Today, I've decided that I want to live.
That may seem like an odd thing to say. Who actually wants to die, right?
In the past year, I've tried to kill myself twice. Life seemed just that bad. I wanted Allie to have the best of everything, and I honestly decided that I wasn't the best and she got gypped when it came to the mom department. I figured life would be easier for everyone else if I wasn't there to mess it up.
I realize now that it wasn't necessarily that I wanted to die; I just wanted the pain to stop, and I didn't know how else to make it stop. Suicide seemed like the only way out to me.
I spent some time in the hospital -- twice. The first time, back in the fall, I was there for a week. The second time, back in May, I was there for 13 days. Longest 13 days of my life. 13 days of intense therapy, groups, doctors, medicines. 13 days of constant supervision, since everyone on Unit 2 is under suicide watch, which means the nurses have to know exactly what we're doing and must check on us every 15 minutes, even throughout the night. 13 days without my friends, family, routine, and most importantly, without my daughter.
But also, 13 days of self reflection. 13 days of getting a glimpse of what it would look like if I were to take my own life. 13 painful days of knowing Allie was asking for me, clinging to her dad, and asking where I was and when would she see me again. 13 days of seeking help for myself. 13 days to start healing.
As I began the healing process, Allie was the only thing that kept me going. I told Dana, my therapist, "Allie is my only reason to live. If anything were to happen to her, I WOULD kill myself, because then I'd have no reason to live." And Dana responded, "Right now, you have one reason to live, and that's enough for now, considering you had none before. You have something to give you another day to want to wake up. Eventually, I want you to see that YOU are reason enough to live, but right now, we'll start with Allie."
I was diagnosed with bipolar 2. It scared the heck out of me, because I had no clue what that meant for me. I'm still learning, and I'm still scared. I don't want to be stereotyped, and I don't want my diagnosis to become an excuse for my behavior. The more I learn about what it means to have bipolar, the more I understand why I feel the way I feel and why I do what I do, but I don't want to use my diagnosis as a crutch. Now that I'm aware of what's going on, and have gotten my meds straightened out, I want to be more mindful of how having bipolar will affect my everyday life and compensate for it.
I'm not totally sure when I rounded the corner of "only wanting to live for Allie" to "wanting to also live for myself." The past couple weeks, Dana has had me going through a workbook that has been very hard and painful for me, plus journaling about reasons I would want to live. The longer I journaled, the longer my list got. The longer my list got, the more I realized that I do have a lot to live for.
I began to want to live, for me. Because I am a human being, and I'm a child of God.
And I don't just want to live. I want to thrive. I was a victim; I am a survivor; I want to be a thriver.
My therapist in the hospital, Carol, stressed the importance of celebrating even the littlest of victories. Because in our journey, our little victories are getting us one step closer to our big victories and goals.
So I'm celebrating in the fact that I do want to live. I'm celebrating that I have gone almost 3 weeks without cutting, and 1 week without even wanting to.
I may not be the world's greatest mom, but I'm the mom that God chose for Allie. And I want to be the best mom I can be for her. I'm not perfect to look at, and I'm not perfect to love, but I'm perfectly her mother. So I'm celebrating my precious, beautiful daughter.
I'm celebrating that I have a husband who has stood by me through everything and has loved me unconditionally, even when we want to punch each other in the face.
And I'm celebrating that I AM alive right now. Be patient. God isn't finished with me yet.
