I was 26 years old and I wanted to die. I was miserable nearly every day and could not wash the pain away with anything. It was constant mental agony with undiagnosed C-PTSD, OCD, Panic Disorder, and Major Depressive Disorder.

I admitted myself into the ER when I almost took a bottle of pills to make it all stop.

When I was formally admitted into the psychiatric ward, I was nervous but I was welcomed by the other patients. I was, for the first time in my life, medicated. I felt a sense of balance returning to my life and then a new branch of therapy, I had new tools to grow with.

I left the ward with answers and assistance but, the hope of ever having a normal life after domestic abuse and severe mental illness still felt beyond me. I couldn’t fathom being able to hold a steady career, relationship, or family.

I am eternally grateful I did not lose my battle that day three years ago or I would have missed this moment:

I would’ve missed finding a stable job where I am happy. I would’ve missed the art shows I performed at. I would’ve missed all of my fur babies.

Most importantly, I would’ve missed meeting the love of my life and growing our daughter.

I’m laying here with his head on my stomach, listening to and feeling our baby girl dance.

If I had lost my battle I would’ve missed out on so much. Even if, at the time, it didn’t feel like it.

Don’t lose hope. As hopeless as it feels, you are loved, will be loved even more, and you can lead a normal life.