I was hoping, praying, that this wouldn’t happen again.

That I wouldn’t suffer the same fate I did after J was born.

I’ve been hiding, trying to fight it myself for weeks now.

Nearing breaking point.

Today I snapped.

I reached it.

I don’t know what triggered it, it just happened.

From nowhere.

I decided that life would be better off without me.

My children, my husband, my family.

Selfish. I know I’m selfish.

But this illness, this horrible, debilitating, illness. Now that, that is even more selfish.

It doesn’t care.

It can control me.

But I couldn’t control it.

I care. I care about my family.

They care about me.

But sometimes, I think they won’t.

I am selfish for not caring about what happens to me.

And it makes me sad.

I looked at my children, and felt physical pain. Sadness.

My husband had to come home from work.

I slept.

I woke.

I didn’t want to.

I wanted the pain to just go away.

Emotional pain, that hurts just as much as physical pain.

It was a cry for help.

Which I should have seeked sooner, rather than fighting.

I can only be strong for so long.

I’m getting help.

With help, I will fight.

You will not beat me.

I will win.