First off, thank you to all of you who have reached out and given me their time. Not only that you had read my post, but the fact that you had posted such kind words. I literally would wake up for a few days and go to this very forum and read the replies on this very thread, and cry. Someone out there cares, and even though you don't know me and vice-versa, you have no idea what that very thought does for someone who's just looking for hope.

So I have an update. It's amazing how life changes in just a matter of days. It's now been a month and a half since I wrote this post, and life is continuing to ... well, be life. But who am I to complain or argue? I know I'm not alone, but sometimes, that doesn't make it any easier.

Christmas came and went, as did my birthday because I'm a Christmas baby. That within itself is depressing... hahaha! No, seriously!

As I mentioned before, my father was punishing me for standing at my mother's side. He didn't get me a birthday present this year. And for Christmas, I received a pair of socks. It's not the gift that matters, but the thought. I'm by no means ungrateful.

I had mentioned to him that I had received no birthday present from anyone but my mother, and I did it to see what he would say, not because I wanted something and also that was very true.

His reply: "I can't afford you a birthday present, especially when I'm flying myself and most of the family out for Hawaii tomorrow."

... Ouch. Can't say that I didn't ask for it, I guess.

Whatever the case, my father is obviously still very angry with me. He speaks through gifts. He always has.

I got terribly sick on my birthday. I was vomiting for over 12 hours. I got yelled at by a sister for using her bathroom. She and my father, on my birthday, were stating, "Don't touch me or anything around me! I fly out to Hawaii tomorrow! You should be in the guest bedroom away from everyone so you don't infect us."

No happy birthday. No I love you. No, "I hope you feel better." It was a, "Don't infect us."

Can you feel the love tonight? Wait, this isn't an Elton John song nor a Disney movie. Silly me!

The new year rang in. Good tidings and peace on earth, right? ... Right?! My Ish and I got in a fight shortly after the new year. What I am about to admit isn't easy for me, and I carry great shame for it.

We fought, hard. He reminded me of how my family had abandoned me, how my friends had left during the hard times ... and made them sound justified. My anger suddenly became terrible.

I live with these thoughts on a daily basis. I am not perfect. I am no where near. But to hear them from someone who is my rock ... I lost it.

I hit him. Several times. Let's be clear, though, it started out with me giving him a slap. And then he encouraged that I do it again. In my rage, I did. He then continued to tell me to do it again, and again and again. I obliged every time. With an open palm, I slapped each side of his face and allowed my anger to turn into something that became physical. And he just asked for more, telling me he could take it, and how good it must feel that I was doing it, and that I should continue doing it.

And I did.

It wasn't until I saw that I had cut his upper right lid with my fingernail and he bled, that I realized exactly what was happening. I gasped. I pulled away. And then he not only told me, "Are you proud of yourself? Look at what you did." He continued to berate me. Tell me what had just occurred was my fault and solely my fault.

I cried. I apologized. And then I shut down. And he continued to tell me how destructive I am while I said nothing at all.

I was so ashamed, and I even encouraged him to call the police. I told him that I would own my actions. He never did call, and I wish he had.

Huh. Great. Here I am confessing my deepest shame to a bunch of strangers. You all must thing I'm a terrible person. I feel that way every day. I wake up with it. I carry it.

It was then that when I shut down I went into the kitchen, sat on his shiny, polished wood floor and drank wine. I drank. And I deeply contemplated suicide once more.

My thoughts of suicide were my own. I never once voiced them. And they were very dark. I couldn't stop thinking about dying. I texted a "friend" and asked her for company, that I was in trouble. I needed a distraction. Once she found out that I didn't want to "party" with her, she didn't text me back.

We haven't spoken since.

And so that's when I started looking up my illness. I have two master degrees, and believe it or not, one is in psychology. What a **** up I am, right? I'm sure that makes your opinion of me all that much more. That last sentence was laced with sarcasm, in case you didn't pick that up. But, I'm sure you did.

I finally sat there and diagnosed myself. I have MMD. Major Mental Depression, and to the point where I was lingering on PMD - Psychotic Mental Depression. The only reason why I include PMD is because I am slightly paranoid, and I think that people are talking about me. But for no other reason than that.

Anger is closely linked with depression. That was comforting. Because I am a "Make love not war" kind of girl. Love everyone around you. Respect humanity. Linger on the goodness they provide. And yet I was the opposite for that brief moment.

I got so desperate for finding another answer for life. Talking myself into living, I found a local suicide hotline. She treated me like I was worth something. She listened to me. Her name was Kim. She was fabulous.

She encouraged I check myself in.

I refused.

But she listened. She was good to me. My phone eventually died. This whole conversation was happening in my car, by the way. The Ish wouldn't leave me alone and I desperately needed someone. So I went to my car to talk. When the phone died in the middle of our conversation, I went back to the house and went to the basement so that way I wouldn't wake the Ish (our bedroom is on the first floor). I was just going to plug in my phone and continue to have privacy.

The Ish had put a lock on the basement door. Remember how I had told you I wasn't allowed down there without him? I didn't know until that moment that he had locked me out of the basement all together.

A piece of me died that moment and it hasn't been revived.

I ended up finally sleeping because my body forced itself to shut down. I got up, still as depressed as I had ever been and contemplating, what seemed to me as the inevitable, and I realized then Kim was right; I had to check myself in.

I called my local "mental hospital". I don't have insurance and I was afraid of not being able to afford it. The man I talked to encouraged me to come in anyway, that they had ways of helping.

And I finally went. I packed a small duffle bag. I was told that I would be checked in mandatory for 72 hours. I knew it was coming. I prepared for it.

I went to check myself in and cried terribly out there on the couch of the lobby area of this mental hospital. Sobbed horribly. People were coming in and checking themselves in as if there was no big deal. Remember my jacket of my favorite team the Ish had given me? I saw an old man in a Giants jacket (not my team but I do adore them) checking in with his wife or girlfriend next to him. She read a book as he nonchalantly filled out his paperwork. She would occasionally lean over and pat his hand. But it seemed so routine for him. I felt then I was looking at my future. Would I be so willing to check myself in so commonly that I would become that? And yet I couldn't fill out the paperwork.

I got up to go to the bathroom. Actually, I left my unfilled paperwork on the couch to go to the bathroom to take a shot of liquor I had put in my pocket. Liquid courage.

As I exited the bathroom, with every intention of leaving the facility, there was a gentleman and he said my name. He was the man I had talked to earlier when I called worried about paying for it all. He knew it was me. He remembered me.

I don't mean to leave the story in the middle, and I'm sorry. But I'm tired. I'm confused right now and I feel like total **** reliving my story. I'm ashamed. I'm sad. And the worst part is, I'm not through. Isn't it amazing how life can change just like that?

Forgive me for leaving here and now, I'll come back. But right now I can't do this. It's harder than I thought. once more, thank you so much for being so kind to me and loving and reaching out. Thank you so much, in ways that you will never understand.

I'll attempt to write more tomorrow. But I can't do this right now.

God bless you all.