. . .

It was assumed that I would be depressed and likely suicidal when I sustained the TBI and was released from being in the hospital in March of 2004. I was prescribed many anti-depression medications, and “forced” to swallow them daily. Mom did not like that I was having to take the pills; the doctor’s told my Mom & Jeff that the anti-depression medication was also helping to heal my brain or some BS. So, I unwillingly took them.

The anti-depression pills were to also help me cope with how drastically different the life I remembered had turned out. I begged my neurologist to take me off of them; Dr. Markert informed me that I would have to talk to Dr. (I just lost the name–NOVACK) about being taken off of the prescription.  I asked him to take me OFF of the anti-depression medication, but he refused.

I am not sure why (possibly because it was still “new” since my accident) he would not allow me to be taken off of the prescription at that time; I continued to take the dreaded pills for a little while longer. When I visited Dr. Novack again; I requested that I be allowed to discontinue taking them. Finally, he approved it…I remember that I explained to him, “Sure, my life has changed…but, I am not going to kill myself!  I feel lucky to be alive and able to complain!”

Over the past few years; I have had “I wish I were dead” thoughts. I have told a few folks…I suppose I was reaching for help (because I am very sad)…not a single one has taken me seriously (Jamie, Mom, Kacy, Jason…etc). That, or they are just spooked by hearing that and not sure how to help me. Mom gets angry at me…the last time I told her I think about killing myself; she said to me: “Do it” with a look of pure disgust, and mean ness in her eyes. She has her own BS to deal with…still, I honestly wanted to. But, I do not want to slit my wrists or put a gun in my mouth. I’d rather just go…peacefully.

Then, I think of how my Mom is going to react to my suicide (even if she told me to “Do it”) and I worry for her well being. Then, I think of Mr. Whiskey and Princess Coco. I’ve actually thought to myself quite often that I would go through with it…when my baby’s die. I do not want them to be taken care of by any other; nor do I trust anyone to treat them as well as I try to.

When I have told people; the folks will say, “Oh, Brandy…it’s going to get better” or something similar, and then change the subject or we endure an uncomfortable silence/change of subject (usually on my part because I don’t want the other person to feel strange or call some suicide hotline for me or something).

Being dead would solve not only my “problems,” but I truly think it would help my Mom’s “problems” with trying to get a place for ME to live, too. Then, I know she would “use” my death as a catalyst for her own suicide. And, I can’t allow that to happen.

See, all of these reasons NOT TO, make me understand that in the book definition of “depressed;” I do not fit it at all.  I am sick and tired of LIFE. I also think that life could very well “just begin” when our Earthly body’s leave the world.

I am not willing to tell anyone again because I do realize that people scare easily and are not sure of what to say/do…the only person who wasn’t all “counselor-ish” to me is Matthew Jacobs. He responded (via FB messenger) that he felt the same…


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