How I Killed Myself To Save My Marriage

You’re going to learn a lot about me personally the more you continue to follow and read my blog (I’m hoping you will follow me and read my blog: vernettaspeaks.com).  It’s not all about celebrity gossip, but it’s about my life helping someone else’s life. Let me take you to last year when I killed myself to save my marriage.

Manic Depressive… that’s what they say I am. For everything I’ve been through in my life, I will just say I have gotten to a point where I was mentally unstable. Every doctor I would see would prescribe me with something that they thought, at the time would stabilize me. I’ve been on

·       sertraline (Zoloft)

·       fluoxetine (Prozac, Sarafem)

·       citalopram (Celexa)

·       escitalopram (Lexapro)

·       paroxetine (Paxil, Pexeva, Brisdelle)

·       fluvoxamine (Luvox)

Not to mention 1mg of Xanax twice a day. By last year, I believe I was on about 3 antidepressants and a couple of things for anxiety. I was a walking zombie. I was at a point in my life where I had no feelings. I literally could not feel a thing. I had no emotions. Nothing was there. I was just a walking body. Nothing mattered. I was completely brain dead, nerve dead, whatever dead… I couldn’t feel. My marriage was crumbling. My kids didn’t want to be around me. I didn’t want to be around me.

My husband and I would argue, well he would argue because I didn’t care at all about anything he was talking about. I didn’t care. I was at the point where I wasn’t intimate with him. I expected him to go out and find a chick and have sex with her. I wasn’t giving it to him. I didn’t understand why he wasn’t cheating on me. I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t leave me, until one night I heard him praying for me (he still doesn’t know that I heard him praying for me). That night sent me in a rage. We argued until 4:00 in the morning. I had enough. Yes, me, I was the one that had enough and didn’t know what I had enough of.

I took every pill bottled that had anything to do with anxiety and depression and I flushed it. That was the beginning of my death sentence. Anyone who is on daily medications for anxiety and depression and the amount and dosage I was on, knows that the doctor SPECIFICALLY tells you that you MUST be weaned off of the medication. You cannot stop taking those pills cold turkey.

Day one without taking my meds, I felt fine, just a slight headache but I was good. As time went on, I began to lose my mind. It was even worse than before. I was a mad woman. I was yelling, crying, throwing things, throwing up, wasn’t eating, having chills, diarrhea, chest pains, migraines, weak, suicidal… must I go on? My husband didn’t know what was going on with me and our arguments were getting worse, but I was beginning to use the little bit of strength I had to fight.

I realized was killing myself so that I could save my marriage. I knew that if I stopped being doped up, I would become the woman he fell in love with. The woman with a big heart. The woman who put others before she put herself. The woman who cried while watching Disney movies. The woman who loved to laugh, who had fears. The woman who loved to be affectionate and passionate in and out of the bed room. The woman who loved her children more than she loved herself. But most importantly, the woman who FEARED, TRUSTED, AND LOVED GOD with all her mind, body and soul. So, I made a promise to myself and to my Creator that if I could kill this demon that had taken over me and that would feed off of the medication that was prescribed to me, I wouldn’t look back. I would be the woman God called me to be.

Things began to change. My husband began to see the change. So, it was time to tell him that I was alive and I could have died but God kept me. All he kept saying was that he wished he would have known that I was withdrawing etc, etc but I had to explain that what I did was something that I had to do on my own. He needed to know that I killed myself to save my marriage.

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