A while ago, I literally collapsed on the ground crying and surveyed my life. A truck drove by on a road ahead, and I thought, "I could jump in front of it." At that moment, I decided to kill myself at some vague point in the future. It was the biggest relief I've felt in a long time.

I heard a small still voice in my head say, "Get help."

That's it.

And I didn't get help immediately. Another month went by and I started a sui plan and everytime a little life setback happened, I added another layer to my plan to self-soothe.

About two months later, I had a positive experience where some relatives went out of their way to see me. I couldn't believe that they would do that and it made me believe that I was worth saving.

I found a private therapist via Google and went to six sessions and they helped immensely. That therapist ended up abandoning me and it was very painful.

I'm on my second therapist now and I've been going for most of this year. I've finally told my whole story and I was diagnosed with PTSD from abuse, and unresolved grief over many family deaths, all of which fuels panic attacks and depressive episodes. Therapy has confounded me and also has helped me a lot.

I go weekly and every week I decide I'm all better and that I should quit. But then I do keep going because we get one life to live and I want to at least try to live my best life.

And it makes me a calmer spouse, friend and parent when I know that I have someone to listen to me. So it's also a gift to the people around me.

Some days, I'm so fine I really don't feel like I need therapy and some days, I'm just living for that next appointment because I feel like there's no other hope. I worry about wasting the therapist's time, all the time.

My first visit was so nerve-wracking and even now, when I go, I'm shaking. I'm not used to the attention and it makes me simultaneously delighted and extremely uncomfortable.