I’ve talked about my mental state a few times now. But I haven’t realllyyyy talked about how I got here. I haven’t actually sat and recounted what has happened over the last three years, ever. I’ve tried journaling, keeping a diary, etc, but I have never found relief from it. I need relief from the constant stream of thoughts and images in my brain. I relive conversations, events, all day long on an endless loop. Even in my sleep, my nightmares aren’t imaginary situations manifested by my innermost fears, they’re memories. Writing it down into a book that is only opened and closed by me, doesn’t feel like the thoughts are being released. Rather, they are being stored. But when I speak these memories out loud for someone to hear, when I write them down for someone to read, thats when I feel the relief.
When these moments go from hidden, to seen, I can begin to process their reality, and ultimately develop healing towards them. Maybe its selfish to need a witness to be able to acknowledge my own past. It probably, most definitely is.
With that being said, these are MY memories, and we all perceive things on our own plane of reality. What I have experienced may look different from someone else who was a part of that story. But these are my thoughts and my memories. I imagine I’ll write this in a few parts.

This is the story of how I lost everything.

I think it all started Christmas Day 2020. My marriage had started to crumble years before, my faith was already dissolved at this point. But things really didn’t begin to fall apart until that morning. I spent months preparing for Christmas. I had lists in my phone for each kid with things they had mentioned throughout the year. I made checklists of what I had bought so I could make sure everyone got the things they wanted evenly. I handmade a gift for each kid like I did every year. That year we had already adopted the girls, and after all was unwrapped and we were winding down the girls thanked and hugged me. I think it was one of the first real hugs I had ever gotten from my oldest. I noticed a significant coldness from my ex husband following gifts, and finally confronted him after being brought to tears by his demeanor towards me and the girls. I was met with anger because the girls hadn’t expressed gratitude towards him. It was my fault that they thought the gifts were picked by me (they were), even though I put both our names on every gift with the intention of protecting him and his lack of care for their experience. I was heartbroken. I had worked so hard planning, assembling, and wrapping all on my own. I was proud of myself. I felt like a good mom. To have that type of reaction from the person that was supposed to support me the most, felt like a slap in the face.
I took a bath to cry and pull myself together, which had become almost a daily ritual, and realized that this was not how I wanted to spend the rest of my holidays or the rest of my life. The idea “divorce is not an option” was shattered, and I started to have serious thoughts of walking away.

Days after Christmas, my son was admitted to the hospital after 3 days of not sleeping and erratic behavior. I spent a week watching my non verbal son be held down by doctors to administer an EEG, suffer from bad reactions to medicines, and experience an astronomical amount of seizures. I received complete indifference to the pain I was feeling, and was guilted for having a “mini vacation”, while my ex husband was stuck at home with the other kids.
I still have flashbacks of those moments in the hospital with Luke. The pain of watching him suffer, changed me. It darkened a part of my heart. I felt a coldness creep over me. A lack of patience, a lack of care for things I used to care deeply about. A loss of any hope of fairness in this world. I came home from the hospital and told my partner that I wanted to attend marriage counseling, and if that didn’t work I wanted a divorce. After months of failed sessions, I was ready to call it quits. But a sudden job change, a relocation, the chance to buy a home, all was thrown into our laps. I decided to stay, and give this new life a new line of trust and hope.
I spent weeks renovating our new home, but I was becoming more and more miserable. Things weren’t getting better like I hoped. I started drinking myself to sleep the nights I was “renovating”. I sunk deeper and deeper into what I now know was the beginning of my first serious depressive episode. I had lived years in a manic state. I was super mom. I could handle anything with a smile on my face no matter how alone I felt. But suddenly that ability to fake it til I made it slipped away. I was deeply sad, had lost all sense of purpose, and had no hope for a better life. A few months after moving in, I filed for divorce.
I couldn’t afford to pay the mortgage on our home alone, I had never had to make as much money as my ex, and I had no savings as we did not have individual accounts, so I had to move out. I couldn’t afford a security deposit, and there were no apartments available in my price range. So I packed all my belongings in my car and couch surfed. I stayed at friends houses (forever grateful to y’all), I slept in my car. I left my children, my cat, everything I had invested my life into, and eventually moved into my best friends room at her parents house. I spent my mornings and afternoons with my kids, and spent the rest of my time working in a warehouse unloading trucks. I was broke, homeless and for the first time in my life separated from my children. I sunk deeper. I was able to afford a townhouse with my best friend and oldest daughter. But there was still no room for me to have the kids. I continued to spend my days with them at the house I had worked so hard on, and work nights, but bills started to pile up. I just wasn’t able to work enough and be with the kids everyday to afford my rent. I was scared. I felt like I had abandoned my family for a chance of happiness only to be met with the deepest pain I had ever experienced. I was consumed with guilt and constantly afraid of going back to sleeping on couches and letting my family down. My daughter had already attempted suicide by then, I was living in a state of perceived failure higher than anything I had experienced before. I wasn’t used to it. After all I had lost, I couldn’t lose the townhouse. I decided I had to make money another way.

They say fear and stress are the largest triggers for a manic episode. I had experienced mania for as long as I could remember. The boost in mood and energy. The idea that I was invincible and could do anything and everything. But I had never experienced such a severe shift in my ability to make judgments. I had never experienced a period where my mind was no longer in my control. I thought I was taking control of my life. I thought I was doing what I had to do for my family. I told myself the money would make it worth it. Three months later, after living a life where money was no longer an issue, where I could afford groceries and shopping and gas and not worry about the rent, I woke up. I was hit with the full weight of my choices, and left with memories that still haunt me to this day.
I realized in my dissociative state I had planned to drive my car into a tree on the way to visit my brother. I told my best friend I was going to kill myself, and I needed help immediately. In January of 2021, I checked myself into the mental hospital for the first time.

I think thats it for now.
Pick up where we left off later?