Becoming.

I’m unapologetic about my mental health journey.

I overshare. I know.

I’m open in hopes of supporting someone else through what I survived.

My illness makes emotions feel stronger. I’ve been called too sensitive; thin-skinned.

Sometimes I impulsively delete accounts and start over. Bless your heart if you’ve followed me through a few of those dark hallways.

In 2001 my divorce attorney said my story should be told; that it could help other women. She wanted me to speak before groups and give hope to those who could not see a way out of their situation.

That’s not me.

Years after, I decided I would write a book. But it was going to need to wait until the kids were adults.

My ex was not a bad person. He was a good father and good friend to many, who also happened to be incompatible with me.

My husband and daughters are my primary caregivers. They are so in tune with what my heart needs. My in-laws are phenomenal too.

My ex knew there was “something wrong” with me, but didn’t know how to be a support. My disorder was missed by a half dozen therapists.

On September 20, 2000, a person told me I was abusing my kids and just didn’t remember doing it— and without any sort of evidence, I believed her. Because gaslighting. She was willing to make me believe a lie— I was willing to die to keep myself from hurting my kids.

That was the spark for the attempt that day. Doesn’t mean she was responsible. She didn’t put the pills in my hand.

At grief support, after my ex died of depression in September 2007, I learned a lot in the loss survivor group that met during the youth support groups.

I learned that even if my ex blamed me (he didn’t) and even if I felt responsible— suicide is a choice. It’s the mental illness that allows your brain to accept death as a viable option. It’s not a selfish choice.

Suicide prevention is accessible mental health care. Don’t just post a hotline— fight for coverage for all.

I’m doing better than I have in years. I’m glad you’re here. I’m ecstatic that I’m here!

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