself shaking, and the walk to the doctors surgery seemed never ending, the path stretching further and further out in front of me. The doctor was friendly. She listened, she didn't push me too hard to tell her everything, but it all somehow flooded out of me once I entered that room. I told her the whole story and she was understanding and told me that I wasn't alone, as much as I felt that way. I struggled to hold in tears as I recalled everything: the problems I was experiencing, the past, my near-suicide attempt. She left the room to call a colleague regarding my situation and those moments, sitting silently in her consultation room, was the scariest time since that night.

She returned and advised me that I would be called later that day by a professional in mental health that would need more information regarding my case and that I may need to visit the hospital another day, if not that same day. I got that call about an hour later, after pacing back and forth in the kitchen at home, looking at the ground. I took the call outside and once again didn't hold back in how I was feeling. He went deep with his questions, going pretty far back, and once again I was fighting back the tears. At the end of the conversation, he gave me some crisis phone numbers if I ever got to that point again and arranged for me to visit the mental health department of my local hospital later that day, at 4pm.

Yet again, that wait was painful. Time almost stood still that day, and the thought of having to explain everything again was daunting. Once there, the person I spoke to was friendly, understanding and warm. He went over some things that the other professionals hadn't asked, and it brought to light a lot of things that have caused me to be in the position I am now. Everything that caused me to be in that room at that very moment. We can only take so much in life, regardless of how strong we like to believe we are, and I had broken. He advised me that he had planned to admit me to their psych ward and in my head, that really made everything official now. It made me think of something my husband said to me earlier in the day, "you don't want to be strapped to a bed in a hospital, do you?", and I bluffed my way through the rest of the assessment, somehow talking him out of admitting me. It hit me after though - why would that be such a bad thing? These professionals and facilities are there for a reason, there shouldn't be any stigma around mental health, despite what some would like to portray it as.  Having depression, or any kind of mental health, doesn't have to be hidden - and it doesn't have to be the end.

I left with another long list of phone numbers and some zopiclone pills (sleeping tablets) as he believed my first step towards dealing with this would be trying to fix my lack of sleep. He also contacted a psychiatrist on my behalf and told me that I should expect to hear from them in a few days or weeks, It's now been almost three weeks, but until then, I'll keep telling my story here. Because after that first full night's sleep, I knew that my first step towards therapy was in my own hands - this blog.

- Chris