My Demons

I was diagnosed with clinical depression in 2008. I was given medication and I noticed a difference in about 2 weeks. I continued to take medication for my depression for 1 year and 8 months.

My greatest regret was that I wish I would have been diagnosed sooner. Once my therapist told me what was wrong with me, everything instantly clicked. It explained why at 14 I overdosed on a bottle of pills I found in my mom's medicine cabinet. Nothing happened obviously, but I was sick as a dog for several days afterwards. I secretly vomited in the bathroom with the water running in the sink, or I vomited in my trashcan in my room and emptied it before my parents could detect an odor.

At 16, I cowardly slit my wrist. I still bear the scar. God, I was in so much pain and I had no idea why. I just knew I was sad and I cried a lot. I wanted the pain to end, but I also wanted someone to help me, but I didn't want anyone to think that I was crazy!

At 23, I wrote a letter explaining why I killed myself. I'd bought some over the counter sleeping pills and I had a bottle of vodka that I was going to drink after taking the box of pills. I chickened out and took two pills and a half a cup of vodka. I slept for hours and I was very groggy when I woke up. The letter that I had written was burned and flushed down the toilet.

Over the years I suffered in silence. I spent so many restless nights staring at the ceiling and crying, asking God, "What is wrong with me?" I constantly had suicidal ideations. I swear on everything I would not wish the sadness and pain I experienced on my worst enemy. It was hell walking around daily with a smile and pretending that everything was okay.

My mom passed in 2007. I desperately missed her and I drank alcohol, popped pills, and smoked weed to numb the pain. I tried to numb YEARS of pain through self destructive behavior.

It was one night that changed everything. Even writing about it chills me. I was having yet another night of crying and utter despair. The suicidal ideations were raving and I had finally made up my mind that I was going to end my pain. I was not afraid. I sat on the floor of my tiny bathroom with a bottle of liquor and 2 bottles of sleeping pills. I wasn't going to chicken out this time. I was tired of hurting and I was just going to end my life to stop the pain.

I cracked the top on the bottle of brandy and I opened a bottle of the sleeping pills. I sipped some brandy for a taste, then I took a huge gulp.

My phone rang. I ignored it. Anyone that knew me knew that I detested talking on the phone. It rang seven times then it stopped. I poured five pills in my hand. My phone rang again. Once again I ignored it. It rang and it rang. Whoever was calling was adamant about reaching me. I got up from the floor and stormed out of the bathroom to my bedroom and snatched up the receiver of the phone and yelled "HELLO!!" No one can tell me that there wasn't some sort of divine intervention that night. I believed that there was a God, but I didn't attend church. I never picked up the Bible for anything. The person on the other end of the phone was a coworker. She was an older lady that I had ordered some cookies from that she was selling for her granddaughter. She was calling to tell me that the filled orders were back and that I needed to have the money for her before the week ended. It was 8:32 PM. Looking back on it now I'm more than certain that those cookies could have waited. It was meant for her to call me. She was sent to save me! I apologized for screaming at her. She asked me if I was okay. All I could do was break down and cry.

The next morning at work, Ms. Britt walked over to my station and she hugged me. I began to cry again and told her what I had been going through. She was deeply religious and she was always sweet to me. I had only said hello and bye to her, and rarely had any conversations with her, but I cried and revealed EVERYTHING to her and it felt like an elephant had been lifted off of my chest. She told me that she would pray for me and she invited me over to her home to talk to her anytime I was feeling down. Ms. Britt confided in me that her daughter had gone to counseling and she gave me the number to her daughter's therapist. Going to seek professional help was the greatest decision I had ever made, but if it was not for that call at 8:32 PM on March 11, 2008, I would not be here to share my story. I would not be here to share my testimony of battling my demons and being grateful for my savior.