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.
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 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.