My Most Vulnerable Moment


I was an emotional catastrophe.

That saying about the duck – calm above water, and kicking for dear life underneath … well that was me!

I was kicking so hard, that I was wearing myself out. I probably should have turned to someone for guidance. But I guess all I saw in the mirror was that calm duck – so I thought I could handle it. Looks can be deceiving, though.I was embarrassed...Conversation Bubble

I was at my prime in life (19 or 20 years old) – attending college and experiencing life first-hand. I had great friends. Great family. The greatest sister – we were close like that! And the greatest boyfriend – or so, I made it look that way to everyone.

He had this charm … THIS charisma about him. This I knew. But I wouldn’t understand how badly you could abuse such a trait until later.

He won me over quickly. That charm had a lot to do with it.

But there was something eerie about his demeanor … it made my mind wander with concern. He always used his charm and charisma to manipulate each and every situation to his benefit. I always got the short end of the stick – if any piece of it at all. And the worst part, somehow everything was always flipped on me.


If he got caught in a lie, it was ME who misinterpreted.

If he got caught talking to that “crazy ex” of his, it was MY fault for pushing him to her.

If he didn’t make time for me, it was because I pushed him away somehow {probably that ONE phone call I missed!}.

The list is endless … but bottom line, I could never do anything right. I was always in the wrong.

And it was so draining! OH! SO! DRAINING!

It all came shattering down on me one evening …

I vividly remember talking to him on the phone.

I was living at my parents’ home at the time. Pacing the backyard endlessly. Arguing with him for the umpteenth time! Umpteenth … is that even a word?! It is today!

I can’t remember exactly what the argument was about at this point – but surely, it revolved around lies, and cheating, and the lack of quality time.

My heart ached so badly! He knew so well how to do that.

And then taking pills entered my thoughts.

I mentioned it to him. And somewhere between mentioning it and his threatening to call my mom and tell her, I had already popped a few.

They were prescribed (not to me) 500 mg. Tylenol. I swallowed 9 in total. I kept thinking to myself, “If I could just fall asleep. Take a break from all the pain.” I don’t think I had ever ached so badly emotionally.

Minutes passed, and nothing happened. I wasn’t sleepy. I wasn’t anything. Except hateful! All the rage and hate I felt for him was all I had.

Each minute that passed, my rational side took over a little more and more. I don’t remember when I finally hung up with – or how. But soon later, I found myself worrying about the consequences of what I had just done.

My Most Vulnerable MomentI walked up to my mother, sobbing, and confessed my most difficult confession yet. She immediately {and discreetly} drove me to the closest place she knew would be open at such hours – a clinic that my aunt used to work at. The front desk told her that they didn’t have the means to help me. I would have to go to the hospital.

So to the hospital she took me. My first time in the E.R. ever! They pumped my stomach. And monitored me overnight. The following day, they notified me that I would have to spend a few days at a behavioral center. And it wasn’t optional; it was court-ordered. Although, I did want the help.

I answered pages full of questions, and was diagnosed with Depression. I spent four days talking to multiple numbers of nurses, and therapists, and what-not. And was prescribed an anti-depressant by one of their psychiatrists.

I met a lot of people there too – some scary {at thought}. I met people who suffered Bipolar Disorder. People who suffered schizophrenia {and had murdered someone}. But you wouldn’t think it at meeting them. They were actually some of the nicest people.

But I digress …

My family visited me; and I cannot thank them enough for doing that – and trying their best to be supportive.

But my most reason for being there – he didn’t make it the first day. Or the second day. He promised he would be there on the third day – but didn’t follow through … he had “car issues”. But he did FINALLY make it out to visit me on the last day. The. Last. Day.!

And for someone who loved me, and swore on his life that I was his everything,…he sure had a weird way of showing it.

I checked myself out on that fourth day. And returned for follow-ups with the psychiatrist.

All he ever did though was basically establish my mental stability and make sure I wasn’t suffering from any side-effects from the anti-depressant – which is his job, I’ll grant him that.

But that routine got old after about the third or fourth time – when I finally went to my parents and told them I wanted NEEDED someone {a professional} to talk to. Not just go in for 15 minutes and only have talked about medicine. I wanted to talk to someone, confide in someone. And not worry about being judged.

Therapy Much...So my parents found me a psychologist and set up the appointment for me. And I started going in with this psychologist regularly. We talked. I mean, really talked. She asked questions – and not just about medicine. Questions about me. What made me tick. How I was feeling. What I was feeling. Why I thought I was feeling it. Everything.

At one of my sessions, she told me that she thought I had anxiety. Had I been depressed?! Yes! But that depression was not the underlying culprit.

She explained to me that what happens with anxiety is you bottle up all your emotions. When you do this, your body overworks itself with all these emotions and surges of energy {anger}. Eventually, you get to this point where your body just cannot take anymore – and that’s where the depression kicks in … because what goes up, must come down.

And it is at this point that I would do irrational things – because I didn’t know how to deal with these waves of emotions.

That explanation alone gave me so much clarity. For the first time, I could understand myself a little bit.

She started helping me learn how to deal with my anxiety. And soon after, I decided to wean myself off my meds. She helped me with that.

Sometimes life throws us fast-balls when we’re not looking. Life is about getting back up, letting the wounds heal, and learning from the whole experience. Just know that it’s okay to reach out for help when you have trouble getting back up on your own.

Need to talk to someone?! Look for your nearest counselor, psychologist, psychiatrist, friend or family member or other confidant. And if you can’t find one, there are hotlines of all sorts (i.e., and )

This was one of the darkest and most vulnerable moments in my life.

And to this day, I carry ALL my psychologist’s advice and help with me.

What’s Your Therapy?!


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