New start?

This was the first time I seriously considered taking my life.  

Surely everyone would be better off without me?  No-one would really miss me and no-one would be particularly upset by my passing.  I planned it all out and started to get things into place, but I did not have the courage to take the final step.  I constantly told myself that I did not deserve to live, but I couldn’t do anything about it.  I felt even worse for being a coward.

I couldn’t save my parents, I was not there to protect my children when they needed me.  What was I good for?  Nothing, that’s what.

My mood spiralled further and further downward, whilst I maintained the public face.  I became even better at portraying the other Bella and everyone was taken in by the deception.  I shut myself away, stopped paying bills, didn’t open my post, in fact I hardly ventured out of the house.  As the year passed me by, I became more and more depressed and drew closer and closer to the precipice that threatened my very existence.

I can’t really remember what made me go to the doctor, but I remember it had something to do with my middle son’s interference.  He pushed me into it.  It was a good thing he did.  I was diagnosed with Depression and prescribed with the appropriate anti-depressants.  Within a couple of weeks, I was starting to pull back from the abyss only to be met by the horror of what I had allowed to happen.  

My rent was so far in arrears, I had no hope of sorting it out.  All the bills were unpaid and there was just no solution in sight.

Enter Zimbabwe Rhodesians Worldwide Assistance Fund again.  Although they could not assist me with my debts, they paid for the boys and me to move to a new flat in Eastbourne, paying our deposit and moving costs.  A new year, a new home and a new start.  My mood improved and I felt that I was finally on the road to recovery.  It didn’t occur to me that until I dealt with the issues at the root of my depression, it would just keep coming back and knocking me off kilter again.

My job hunting was not going well and only one of the boys was working, despite the fact that they had all left school.  What kind of mother was I that I couldn’t look after myself, let alone raise my sons properly?

The medication helped to a certain extent, but the truth of the matter was that I needed to get to the source of the depression.  But I couldn’t or wouldn’t deal with it.