Motherhood, Madness, God and Me

I know I will come in in an hour and say I am fine. You will either say that I'm not, write a prescription and send me away assuring me that I will be OK. One day. Or you may believe me if I'm convincing. Or maybe today you will finally give up and accept defeat. We both know that it's a dance we do every week, fortnight or month. I remain immensely grateful that you are kind and that you do fight for me. I can't find the words though. Not really. Sometimes if you ask the right questions you might get an insight. I don't know how to make the words come out. That I am totally out of control and can't stop myself and I'm terrified and terribly ashamed. I don't know how to say that it has been incredibly difficult this morning not to neck all my pills and take myself off somewhere to sleep. That Susanna and I have talked how I am able to step away and make a choice, that I did yesterday and have, so far, done this morning. This is why I am so very ash...

I can't say the words out loud. I can usually type them, and if the right question is asked they tumble out of my mouth quickly once I've started. I can't just say "help me" or "I'm scared". Even when asked it is difficult to get started. The past few days I have been texting the samaritans. It's quicker than emailing but easier for me than phoning and also more private for me too. It takes around an hour for a reply, sometimes less. This is useful for me as my most helpful strategy is delaying action. The straight forward question threw me last night. Even by text I had not actually used the words. I had explained how I had planned. How pointless and hopeless I was feeling. A few hours in I received a simple reply. Do you want to end your life? Not "have you had thoughts of harming yourself?" or "do you have a plan to harm yourself?  I'm not sure that it was that plainly asked ever before. I struggled to answer. The ques...