Trigger Warning

I was inpatient from July 3rd until July 27th last year, and I think it’s essential to talk about this experience. It’s not easy to discuss, but I strive to share not just the sunshine and rainbows, but also the storm clouds and thunderstorms that come with life.

The truth is, I felt like a burden. I lost my job and spiraled into a deep depression that I hid from everyone. I made up my mind that I didn’t want to live anymore.

Not wanting to create a mess, I decided to take pills. I packed a small Ziploc bag full and walked outside around three or four in the morning. I didn’t truly want to die; I was just exhausted from feeling this way and couldn’t see any other way out.

Before I went through with it, I decided to make three phone calls. If they didn’t answer, that would be my sign. The third call connected, and they advised me to go to the hospital, which I did.

I couldn’t wake Calvin, so I just left. I’ll always regret that, but I needed help, and I needed it fast. I listened to “Oceans (Where Feet May Fall)” on repeat during the drive to the hospital.

When I arrived, Calvin called. As always, he supported my decision and we talked for a while. After we hung up, I walked inside. At the desk, I broke down, and a kind lady asked me what was wrong. All I could manage to say was, “I want to die.” They took me back immediately, made me change my clothes, and took away my phone, hair tie, glasses—everything.

I couldn’t stop crying because I had been struggling for so long. I hadn’t even showered, and when they took my hair tie, my hair remained a tangled mess. A compassionate nurse saw how upset I was and came in with a comb, gently brushing my hair while I sobbed.

All I wanted was a shower, but I was afraid to ask. I felt like a prisoner, watched constantly to ensure I didn’t do anything harmful, there was even a camera in my room. They never offered me a shower, and I felt so dirty.

After what felt like ages, they found me a bed at Phil Haven. I was terrified, not knowing what to expect. They transported me in a vehicle that felt like a police car, with glass between me and the driver and barred windows, making me feel like I’d done something wrong.

Fortunately, the driver was friendly and cheered me up quickly. He talked to me the entire way, assuring me that I was going to be okay. When we arrived at Phil Haven, they offered me a warm meal and explained that I’d need to wear scrubs until the doctor cleared me to wear my own clothes again. At least I was allowed to shower, which felt like a huge relief.

For about a day, I couldn’t leave the area I was in, and I barely left my room because I couldn’t stop crying. I felt so emotional and guilty for leaving Calvin with the kids, ashamed that I was so mentally unwell that I needed help from others.

Maybe someday I’ll share more about my time at Phil Haven, but for now, I think I’ve shared enough. If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading.

This was the darkest time of my life, and I’ve never felt so low. Yet, somehow, with the support of family, friends, and a lot of therapy and medication, I’ve finally started to emerge from that dark place.

We had a village to help with the kids, and we will forever be grateful.