All I can say is, it is the most horrible place to be. Take the depression test , and see a doctor. I'm glad I did.
I actually didn't know what was happening to me. I remember my husband would talk to me and ask me a simple question and my brain could just not come up with a response. And he wasn't asking me for the meaning of life! Sometimes it would be as simple as 'what do you want for breakfast?' I would look at him and my mind would register that he had said something to me. I would wonder why he was asking me this absolutely impossible question, but I could not for the life of me figure out what I was supposed to say to him.
I remember walking down to the park by us and walking along the bay shore. I would cry on the way there. I would sit, looking at the water and thinking if I just went in there I could drown myself. Then, I figured the water wasn't deep enough, anyway. Good thing I had forgotten that you can drown in 3" of water.
I was still going to work and there was this one girl there who was like a vulture on carrion. She used to pick at as often as she could and I didn't have it in me to fight back. I ended up taking a half sick day and as I was driving home thinking I could drive into the bridge abutment at 100kmp and that would be the end of all of this.
Except that a week before my doctor had given me 'the test'. He asked me the 'do you ever think of killing yourself ' question. I found out that 'yes' was a warning answer. He asked me to promise him that if I thought of suicide I was to speak to him first.
So that promise made me continue past the bridge and to his office where as soon as they saw me they put me in his office and he saw me right away. I was put on medical leave and made to promise him once again that I would keep in touch. He knew a promise would work on me.
Thus started months of talk therapy. I will have to take medication for the rest of my life or I'll end up in that space again. Oh, I tried being off meds to see if I could live without them, but the depression came back. More than once! But never as bad as the first time. Never. And if taking meds for the rest of my life keeps me away from that horrible place, then fill the prescription and give me a glass of water!
And as if that wasn't bad enough, it was happening to me at the same time as my brother was in a very severe depression as well. He tried to kill himself a couple of times. The second time he was released from the hospital, he went home on his third attempt he succeeded. It was also the day before my birthday.
Couple that with the fact that my Mum was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease and was at the stage where she would forget recent things. So at my brother's funeral my Dad was having to tell her over and over again, what was happening and why they were there.
I really don't know how he did it. He had lost one of his sons, plus had to tell my Mom whose funeral they were at and why. So he was reminded over, and over, and over that not only was his second son gone, but that his wife was 'gone' as well.
* * * * *
to be continued . . . .
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