I was dying.

At the beginning of last September, I almost died.  I'm not being dramatic; I almost lost my life.  My mental health had been in a decline for almost two years, and I think my brain and body just gave up.  For reasons I'll explain a little later, I don't remember a lot of the details of what happened, but between my memories and what my husband has told me, I do know a few key things, and I want you to know them, too, so you can better understand psychiatric hospitalization.

For one, I decided it was no longer safe to have my guns in our apartment.  That has never happened to me before.  I grew up with guns; they've always been a part of my life.  They've always been in my house.  I used to keep my home-defense shotgun hidden behind my old prom dresses.  But for the first time, I was afraid of what might happen if I let the guns stick around.  I called my grandpa, who lives a couple of towns over, and I asked if my husband and I could stop by.  When we got there, I wish I could remember better what happened.  I'd imagine he was pretty alarmed.  He has already lost one grandchild to suicide.  I remember him locking the guns in one of his gun safes, I remember we didn't talk much, and then I know we left.

It's important to note that I didn't have a suicide plan.  I didn't have a specific reason to get rid of the guns; I just felt like it was a bad idea to keep them around.

A few days later, things were even worse.  Every hour dragged on and on and on and on and on and on and on.  I remember feeling like every hour felt like an entire day.  I knew I didn't really want to die, but all I could think, over and over, was, "I can't live like this any more."  My mental pain was seeping out my pores.  My will to live was growing dimmer and dimmer, like a firefly glowing its last as the winter frost sets in.  Nothing could distract me from the pain and exhaustion of just existing - not Netflix, not knitting, nothing.  I used every tool I had the energy to try, but nothing alleviated my suffering.  And I couldn't accomplish anything - not even brushing my hair. 

I had my husband come with me to therapy that evening.  We were only there for a few minutes before my therapist told us that if ever there was a time for hospitalization, this was it.  I thought he meant at the end of the session, but he didn't.  He meant now.  And he told us which area hospital was the best.  Since it was an hour away, we headed home to pack a bag for me before driving up there.  We didn't know how long it would be before my husband would be able to visit and bring the things I would need.  Clothes, books, a hairbrush, and the lightsaber travel toothbrush he got me on our honeymoon.  And with that, we were off to the ER.

This post is long enough as it is, and I don't have the energy at the moment to write the rest of the story.  But I will.  Soon.

Depression is...

Depression is sobbing to your husband because you have a toothache but no energy to make a dentist's appointment.

Depression is sitting at home watching Netflix all day, bored out of your mind, but knowing that you don't have the ability to focus on anything else.

Depression is showering once a week because the exhaustion brought on by the thought of all of the steps it takes to shower outweighs your disgust with yourself.

Depression is 71 unanswered texts and 20 unanswered voicemails.

Depression is overdrawing your bank account because you don't have the energy to make sure that your bills get paid.

Depression is not talking to your friends because you're sick of saying, "No, it's worse again, not better."

Depression is gaining tons of weight because you don't have the energy or motivation to exercise and cook healthy food.

Depression is only brushing your hair when you actually have to leave the house (and not always then) because you don't care what people think anymore.

Depression is not leaving your house unless you absolutely have to.

Depression is constantly checking the clock during an activity you should enjoy because you're out of energy and you wish it was over already.

Depression is eating uncooked macaroni out of the box because you know you need to eat something, but you don't have the energy to actually make anything.

Depression is dreading going to the zoo, an activity you've looked forward to for months, because you're afraid there won't be enough places to sit and rest.

Depression is all this and so much more, this is just how I've been feeling lately.