Welcome to Mental Health, My Story. where I open my blog for an anonymous guest to share their mental health story.
If you are affected by this story in any way, links to relevant mental health organisations are listed below this post.
Please be mindful that it has taken great courage to write this post when leaving any comments. Comments will be approved at my discretion.
No Names, No Links, No Link-ups, No judgement.
I never thought I would share my story.
It’s not like I don’t have the space to do it, nor a community of beautiful people who’ll support me. I just have never felt like I really needed to.
I’m not one to dwell on the pain of my past. Actually I am not one to dwell on pain. I believe that-which-we-focus-on-most-often festers. I don’t want the pains of my past to fester; I want them to lie buried.
It has been many years since they have haunted me. They still lay there and, on the odd occasion when the light of my life is so joyous, I am struck with the thought of what could have been and of what I would have missed.
I want it to speak to help others know they are not alone, to help them to understand it is perfectly normal to feel pain and fear and total blackness.
Maybe this is the moment I can release that part of my life that has remained buried. Maybe this is my chance to embrace it and let it serve its purpose.
When I awaken it the shame is very real.
How could I have ever done that? How could I have treated my right to live the gift of life so badly?
If I had of known then what I do now, the thought would never have entered my head.
Back then I hated myself. Like truly despised who I was. I could never walk past a mirror without wanting to vomit. I could never understand why my friends would spend hours getting ready in front of a mirror, or stopping to check themselves out on passing by.
How could you ever want to look at yourself? I was baffled.
Can you believe I thought that way about my divine body and soul? How did that ever happen? How could I ever despise myself so much?
My self-hatred festered from one bad situation to another; bouncing from relationships that just proved how un-loveable and awful I really was. The drugs, the alcohol, the tears and pleading to be rescued did nothing to ease the pain.
Until one foggy evening along the Thames in May, the moment occurred, the one that only I and the Universe know about.
A few snakebites and several vodkas convinced me that I could no longer live with myself.
I remember the haze well. I remember the drunken argument I had with disastrous boyfriend number 3 well. I remember the deep dark self-loathing and pity.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I stormed off and wandered along the Thames on my own.
The air was crisp and clean and freeing. It beckoned me to join it.
I climbed over the edge of the brick wall that stopped the Thames from rising onto the streets and people from falling.
I was drunk and could easily tumble at any slip.
I looked down at the cold, dark swirling water and knew this was my time.
No one would know.
No one would care.
I could finally stop the misery and the hatred.
I breathed in a final drunken breath, closed my eyes and pushed myself out.
And then I stopped.
Like Spiderman, I clung on by my fingers, the balls of my hands, the strength of my arms, and my feet banged up against the wall. I could not move.
The force holding me back was not me. There was no one else around, but the presence was so powerful I feel it writing these words 15 years later.
“Don’t. Don’t do it.” The words held me back with so much love and strength.
I shouldn’t have been able to hold myself. I was so drunk. I should have slipped. Knowing that now makes me want to crumble in a heap on the floor. How could I have done that? The remorse I feel over that moment of disrespecting my gift of life has never left me.
The power held me back.
“Stay with me. There is so much more you need to do. We will work through this. There is better for you.”
The words slapped me awake. I realized what I was doing and the madness became so apparent.
So did the hatred. The fear. The confusion…
The clarity of my future.
I can’t even remember getting back down from the wall onto the safe side.
I don’t remember the next 10 steps or the next 10 days. But serious changes began in that moment hanging over the river Thames in the darkness.
“The car you drive has a large windshield, but only a relatively small rearview mirror. The implication is obvious: What happened in your past is not nearly as important as what is in your future. Where you are going is much more important than where you’ve been. ” Joel Osteen
It years for me to love and believe in myself, but I did it. My life now, though far from perfect, is beautiful. I know I have the strength to deal with any challenges and I know hatred can never exist in my life again.
If you are affected by this post in any way, you can contact Mental Health Organisations here: