He wanted to do away with my antidepressant until I informed him it was being used off-label to control my migraines. He agreed to keep me on that as well as my anti-anxiety agent.

That was a big change and it made me worse, which I expected - it was even worse than I’d thought. My husband visited that night. While he was there, he informed me that my step-dad had commented that he “didn’t think I should be alone with my son when I got out,” that “someone might call CPS on me because of what had happened.”

I had a complete meltdown that night: crying uncontrollably, curled up in a ball, gasping for air, nearly screaming. The nurse gave me something to calm down, which I eventually did, but I was so goddamned ANGRY.

I don’t think I can even explain the level of anger I felt.

How DARE he? Even now, I’m simply flabbergasted - I can barely look at him.

Visiting hours ended and the wonderful people on the G-Unit came in. I wouldn’t have made it through the night without them.  

Each night, we had “Wrap-Up,” a part of the day where we tell the staff how we are doing - thoughts of self-harm, suicidal thoughts, anxiety, homicidal thoughts… you get the idea.  

My favorite tech, Herbie, told me I could bow out, as I was crying, but everyone on the ward had watched me lose it, so I spilled my guts.  

That’s when I turned a corner.  

That’s when I decided I had to fight for me; for my family.  

According to my new roommate, I was still up all night panicking, so the doctor upped my anti-anxiety medication. 

Friday, that night, I was finally able to see my son for twenty minutes. What a godsend. It was so hard to walk away from his outstretched arms when visiting hours ended.

That night, I began the ritual of calling him and singing lullabies over the phone.

I was fighting so hard, but the medications weren’t working. Not yet.  

And we were heading into the weekend. The weekend, which meant no regular doctor meetings…