At first everything was normal as it had been before, but six months of not taking that medicine left me with the feeling I was slowly sinking into that all too familiar state of depression.

I slowly sunk deeper and deeper into the bottomless pit that is depression. Even though I had supportive friends and family, I withdrew until the only people I could be around were my parents and sisters. I couldn’t deal with seeing other people smiling and laughing at jokes and talking about normal everyday things. I felt anything but normal and felt every time I was around people I sucked the joyful atmosphere straight out of the room with my expressionless gaze. I felt worthless as I had lost my job, had no funds to support myself and no idea what my future would hold.

I slowly started weening my way back onto the medicine since it requires small doses until your body can handle the recommended levels prescribed.

That is when I had the scariest, most painful moment in my life.

AS I was spending another sleepless night in bed trying to keep my mind from racing, I had an incredibly painful ache in my head. It was almost as if a voice from within was urging me to end my life right then and there.

That urge turned into something I wish I could forget. In my minds eye, not a dream and at the same time not fully aware came the notion that I needed to kill my parents.

The same parents who would have not taken second thought to sacrifice their own life to save me. I tried to fight with this image in my mind as it became more real to me. I was exhausted and finally hit a point where I was too exhausted and let my mind run wild. I had a vision of myself killing my parents in the next room and not telling anyone why as I strived for notoriety as a murderer.

And then My face remained the same but my body changed to that of Adam Lanza who was responsible for the atrocity in Sandy Hook Elementary School leaving children dead and families in anguish. That was when my mom came in to check how I was sleeping. I started to come out of that lucid hallucination of a dream and started sobbing,
“Mom I can’t do it.”
“Can’t do what honey?” my mom replied.

“I..I.. have to hurt you. I have to kill you.”

I fell apart and started pacing and shaking. My mom slowly led me to their room, the same room where I spent many nights sleeping on the floor while holding my mom’s hand, trying to get comfort through those agonizing nights and sleep deprivation. I collapsed onto the bed and immediately my body began convulsing and I began to speak gibberish, not unlike some scenes in The Exorcist, but this was real life.

This was my life.

Finally my eyes rolled back and I stopped convulsing and my parents decided to take me to an emergency room.

I took a Xanax I had been prescribed for anxiety and immediately began to feel less tense on the way to the hospital. I put my hand to the side of my lip and felt incredible pain.

While I was convulsing my mouth opened so wide that a gash formed on the corner of my mouth.

We arrived at the hospital soon after and I received a thorough examination from one of the workers and was given another Xanax to relax. The doctors conclusion was that I had an anxiety attack, but I still feel it may have been a seizure or the presence of something incredibly evil along with the effects of one of my medicines.

I returned home and immediately fell into a deep sleep. Things gradually became more normal for me as my body adjusted to the correct doses I needed. I slowly began to do more things step by step. First it was crossword puzzles with my Dad, followed by jigsaw puzzles with my family, short walks with my Mom and finally my first smile in months as my beloved dog bestowed upon me one of his many kisses on my cheek.

How did I go from just a little depressed to wanting to kill my parents in an insane split with reality? Here is how the madness crept in, bit by agonizing bit. This is how the build up started that ended with me having the impulse to kill my parents:

I dreaded the morning. Not because I wished I didn’t have to go to work, but because I wished I was dead.

I kept my eyes shut tight, praying that I could sleep forever and end the pain and emptiness I felt coursing throughout my body. Nothing brought me joy whether present or past. No the times spent with my Dad coaching me in baseball giving me the game ball after a game winning hit. Not my dog with his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth and his ever wagging tail begging me for one of our cherished walks together.

Not even niece and nephews as they learned to give tiny hugs and wave goodbye for the first time. It that happiness had been bottled up and tossed out to see and would never return.

All I felt was a complete lack of emotion. No smiles or jokes, no excitement to see family or friends who poured out their love to me. Nothing.

Each minute seemed to drag on for hours and while I was emotionally empty, my mind raced a mile a minute. So fast that I was rendered unable to put together multiple sentencing without needing to lay down from exhaustion. My main interaction with my parents when I did talk to them was only efficient through writing in a notebook and them talking back to me. Concentration on anything over three sentences was out of the question. I could no longer follow the plots of the movies I so enjoyed watching. The thoughts of ending my life came slowly at first but rapidly increased until they dominated the better part of each hour.

Every night as I lay awake in bed I prayed to God that he would take me in my sleep so I wouldn’t have to do it myself and cause the pain a suicide brings to a family.

How did I end up here in this valley? I was diagnosed with bipolar depression, which is linked to certain chemical levels in the brain not being at normal levels. At times I would experience an amazing amount of energy, need very little sleep, and be excited about life in a way that seemed too good to be true. This might sound great at first, but it is short lived. A low follows matching the opposite spectrum of the high, whether days, months, or years later.

Rewind 8 months from today, where I made an extremely foolish decision and stopped taking my medicine. I was prescribed medicine to help keep me from going through those extreme highs and lows. I was tired of taking pills, doctor’s visits, and filling up prescriptions. That is the point where I stepped off the cliff of sanity and became obsessed with the idea of killing my parents.

I wish I could say recovery happened quickly, but it took months. I didn’t feel I could make it through it. The only way I survived was through the support of my family and friends, and my sister who wrote me a card saying she believed in me and saw great potential in my life. This brought me to tears, since at that time I felt a complete failure, and these words really struck me at a time when I desperately needed hope. She saw the true me beyond the disease that I suffer with and loved me regardless. She that I could be successful and use some of my gifts to help others.

Fast forward to today where I smile frequently and crack jokes that make my family laugh with my witty dry humor. I have the opportunity to spend two days a week or more playing with my niece and nephews, who I adore. I want them to be proud of me when they grow up. To be proud of an uncle who made a meaningful impact on their lives.

While recently searching for jobs I stumbled across some bitcoin articles and did a little research. I dabbled in bitcoin before but never mined or bought a significant amount. I saw an alternative coin listed and thought the concept was interesting and signed up for steemit.com, not really knowing what to expect. I thought since they gave away free power to create content I would see what it was all about and meet some people in the community. I found many friendly, intelligent, and interesting people. I decided to share about myself and a little about my depression for the first time publicly on a social media platform of all places. I didn’t go deep into details, but the community accepted me for who I am and the heart I have to make a difference by helping others in any way I am able.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on how this story affected you, and maybe at least one more person will realize they don’t have to suffer alone or keep a mental illness a secret for fear others will reject them If you have the courage to bare your soul, I’d love to see some others users post as a Secret Writer.
-Secret Writer

ABOUT THE SECRET WRITER SERVICE

The Secret Writer is a service that is designed to help people reveal their secrets in an anonymous way. All secret writer posts are a 50% revenue split. @stellabelle edits and does all the art/photo editing. All you do is provide the secret. If you want to submit your secret for the Secret Writer post, send an email to Leahstella@gmail.com.
The Secret Writer was first created on Medium about 6 months ago. It moved to Steemit about one month ago. Here's the video that explains why I created the Secret Writer profile: