When nearly every moment of every day is a fight not to kill yourself, you don’t have the option of whether or not to be on an antidepressant. You need to be on one.

Whether or not it causes me to have seizures becomes irrelevant. The question is, “Do you want to die?” and the answer is “No.” So I need to get back on something that is going to help me stop constantly thinking that I need to end my life.

Do I want to have a child?  Sure.  But that doesn’t matter.  What does matter is making the thought “I NEED TO DIE RIGHT NOW”  go away — and talk therapy isn’t gonna do that in a few days.

Does that thought have any solid, rational reasoning behind it?  Absolutely not. That’s what makes it scary and wrong.  I know — know — that the thought is pervasive and incoherent and trying to take over for its own sake. I know that Suicide is a delusional liar.

I know, when I’m giving myself reasons not to kill myself like, “Think about how much money the funeral would cost your husband,” and “Imagine how much pain it would put your family and friends through,” and “Your funeral would totally suck because even your best friend has told you that she wouldn’t attend if you killed yourself!” that I am way, way, way beyond the point of needing basic non-medicinal help.

I know, when I notice myself trying to convince myself that Adam could ever love again and eventually have a family of his own with some other woman, when I know that he’s the one who would find my lifeless body, that I’m fighting for the wrong team.

So, I’m going back on meds, even if it means that I start having seizures again.

I simply cannot cope.