The darkness. Paralysis. Broken. The White Picket Fence and the Wrecking Ball have met.
There truly are no words that will describe the first day of my nervous breakdown. I wouldn’t wish those days upon my worst enemy. I would give my last dollar to never have to live through it again. I thought I knew depression. I thought I knew suicidal. I thought I knew vulnerable. I thought I knew sadness. I thought I knew disconnected. I thought I knew broken. Until August 3rd, I thought I knew damn near everything. I was so wrong. It came in like a wrecking ball.
Minutes, hours, days, weeks… they didn’t seem to feel like they were so different anymore. I could stare at a wall for hours. Sometimes my mind would race and sometimes it was unable to produce even one thought. At times, I would have conversations with family and have no recollection of what had been said by either party. The phone that once ran my life was now the last thing I wanted to see.
I was afraid to leave my house. The lovely home we had just moved into in May was now my prison. The blinds stayed closed as if there were bars on the windows. I had an irrational fear of my neighbor. He was a retired mechanic and seemed like a really nice guy when we first met him. The kind that would shovel your driveway or change your oil. We would talk to him while we were gardening or working outside. After August 3rd, he had somehow become the warden of my prison. Somewhere inside, I knew how twisted this was but it was so real to me.
After weeks of not returning to myself, my family grew scared. I wasn’t smiling. I barely spoke. I’d rarely leave my room and if I did, I’d make it to the living room. I started noticing that the few guests we’d have over (only immediate family and a close friend or two) began looking at me as if I was dying in a hospital. Tears in their eyes. Pity painted on their faces. Sometimes this really registered with me and I would experience fear that I wasn’t going to come out of this.