Its June 2010; The room began to spin; there was too much noise, my ears and my head hurt, round and round the room span faster and faster.
The noise got louder and the people all merged into one.
I ran
I ran out of the room, leaving my husband and a large group of friends standing there in shock.
“I have to get out” I screamed
When I get scared I run, to a place that’s safe, where I am alone.
I had no idea where I was running too, I had not long given birth and family and friends had come to see the new arrival, yet it was too overpowering for me.
This baby, the one I had thought I did not deserve had survived. I was living with the guilt of those times I had wished he would not survive. Yet here he was, he was mine yet everyone wanted a piece of him.
Running free, I enjoyed the feeling.
I ran across roads and passed people, stopping not once.
I arrived at a graveside and sat down on the wet grass.
I was a child again, smiling and sitting listening to my nanna singing “How much is that doggy in the window.
“Again, again” I say to her with pleading eyes
She is gone. When did she go? Reality hits fast, she is laid under me, in a wooden box. Like everyone in my life she hurt me. She left me. She was the only safe person in my childhood; she was always there for me. Never let me down.
I cry
My body shakes as I sob
Oblivious to others I sit there in the rain, on the wet grass and I cry
My phone bleeps, I ignore it, the bleeping continues
“Jump of the bridge” the voice tells me
I stand ready to face my end. I know which bridge I choose and I am going to do it. I can no longer live this life, it hurts too much.
I tell the person who is texting me that I can’t do it anymore
They tell me if I don’t tell them where I am they are phoning the police
I don’t care I won’t be here when they find me
They are now phoning the mental health crisis team
I finish picking the over grown grass that is covering the bottom of the headstone , my finger nails are covered with dirt.
I stand and walk home
Once home there is a hustle of noises, people leave and loud voices can be heard.
“She’s not well, she needs help”
“She needs fucking sectioning she’s lost it”
My husband throws that person out. He is scared. He does not want to face the truth. He is struggling to keep me safe.
His wife, me, is close to the edge and he’s frightened of the truth. He is losing me. They are threatening to phone the authorities and have me sectioned.
You can read more about my real life struggle by reading My Bipolar Life
