Ending it all

I was hurting so much. Felt so incredibly rejected - so guilty for my child - so alone at a time when I needed support the most - that I wanted to end it.  I fantasised constantly. A knife to the wrist in a hot shower was my plan. I had many of those showers. Sometimes at night, sometimes in the day.  Whenever the crying got too much, the gut wrenching, painful empty feeling that made me cry until there were no tears. I took a knife with me one time. I stood in the shower, under the hot spray, and looked at my wrists to decide which would be better.  And if I had felt like that and was not pregnant, I can honestly say I would have done it.  Just to end the pain and loss and humiliation.  But I had this image of my baby inside me, writhing around after I had collapsed on the floor, unable to get out and fend for himself. I felt a duty of care to this being. He has a right to live and I had no right to take that from him. I had created this and I would have to suffer in reality for him. So he would last another day.

I stared at the lifeline phone number a lot. Call this number if you need help.  But did I? Noone could help me. Noone could stop the pain, except my partner. He could walk in and hug me and tell me everything was alright and that he loved me, like he did to his kids wen he made them cry. It didn't feel like a voice at the end of the phone could help me. I should have called them, because I had nothing to lose.

One Sunday morning, after another night of painful tears and uncontrollable moaning, whilst my partner slept soundly in the next room, drunk on scotch and not caring for my state, I dragged myself to the medical centre. I was the only one there it was so early but still had to wait half an hour and I sat in the waiting room wondering if this was enough to see a doctor. What would I say? There were no physical problems. I was just me on the outside, with a foreign body inside and a painful hurt that sounded a lot like a broken heart, only deeper. Would the doctor think I was pathetic, like my partner did?  When i got to see the doctor I started to talk and then burst into tears.  I couldn't stop. He was in disbelief at what was happening - and immediately gave me a 'mental health plan' and his private number if I ever needed help. I went to a cafe and ate pancakes. I felt slightly better.  Someone had made me feel like I was doing the right thing.

I spent the next morning calling lots and lots of counsellors. I had a plan approved and now I needed to see one. I found a lady called Claudia and made time to see her in a few days.  I felt the wheels were rolling. I was less alone than before.