As I pulled into my driveway, I was racked with sobs as the negative thoughts flew through my head--"You weren't capable. You couldn't make it to work. You're useless. How do you expect to take care of the kid you have, let alone the one on the way?!" It was too much. My mind looked up at the huge walls of the hole I had fallen into, curled up into a ball, and shut down. It was frustrating and scary, but I am grateful that I was not so far gone that I could not see that this was a big problem. It was my wake-up call. I needed help. I needed to up my meds. Yet, even as I knew the truth of those statements, I railed against them.
"You're pregnant!" I shouted at myself. "You don't want to expose the baby to all that!"We sat quietly for a while--me, myself, and I. And then I physically got up and contacted my doctor's office and left a message about getting my meds adjusted. I hate feeling weak. I hate feeling incapable. But, I would hate myself more if I let things get worse instead of heeding the call and getting help.
"True," I answered myself, calmly and quietly, hoping to make myself listen to reason. "You have done the best you could with that, but the time has come to say when."
"I don't want to!" I wailed petulantly.
"I know. But you don't want to feel miserable and worthless either. And you don't have to."
"I do want to be functional again. Enjoy the life I have, the family and job I love..." I sniffled.
"Exactly. You want to be you again."
I nodded, much like my toddler, hanging my head, knowing I was beat, but not wanting to concede just yet.
"It's okay," I comforted myself. "This is not a moral failing."
"Yes, but you don't believe me. Yet. But you will. Once you're out of the hole, you'll look back and wonder why you fought so hard for so long, just like last time."
"But I feel like I'm taking the easy way out."
"You think this has been easy? You did all you could. You are a fighter. But you can't out-think a chemical imbalance. It doesn't work that way."
And now I write. I write so I can remember for next time, in case there is one. I write so that maybe someone else can see their hole before it gets as deep as mine. I write to remind others that they are not alone. And, to be perfectly honest, I write to convince myself of the rightness of my choice--because I argue better in writing than out loud. It's time to begin again, and find my way out of this hole. And maybe, just maybe, now that I've seen this hole a few times, I don't have to fall in it again. Here's hoping.