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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Distances” Down in the Dirt v213 (11/23) Order the paperback book:

Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology Instant Karma the Down in the Dirt September-December 2023 issues collection book		get the 422 page September-December 2023 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# perfect-bound paperback book:

On the Edge

Lorna Roberts

    Before the depression ramps up, life is relatively normal. I have a family of two kids and a husband. A job as a customer service adviser. I have my daily routine I strive to stick to. Meds help. I take Venlafaxine. But every now and then, I get hit by what can only be described as a locomotive of despair. It sweeps in with no warning and wallops me. This is the story of my last depressive episode.
    The girls had just had a bath and I was perched on the closed lid of the toilet. Frankly, I was enjoying the momentary peace and quiet. All of a sudden, a wave of sadness whirled around me and washed over me from head to toe. Tears started to spark uncontrollably. What was happening?
    Sadly, I knew what was happening. The depression was back. But why? How? I had been happy and relaxed and this has come out of nowhere like a summer thunderstorm. I grabbed some toilet tissue and wiped my eyes, choking back the tears. Oh, God. I hate being like this. It frightens the girls and worries Dave. But once it starts I’ve got to ride it until it passes.
    I stumble up and along the corridor to our bedroom where I launch myself at the bed, gripping the duvet cover for some unseen stability. Now the sensation is like noisy waves crashing against my brain. How long is this going to last for? I wonder. I want everyone to know I’m suffering- to get help, get sympathy, get support. But at the same time, I don’t want anyone to know. To fuss. To worry.
    Dave’s noticed I’ve been gone longer than expected. “Love?” he calls up. Then I hear the creak at the bottom of the stairs and in three, two, one bounds, he’s at the top and swinging around the bannister and into our bedroom. “What’s up?”
    I can’t bear to face him. I feel the bed jolt and Dave’s at my side, his hand caressing my hair. “What’s wrong?” he asks. I shake my head and open my eyes. I know I look a mess.
    “I don’t know. I was feeling fine then all of a sudden...” and I mime with a hand being slowly slapped across my face. I bury my face back under a tissue.
    “You’re okay,” he says. “I’ve got you now.” And he shimmies down on the bed beside me, wrapping me in his arms. I feel the warmth and enclosure. But my brain feels a separate entity with its own needs and wants. Then I hear tiny footsteps on the stair carpet.
    “Mummy?” Catherine and Angela. I hate them seeing me like this. I do my best to come across as normal and calm as I can. I sit up, wiping my eyes and putting on a smile.
    “Mummy’s brain is being naughty again,” I say. The girls both give me a hug and I squeeze back. “Thank you. That’ll make me feel a lot better. Now, bed time.”
    Dave rises silently and I hear the three of them in the next door bedroom as he settles the girls down. I hear their light switch click and Dave comes back in to me, taking my hand.
    I spend the night variously crying and nodding off. I feel awful about waking Dave but I can’t help myself. Next morning, I’m feeling just as bad. I can hear the usual cries and yells from downstairs then a thunder of shoes on the stairs as the girls race upstairs to say goodbye to me before school. Dave pops his head in to kiss me on the forehead before he heads to work for the day, dropping the girls at breakfast club.
    Now I feel extra guilty for not having been well enough to do the girls’ morning routine. The tears well up again and I punch the pillow. The tears grow as does a horrible feeling inside my brain. I start thinking that I don’t want to exist anymore. That the girls and Dave would be so much better off without me. I start to fantasise about dying and how that would be a wonderful release. Then things escalate and for the first time ever, I start to think seriously about how I’d end things. Hanging is too harrowing for the finder. Maybe I could gas myself with the car exhaust or take a bunch of painkillers? How many would it take?
    My brain feels like it’s swollen to twice its size and doesn’t fit in my skull any longer. It’s a horrible sensation. But one I can’t do anything about as I know, in the little part of objective thinking I can still manage, that it can’t be true. My brain doesn’t really have any sensations. I’m making it all up.
    I know the suicide-thing is bad. I’ve never been that despondent before. Do I really think I’d act on it? Not quite yet. But it’s scary to be so out of control.
    I start to think if I should phone the Duty Worker at the mental health base at the hospital. I was told if I needed extra help to ring. But I don’t want to trouble them unnecessarily. Yes, there’s discomfort and pain- it’s a sort of pain- not like a headache or gut ache but a horrible sensation that’s hard to articulate. I continue to wail and gnash my teeth. How I want it to stop.
    I fall asleep then I wake back up an hour later with the sensation of the depression flooding back in, like I’ve bailed water from a boat but the hole is larger than the amount I’m bailing out every minute. I feel rubbish. So I decide I’ve got no other option than to phone the hospital.
    I don’t know what I’m going to say. Everything is coming out as cries and snorts. I don’t know what they’ll say either. I hope it’s not dismissive as other people have reported. Also, it’s getting towards their closing time at 5pm. And the kids and Dave will be back soon after then. Right. If I don’t do it now, I’m stuck until tomorrow morning. I’ve got their number on my phone.
    I do it. I feel rather stupid but I don’t feel I have any other option. It’s ringing. I get the receptionist. She can hear I’m distressed. She puts me through to the nurse who’s in charge. He says I’ve done the right thing. I explain how I’m feeling. He asks me if I’m safe for now. I think so. I don’t have a stash of meds. And I don’t know how many I’d need to take to kill myself either. Although I wish I did. But I don’t tell him that.
    He asks me what, if any, preventative actions I have on my wellness plan. I can’t rightly think of one thing from it right now. He suggests a bath. Reading a book. Talking to someone. Watching a movie. Various distraction techniques which in hindsight are so bleeding obvious but that two minutes ago I couldn’t have come up with even one.
    As I’m due to see my CPN in a few days, there’s not a lot he’s willing to do, or is necessarily able to do right now. I agree I’ll phone my friend, Christine, when she gets in from work. And I’ll take a bath. A bath. That sounds nice. We end the call. On a scale of one to ten, if I was at nine and three-quarters before, I’m at nine. It doesn’t seem like much but I feel like I’ve rolled away from the edge of a cliff and can now see the panoramic scene before me, even if my head’s thumping and still feels misshapen.
    Shortly afterwards, the front door swings open and the girls thunder up to see me, Dave plodding behind. I mention the Duty Worker. Dave gives me a big hug. I say I’ll ring Christine after dinner. And that I could do with a bath. The girls offer to join me but I decline, not least because we no longer all fit at once.
    I go to the bathroom and turn on the hot tap, the steam rising and squeeze a generous amount of lavender bubble bath in as it’s meant to be good for relaxation. I’m glad I took the step to reach out. It wasn’t a lot of help but enough to snap me out of the worst of it for at least a few hours. Probably the most courageous thing I’ve done in a while. Even if it’s only me that knows it.

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