One year ago I typed up this letter in the “notes” on my phone. As you can see, it was nighttime on the 1st of January, 2020. And my mind was done. I wrote this letter and had every intention of leaving it for Gabe the following day. I figured he could give it to him when he returned home from work. As the night wore on, I then thought I could just have my car loaded up and ready to go; that when Gabe got home from work, I would hand him the baby, leave the note on the counter, and never return.
I share this with you because I want others to try to understand how irrational your mind is when held hostage by perinatal mood and anxiety disorders (PMADs). I firmly believed everything that I wrote in this letter. To the point that I was willing to take my life when I realized that leaving wouldn’t work because then Gabe would always have this worry about where I was, and he is such a good man that he would never stop looking for me. So I thought the only way to save him and Olivia was for me to cease to exist.
None of this letter is true. I know that most days. But there was no way you could have convinced me otherwise last year.
I never left the note — Gabe hasn’t read this until now. What I did do though was spend the next three weeks making phone calls, sending emails and messages, and just reaching out through every avenue to try to get help. I hit a brick wall at each turn.
This is why I am so transparent, because resources are lacking and help so scarce. Do you know how hard it is to try to reach out for help when you don’t believe you are worth saving? And then to have that worthlessness solidified when you can’t even get a call back? Thank God I have a tribe, because I wouldn’t have survived otherwise. And people shouldn’t need a tribe of people to get a returned call, appointment, and/or treatment. This has to change.