I know some of you may read this and say, “Oh no! Not you! You seem so happy in your blogs! You’re a gamer, how can you be on the edge of self-destruction?!” Everyone gets depressed sometimes, well; I’m depressed most of the time; if not all the time. It’s recently, I was on the brink of a nervous break down, all it took was one more push and I was going to lose it. On May 11, 2012, I lost it; I lost my sanity.
On June 9, my husband and I got into one last fight (I will not mention the details) and this fight made me feel like a child, like I couldn’t do anything without his approval. I do what I’m supposed to do, take care of my son and do my best to make my husband happy. This marriage was doomed from the beginning, the only reason why we got married was because of the baby; nothing more. It won’t be a year until June 5th and we couldn’t even make it that far. This marriage was filled with a lot of arguing and crying; crying and arguing. On the inside I wasn’t truly happy because I knew this wasn’t love but I was trying to make it work. Once upon a time, I was in love with my husband but as I sat and looked at him every day: playing video games, eating up the food I provide, disregard my feelings, only played with his son when he felt like it, wasn’t working. I felt like the world; my world was sitting on my shoulders. I was trying to find a job, still am, trying to find a daycare/baby sitter so I can work, go to school, be a wife, a mother and a slave of my mind. I was on the brink of self-destruction and there was no stopping me.
Apparently my soon-to-be ex-husband didn’t like that I went to go see a friend, nor did he like that I put a password on my computer. On June 10, he gets on my Xbox 360, using my 26″ computer monitor, sitting in my apartment, and eating my food, bashing me, talking about me to whoever it was on the other end of that headset of his. He didn’t have the decency to come to me and tell me why he felt that I shouldn’t have a social life since he’s the reason I alienated all of my friends. I snapped! I was at first going to go get him bus fare and tell him to get out of my life and never come back, but, he stopped me when he saw I was going somewhere. He actually got up out of his seat of self-righteousness to ask me where I was going; after I ignored him the first time. Mind you, this man will just up and leave and don’t tell me where he’s going but if I do the same thing — catch 22. So, he steps in front of me and say “so are you going to tell me where you’re going?” and I ask him, “are you going to stop bashing me over the internet?” and he proceeds to say, “well look at what you’re doing!” What in the hell exactly was I doing? You’d be pissed too if I was sitting there on the Xbox 360 slinging mud on your name. To make a long story short, I banned him; I banned him from my apartment building. I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t take the back and forth anymore. I’m sick of the makeup, just to wake up, to break up. I sat there in the bedroom listening him to him while contemplating on what to do.
Well, when the security guard and another guy who works in the building were on our way upstairs, the security guard tells me that my husband took my son and he left. My heart instantly fell out of my chest and I looked like a ghost. I couldn’t move, or breathe. I head outside and he’s standing at the bus stop with my son so, I walk up and grab one of the handles on the stroller. He grabs the stroller and tells me, “He’s my son too and since you’re kicking me out, you’re kicking him out too. You can come over my mom house to see him”. I told him no the hell I’m not, he’s not going anywhere. He tells me that he’s the father again and that he can take him. I tell him, not without me knowing and not without permission. Of course he then makes it about him and says, “You banned me so I can’t see him”. Dude! You were supposed to be banned weeks ago for punching my ex-boyfriend in the face. I still don’t understand why he was so mad at me when either way I would still be living here and he wouldn’t be able to see his son if he was banned for the violence he displayed in the hallway. The other guy that was with the security guard asked him to calm down and I were still yelling telling him that it had nothing to do with not letting him see his son. It was about my sanity! He was stressing me out and I couldn’t take it anymore. The security guard mentioned something about having the police called if it this can’t be resolved and Adam looks at me and says, “Well the police is gone have to be called”. All the blood that didn’t leave my face the first time left my face just then. My blood-pressure rose and I was getting dizzy. I didn’t need this now. I look down and glanced at my son and he’s without shoes, had on shorts that were too small, too small socks, a too small hat and a shirt. The only thing that made sense was the blanket. It wasn’t warm out that day and he didn’t even bring the boy’s shoes. He was taking my baby out of spite; to hurt me.
The other guy pulled Adam to the side and talked to him, he convinced Adam to give me the baby’s baby bag and his blanket which he refused to give when I gained control of the stroller. I immediately got my son in the building and went upstairs. Not long after that Adam text me calling me a bitch and saying how wrong I was. I didn’t respond back in a nasty way, I was very respectful the time he was mangling my character. I tried to get him to calm down and try to explain why I did what I did but he wasn’t having it. He was focused on hurting me. He was focusing on bringing up my past mistakes to justify why I kicked him out. On June 11th, 2012 he continued his bashing and verbal abuse; threatening a custody battle, and a lot of other things that seem too ridiculous to point out. When he called me a slut and then made that threat to take me on live television (Steve Wilkos), I was done. I was tired. I wanted out.
I made my son a bottle and sat him in his lounger. After 2 days, I finally cried; I finally let it out. I simply wanted to die; I didn’t want to live any more. I wanted to take all of my Trazodone, and just leave this world and I was so tempted, so ready, so willingly to do it. I took one look at my son playing with his now empty bottle — squirming around in his lounger and I knew I couldn’t do it but the thoughts would not leave. Then I started to think: “maybe I should kill myself so there won’t be a custody battle and Adam can have his son without a fight”. I was all out of fight, I was surprised that I wasn’t all out of tears; I spent most of this marriage crying my eyes out. I called mobile crisis. I told them that I needed help, could they send someone out here. All I needed at that moment was someone to talk to, to get my mind off of killing myself; leaving my son without a mother. The woman from mobile crisis had the dispatcher from the police department on the phone talking to me — asking me how old my son was, what I like to do for fun, what I’m in college for, things like that. The police didn’t take long to get to get to my apartment. I hung up the phone and let the policemen into my slightly messy house. They asked me was I okay and let me know why they were there in my apartment. I told them how I was feeling and that I needed help. They told me to get some things for the baby and grab my keys and phone. I did just that and then we were headed downstairs to the cop car.
When I got to the hospital, they took my vitals and blood while my son sat there frowned up wondering what was going on. I felt like I was the worse mother in the world. How could I let my son see me go through this? I thought I was stronger than this. So many things were running through my mind and all I could was cry. One of the nurses put my hospital bracelet on me and told me that someone would call me. I sat back out in the waiting room and called my grandmother and told her that someone needs to come and get my child. My brother and sister came up there and took my son home with them. I waited.
Minutes had gone by and a nurse came out and called my name. I got up and followed her to the back. When I got to my room it looked like an old storage room. It had a bed, a chair and a table. That was it. The television was behind glass and there was a cage that could be brought down to keep people from making a phone call or messing with the plugs on the wall. There was also a camera in the room. I was now on suicide watch. I sat there and looked at those walls for 6 damn hours. I cried most of the time because I let a man put me in here. I let him scare me into a hospital. I hated myself and I truly wished I was dead then; I definitely didn’t want to live any more.
In between the time I was sitting there, I had 3 different nurses come in to check on me. One gave me a dry turkey sandwich, graham crackers, applesauce and a ginger ale. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I bit into the sandwich. I sat in silence the entire time, I didn’t want to watch television, I didn’t want to lie down, and I wanted to be left alone. After 7 hours or so, the Psychologist finally comes in to talk to me. I tell her how I’m feeling and why I’m here and she asks for phone numbers — I told her my life story and she wanted phone numbers. She wanted my grandmother’s phone number and my primary Psychologist’s phone number. She left to make her calls and it was at least 30 minutes before she came back to tell me that she wants me to go to the psych ward out in Richmond, Ohio — told me that I have to stay there for 3 days.
It’s 11:30 at night and I’m now at the psych ward talking to nurses and the primary psychologist at the ward. It took them at least an hour to get everything situated. They asked me a series of questions: they asked about my family, was I sexually abused the illnesses that run in my family, why I was there, did I still feel suicidal. They asked me everything, at this point, I just wanted to wring their necks and tell them I’m sick of all these questions, I just want someone to talk to. When they were done they gave me the run-down on what I could and could not do and what I could and could not have. You couldn’t wear anything with strings; you couldn’t have cell phones, no jewelry — nothing! Everything I had with me that day they confiscated; even my husband’s necklace of Africa that I was rubbing and holding on to when I left my apartment. They showed me my room, gave me an extra blanket, and my Trazodone and I went to sleep.
It’s May 12, 2012 and I miss my son terribly. I want to go home and look into his big eyes and tell him how sorry I am. I wanted to hold my son, kiss my son, and be with my son. I didn’t want to be anywhere else. I was so mad at myself for letting someone get to me like that. I slept until one of the nurses came in and told me that my grandmother was on the line. She sounded more depressed than I looked. She wanted me home; she wanted me to be with my son, not in some psych ward with other suicidal people. On a side note: there were more black people there than any other race. That woke me up. Anyway, I talked to my grandmother for 5 minutes because I remember what they told me the previous night: “no calls longer than 10 minutes”. I walked out into the sitting area where people were eating breakfast and gave the woman behind the glass wall the phone and I stumbled back to my bed and laid back down. I felt like I was in an episode of House MD. There were people screaming and giggling. There was this one woman who blurted out rap verses in the middle of group session and another chick who smiled nonstop. At that moment, I felt like the sanest person in the building.
I wanted to go home; I wanted to be with my son. I felt like I was in jail; I felt lost. The only thing that I got comfort from was reading a book. If you haven’t read James Patterson – Suzanne’s Diary for Nicholas, it’s a must read. That was a very good book and it made time go by quickly. The psychiatrist for the weekend finally came and he sat down and talked with me first. He asked me the same questions that the other nurses and doctors asked me and he told me a few things that I need to do. We sat and talked, and talked, and talked and then he told me, “You can go home today, instead of Monday”. I wanted to cry, not because I was going home so soon, but because I felt like I should have never been there to begin with. That’s not some place I never want to go again.
I was told by my doctors to walk away from arguments when possible. Don’t talk to that person for an entire day if they provoke me. He told me that I can’t be around for my son if I don’t make my health a top priority. He told me that I did the right thing by calling and getting help. He also told me to not worry about who loves me and who doesn’t; the only person that loves me unconditionally is my son. That statement kind of made me sad but, ok, I got his point. He told me to keep taking my antidepressants and staying healthy and happy; things will eventually turn out for the better. No telling when that’ll be, I’ve been waiting for 24 damn years.
To put it in a nut shell, accusations that weren’t true, the name calling, the verbal abuse, it pushed me over the edge and I couldn’t take it anymore. I’ll never let anyone else make me go through that again. The food was a level above regurgitated vomit, the people scared me, I missed my baby, and I’m glad that I didn’t spend my first Mother’s Day in a psych ward.