The day I collect my dad's ashes, I nearly died.. literally.
My doctor told me, he was shocked I was alive, because the amount of prescription sleeping tablets in my blood work wasn't a cry for help, it was to die.
I remember crying saying, I know.
I often think back and wonder, if I hadn't of been sedated, if I hadn't of been put on breathing equipment, if Zoe hadn't of found me and put her fingers down my throat.. what would it be like to be dead?
Would I of found my dad?
Is he waiting for me?
I know after that day and I'm a great believer, that my dad sent me back. It was not my time to go and since that day back in 2020 I said to myself, I will not leave my children. No matter how hard it gets, I will try my best to not unalive myself.
The thought of my children feeling just an ounce of how I feel, makes me feel physically sick. I couldn't bare them to have this constant pain and hurt inside them.
If depression does win one day, I hope my boys read these blogs and see just how hard I tried to stay alive for them because they are my absolute world and more.
I hope they know I adore them and love them more than life itself.
I'm still here fighting another day trapped in my own head so that's a plus I guess.
Comments
Post a Comment