Sunday, July 3, 2011

Journeying through PPD, Part V: My story, the climax

This is the fifth post in my series about PPD. The first four parts can be found here, here, here, and here.

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Thus began Crazypalooza ’11. It was the day I wrote this post (and the day after this one). It was also the day I went home and almost killed myself. I sent B to pick up the boys from daycare. As soon as he left, I went to the kitchen in search of a knife. None of our good knives were clean. All I could find was a crappy old paring knife. This may be the one and only time I’m glad that B never does the dishes; his slovenly ways may have saved my life. Even though I knew the paring knife would be worthless, I tried to cut myself with it that afternoon. And every day after that, numerous times a day. I never managed to do more than make a thin bruise on my wrist.

I spent the rest of that week fighting a horribly strong compulsion to cut myself. One day, I stood in the razor aisle at the grocery store mentally fighting with myself about buying a pack of razorblades. Some part of my brain was still capable of rational thought, luckily, because I realized that if I bought the blades, I would go back to work and used them on myself while sitting at my desk. It was a major struggle, but I put the pack back on its hanger. The urge to cut myself is something I never experienced before this and hope to never experience again. It was scary.

Thursday of that week, I went to a mini baby shower for my friend Michelle. I put on my happy face and acted like everything was fine. I don’t think my friends knew what was going on in my head. On the drive home, I let some of my crazy slip, and Michelle made me promise to tell my counselor at my regularly-scheduled appointment on Saturday morning. I did, even though I knew what would happen. I think I subconsciously knew I would end up there one way or another and figured it was better to go voluntarily.

Coming up - Part VI: I'm finally shutting up!

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