I thought I could go off of my meds. I thought I was stronger than depression. But the black dog is back and he’s sitting on my chest, daring me to leave him off leash. I tried. I thought the exercise would be enough. But five weeks off my meds and his teeth are bared and I keep thinking that ending it all would keep him from getting me.
I don’t know why admitting it to myself is so defeating. I’ve spent years giving others the lecture about getting treatment and that mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of.
So today, I go back to my shrink today and admit defeat.