There is so much I want to write about, to scream to the world listen to this. My negative thoughts and constant replaying acts from my past keeps me from having normal sleep without meds or a heavy heart. I’m getting older, 38 in December. Something about approaching 40 and still have two children under 10 is causing me to silently panic and quietly bare the anxiety moving through my body. It is like I am unconsciously seeking a way to turn back the clock or run away from what many women with mental or physical illnesses would love to have. For that I SHOULD be grateful. I only harbor guilt and fear in my heart. Without meds the quieting rumbling in my chest, I spews out hatred and evil thoughts about hurting those closed to me…mostly my husband. In many circles he would be considered a saint for walking with me through awfulness I am to ashamed to write. He has stood by me with love and courage to build a life with a outwardly successful woman who shielded the true extent of my illness. A few months after marriage, I started to unravel. Panic attacks, outbursts, crying constantly, praying that God would free me from the illness or my body. I became my worst enemy. I wanted, no needed to die to be free. The voices were so loud, screaming, whispering ways to slip away from my tortured mind. An inpatient stay, ECT, and time away from being me, gave me a thin rope of hope held by my husband. As he and I approach our 4th anniversary, I can only meet him with gratitude for deciding to continue to walk with me on an unsteady, unpredictable journey. I dedicate this post and all my love to my unsung hero, my husband.