I have been receiving mental health therapy for two years now, it has been useless to me until about 2 months ago.
I knew I was depressed, I knew I needed help, but for the life of me did not know what would do the trick.
I went to appointments and talked to the counselor, we made goals, and she gave me advice I already knew about. I already knew the tips and tricks for doing things, I knew how to put them into practice, I just couldn't act. I felt overwhelmed by everything and constantly had the "F*ck it!" bug.
My husband worked nights and slept during the day, I had our three children to care for, one that was nursing. The house was getting so bad that I would constantly be somewhere else during the day and futilely try and clean at night when the kids were in bed.
As a child, I was never punished or given rules or limitations. As a result of that I never really set any boundaries or enforced any rules. If I did I would give in because I would feel guilty. I didn't know what a suitable punishment was and always questioned myself and whether I was being too harsh. My husband's ideas of punishment all seemed too harsh to me, even though they weren't, I just wasn't comfortable at the time being that firm.
After my son was born my depression was in a downward spiral.
I started smoking marijuana to help me get sleepy at night because I often could not fall asleep until the early morning hours.
I got worse when my husband had to return to work.
My husband was at his wits end, he could do nothing else to help me because he had to work and sleep.
I would lie to myself and say the house wasn't that bad, the truth is none of us, especially my kids should have been living in the house.
At times I would sit there and cry, why can't I just change? Why aren't my kids important enough to me that I keep the house clean and not feel like sleeping all day. I didn't want to function. It seemed like no matter how much I cleaned it would not be enough and it just kept getting worse.
At my lowest I just felt like I just wanted to die and be buried under all the garbage on the floor. I often felt like I wouldn't have the ambition to even get up if somebody had a gun to my head.
I had to go through, and am still going through a lot as a result of my mental illness and the choices I made. I had to find what needed fixing inside myself and everyday it is a struggle but I am grateful for the chance to change.
Change is hard! People say "Just do it!" but it is not that simple for a lot of people. In my case it is extremely hard, I consciously work on myself now every day. I enjoy keeping the house clean now and can force myself to do things I don't want to, in fact that is how I recognize that I probably should do something.
I want to share my story in the hopes of giving somebody else with the same issues motivation. If nothing else it can serve as a cautionary tale...
One night I was taking my son into bed with me and noticed as I was removing him from the play pen that he was covered in blood.
Immediately I felt guilty because he had been giving me a hard time going down and he cried for a good 15 minutes before he fell asleep. Some of that crying could have been from whatever had made him bleed.
I called my husband who rushed home from work and called 911 for an ambulance, my husband got home and we cleaned off as much blood as we could and he did not have any wounds and he seemed to be fully alert and acting fine. The police arrived to the house first and then the ambulance and fire department. I called 911 in a panic, afraid for my son and I am not sure whether it was the biggest mistake of my life yet or not...but this is where my path has brought me and I want to share this experience with others.
This is where my story starts, I will call it "The Lost Years"
