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Searching for Hope

The Accusations and Depression

The Accusation

After getting married, I was able to get into The Art Institute International in Lenexa, Kansas. We ended up moving to Kansas City, Missouri to be closer to the school so I could attend classes much easier. However, that meant living with Cory’s parents and grandmother who was staying with the in-laws at the same time, too.

We were only living there until we figured out where we would live next. Living with Cory’s parents wasn’t the problem; living with his grandmother was another story. Not only was she verbally degrading, she would not leave us alone about the fact that we had gotten married without her knowledge. Cory and I talked and we decided to renew our vows and do what I call our “fake wedding” just to make other people happy. Seems like that’s all I do: make other people happy. I will never forget the day I went into her room to invite her to the “wedding.” That’s the day she accused my husband of murder. Her own grandson. She was okay dragging his name in the mud just because was angry her granddaughter committed suicide. To make things less confusing, Cory’s cousin had been abused by several people in her immediate family. I don’t know how she dealt with the pain, but I’d say not very well as she took her own life. There may have been other things going on that I’m not aware of because this happened when Cory and I first started dating. Grandma told me it was Cory’s fault and accused him of doing those horrible crimes to his cousin. But let’s get the whole picture to make things crystal clear. Cory was going full-time to Northwest Missouri State University at the time these crimes were committed in Kansas City. That’s at least a two hour drive. How is one supposed to be in classes and still have the gas money to drive two hours away to commit crimes against their cousin? And why? If he was such a creep, why would he go two hours away when he was in a school full of “prey?" It makes no sense to me.

The Depression

One thing I’ve struggled with my entire life is depression and living in that place with the grandma and others, did not help my depression. I’ve attempted suicide a couple times myself. Both times were when I was a teenager and I was living on a farm. The first time was when I got into a fight with my sisters and they told me I was a mistake. They said that life was just fine until I came along and it was my fault that we were in foster care. This was after we were adopted. I was so upset I ran out the door crying and was standing in the middle of the road waiting for a car to come and hit me. You can imagine how “bad” the traffic was on a dirt road out in the country. Yeah, that plan didn’t work. My mom drove up after going into town for groceries and asked me what I was doing. I said, “nothing,” and rode with mom up to the house. The next time was a few years later. I tried drowning myself in a claw-foot tub in the farmhouse basement. I know these aren’t the most aggressive ways to commit suicide but the urge was there. After attempting suicide by drowning, I was put on Prozac. I didn’t like the way I felt on it so I stopped taking it. While living with Cory’s parents I got so depressed that I wanted to commit suicide again. I hadn’t slept in a week and Cory’s grandma had been on my case about getting a job which I couldn’t do because I was in school full time. She would tell me I was lazy and I don’t do anything. I finally had enough and I was going to hang myself from the fan this time. One thing I’ve come to realize is that when I get into “suicide mode” it’s because I need out of the situation I’m in but don’t know how, not because I want to die. I went to Cory’s mom and told her about my plan. We called the suicide hotline and they told us to go to the Emergency Room so we went. We were in the ER for several hours. They ended up sending us home because they said that I was seeking attention. So once again, I reach out for help, and nothing. I went to a psychiatrist and he put me back on Prozac. I felt like he didn’t listen to me so I stopped going to the appointments. That’s how depression works. It tears you down. It makes you feel weak and not to sound cliche but it makes you feel hopeless. It makes you feel like there’s no point to anything anymore so why bother trying. You lose hope in everything. Even things you love like your loved ones and that book you’ve been trying to write since the 10th grade. There are even days where it physically hurts to get out of bed. The sun is too bright and the outside world is way too happy so you isolate yourself in your room with the curtains and door closed and light off. Because after all, you deserve it. That’s what it’s like to have depression. I wouldn’t wish this on my worse enemy. 

Read next: Manic Happiness
Janice Page
Janice Page

I am a wife to a wonderful husband and a mom of 3 learning how to cope with bipolar. Writing is one way I cope. I am just starting out writing publicly. I usually write for myself. 

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Searching for Hope
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Manic Happiness