Where I Am
Damn Unpretty

The Night Of

Warning: Graphic suicide talk ahead. Help is available for free by phone or text if you or a loved one are contemplating self-harm. 

I remember looking at the empty pill bottles on the bathroom floor. First from overhead, then at eye level. The labels blur and I close my eyes.

I remember feeling cool tile on my face and relief in my veins. Done. It's done. I don't have to think about doing it anymore, because it's done. 

I don't remember how I got downstairs to the basement, or how long it took. Did I walk? Stumble? Crawl?

Did I stop to contemplate my children's bedroom doors on the way? 

I don't know. Part of me wanted to get up off that floor, and it did, somehow.

I remember Jason roughly dragging me towards the bathroom and his fingers in my throat. The part of me that wanted to stay on the bathroom floor wails and howls and begs him to stop. 

After that, there's nothing. A dream about a dark, underground bar. There's an old jukebox in the corner. I am dancing and laughing and spill a drink on Michael Keaton, who is also there for some reason.

Then, a sudden smash cut to unbearably bright lights. Something large and terribly painful is getting shoved down my throat. I try to scream but feel vomit coming out instead. There are people all around me but no one is doing anything about any of it. For the first time I feel like I'm genuinely going to die, but there's nothing I can do to fight back this time. 

I'm with Michael Keaton again. We're taking Poppy for a walk in New York City, or trying to. Michael Keaton doesn't understand how dog leashes work. "What the fuck, Michael Keaton?" I mutter to him while hooking Poppy's leash on her collar. 

It goes like that for awhile. A nonsense dream followed by a view of beige walls, bright lights, and a choking, awful pain in my throat. No, I decide each time. This isn't real, this isn't happening. I'll just keep sleeping until I actually wake up. 

I do, finally, but the beige walls are still there. There's a whiteboard with my name and a nurse's name and I am forced to accept this as reality, Inception style. 

The whiteboard says it's Monday, June 4th. 

"What the fuck, Michael Keaton?" I mutter again, and am startled when a nurse immediately answers from her permanent station two feet from my bed. 

"What's up, honey?" she asks. "Can you stay awake this time?"

I nod, and start looking beyond the beige walls. My throat is still sore but there's nothing there. There are IVs in both arms, and both ports look unusually bloody and angry. My hands and wrists are black and blue. I feel like I might need to use the restroom but then groggily realize the nurse is fussing over a catheter bag at the end of the bed. Oh. Great. That's just fucking great. 

Stronger than any physical discomfort, however, are the crushing weights of guilt and shame. Look at all this. Look at the mess I made. 

And for what? I'm still here, but now I've just made everything even worse for everybody else. Way to go, Amy, you goddamn idiot.

A food tray appears, with some bacon and a hard-boiled egg. The paper receipt on the tray says FINGER FOODS ONLY/NO UTENSILS in all caps.

Sitting directly on top of the receipt is a full set of plastic utensils. I laugh, because that's just funny, but my nurse makes a face and whisks them away. 

While I pick at the food, Jason arrives with some clothes and supplies and gives me my phone. I look through a couple texts and realize nobody knows what happened or where I am and immediately toss it aside. I ask Jason a few questions before deciding I'm not really ready to know the answers yet. We sit in silence while he rubs the non-bruised parts of my arm and head. I start to cry. 

A doctor shows up to ask me a few questions, namely, why? Why did I do it? What triggered this? What happened that night? 

"Nothing," I answer honestly. Nothing unusual, at least.

We went out to see a band with some friends and I was nervous enough to take a Xanax before we went out but hey, that's just life with generalized anxiety, right? I drank a bit too much and too fast but hey, that's just life when you're out having a good time, right? Jason and I had a stupid drunk argument about taking a Lyft or walking back to our car in the rain and ended up coming home separately, but that's just life with someone after almost 20 damn years, right?  Jason went immediately downstairs to watch the end of the hockey game while I changed into pajamas upstairs, and then I went to put the Xanax bottle away and saw the Ativan bottle there too and was overcome with the urge to swallow all of them, about 80+ pills, but hey, that's just life with generalized anxiety and major depression and a mood regulation disorder and multiple doctors writing multiple scripts for multiple anxiety meds (none of which you take regularly because you don't like the side effects, thus creating a hefty little stash in the medicine cabinet instead), plus your anti-depressant stopped working awhile ago but you're too anxious to tell or call anyone about it because you've been (mostly) holding your shit together during the day and then self-medicating with alcohol at night instead while you secretly spiral and spiral down further into the muck of multiple out-of-control mental illnesses.


Not surprisingly, the entire psychiatric team votes quickly and unanimously to recommend I move immediately to inpatient care. 

To be continued...



Oh Amy. I have tears for you. I’ve been Jason in this story, I have tears for him too. This is crappy for you all, and I wish you strength.



It sounds so hard, but will get through this. So many people, including this random Internet stranger who loves hearing about your family and your life, are rooting for you.


I wish I was there to watch your kiddos and make you a crappy non-Apron dinner. I would also put fresh sheets on your bed and make you a bubble bath. Be kind to yourself! As I have been where you are and had no one to talk to or lean on. It was scary and crazy and just...wow.


Keep writing keep writing keep writing.
I am listening.


Long time lurker (since Noah was a baby -- and now I have 3 kids that are pretty close to your 3 in age). Just wanted to say that I'm so incredibly glad you're still here. Big hugs across the internet.


I hear you. I see you. <3


HUGS to you for being brave and honest. Glad you're still here and writing it all out.


I’ve been silently enjoying your writings/advice/joy/pain/life since before Noah was born. I hope poking my head out to say we all love you and are rooting for you will put a smile in your heart that you can call on when things are shitty.

Heather Laura Clarke

I've been thinking of you so much, and it's good (is that the right word?) to hear more about what happened that night. You're telling such an important story. xo

Elaine C. B.


Your story isn't over yet.

Thank you for sharing it with us.


This makes my heart hurt. For you. For your family.

I've been on the other side of it twice. My mom attempted suicide the weekend after I started my freshman year in high school. I was at my dad's for the weekend. That evening there were a bunch of weird phone calls and my dad went in to the other room several times. He couldn't tell me. But I heard what was happening... but not everything. So I imagined the worst. It was like that for a couple hours until my youth minister came and told me. By then I was pretty numb. I still remember how the house smelled when we went back to get more of my stuff. Medicinal. I remember visiting my mom in the care facility afterward. I remember no one had shoe laces. I remember still being numb.

Then fast forward to my sophomore year of college when my best friend attempted suicide. Swallowed a whole bottle of Tylenol. I never knew she was depressed. Not even a bit. She was away at a different school and I was trapped in finals week not being able to do anything. I eventually interviewed her for my journalism class and she told me what happened.

Its hard hearing it from the other angle, knowing what I've felt and been angry about when it happens. But not being older and understanding the desperation and confusion that depression causes. I wish I didn't have so much experience in this.


Thank you, dear one, for sharing. We are all so glad you are still here. Your words...they are just good. Thank you. Please stay.


Oh Amy, my heart aches for you. As I mentioned my son was hospitalized at the same time you were for suicidal thoughts and trying to hurt himself. I see now the struggles he was going through and my heart aches that I didn't know before. I am so glad you are hear, and that you are sharing this story. I am sharing with him (not letting him see the details but sharing that others are suffering too) so thank you for being a beacon, a grounding, during this difficult time. You may not realize it, but you are helping, so thank you.


Aw lady I'm so sorry you're going through this, but so thankful to hear your story, to understand what could happen, to know that you had the self-preservation to get help. Love you, take care.


Peace to you and yours. Keep sharing your incredibly giving heart.

Sue W.

You are being heard. I am so sorry you had to go through this. Please know that you are very much loved and we are all pulling for your mental and physical health. I so wish there was more that I could do or say.

Chrissy Sorenson

Words can save lives. Thank you for sharing your story.


I'm glad you're still here.


Thank you for sharing your story. Hugs. You matter. You are not an idiot. You are loved.

Sending love.

I, too, laid on the bathroom floor on June 2 and seriously contemplated taking bottles of anti-anxiety medicine and opiods I have left over from recent surgeries. This followed a panic attack earlier in the day at my daughter's first communion. I didn't end up swallowing the pills, but only because I voiced my strong desire to my husband, and he wouldn't let me out of his sight that evening.
I, too, am scared and anxious, and a mom to several young kids living in northern Virginia. They are keeping me here, as I imagine your boys are you. I am with you.

Lauren E

Amy, you're incredibly brave for sharing this. I've been somewhat in your shoes and also in Jason's. Both are unbearable in different ways. I had severe postpartum depression and was suicidal and I still feel the most guilt over how hard it was for my husband...because I knew how hard it was. When I was in my teens and early 20's, my older sister suffered from severe depression and anorexia and had to go to two different inpatient facilities to keep her from harming herself. It's all awful. The guilt, the helplessness, it's all awful. But we all made it through and I KNOW YOU GUYS WILL TOO. You will. You are getting the help you need and that is the BEST thing you can do for yourself, for Jason and for your boys. Sending so much love and healing thoughts to you.


Long time reader, rare commenter. Thank you for putting your experience into words so that a little light is shone onto what it's like to go through this. My sister attempted suicide when we were in our thirties and it was so hard to understand from the outside looking in.

I love your stories...all of them. Please keep writing! There is a lot of love in the world for you.


Heard. Following. So much love to you - I'm so glad you're still with us <3


I literally think of you multiple times a day now (versus once a day before when I’d check your blog to see what the Storch Family was up to).

I’m with Heather above. I wish we had the opportunity to live closer so you could put me on speed dial to literally just walk in your house and watch your kids, no questions asked, if you needed a break or to go to the doctor or in an emergency. I’d bring you whatever you needed without one word (unless you needed my words!), just drop it off or run an errand or ten errands, be your life assistant, but not one you’d have to engage with (unless needed!) because I personally know how taxing actually engaging with others actually is. But I could do it on your behalf (errands! cooked food! free kid watching - I’d ask Noah what the difference is between Star Wars and Star Trek; I’d help Ezra bind up one of his recipe books for sale on amalah.com charging readers an exhorbent cost; I’d ask Baby Ike if he’d show me some dance moves or play LEGO with me; and I’d spoil the pets more rotten than they already are...no questions asked).

I realize our and others’ love for you isn’t the medicine you need for your illness. I hope you DO get that proper medicine. Knowing we all love you doesn’t (alone) cure you, just like it won’t cure a broken arm or a cough. But I DO hope our love helps you to get that medicine, to keep searching for the right one(s), and to KNOW that none of this is a mess that you created. The *disease* did it, and hospitals and families and friends and money and insurance are seemingly explicitly designed to help clean up this particular disease’s mess. I’m glad you’re using your resources. I wish I was nearby for you to use me for help as well. 💜💜💜


This was very hard to read. I'm thinking about you and your family. Onward and upward...you will win this.


Thank you so very much for sharing your story. Rooting for you so hard. Love to you and yours.


Reading you all the way from Portugal. Glad you are still here.

Sending you all the streght and love


I don't know what to say. I still don't know what to say. But, please know that your words are helping me understand the struggle of several people close to me in a way I never have before.


Thank you for sharing. Keep sharing.

Katie H.

I remember looking at myself in my bathroom mirror, directly in the eyes, as I took the last handful of pills with a hefty swig of Makers Mark. And then nothing until the rest of it. But I'm here. You're here. You are brave and beautiful and worthy. Thank you for sharing. I truly hope it helps. INFINITE HUGS to you, Jason and the boys.


I'm so sorry and so very glad you are still here. Thank you so much for sharing your very hard story. Thank you.


i'm stting at my desk at work with tears streaming down my face. my heart breaks for you and your family, despression is a terrible, terrible disease. you are so very brave, and i'm so glad you are still here. mostly for you and your beautiful family, but also for the rest of us who get to read your words.


Just letting you know I am here reading.


I want to hug your whole fam tight but especially Jason, because I have put my husband in a similar place a couple times & both he & Jason deserve the biggest gold medals and also the world.

None of that made any sense because I’m currently pregnant and really hungry so my brain is fluff and nonsense but just...I’m so glad you’re still here.

Jennifer Baskel

Long-long time reader, have never commented, until today. I look forward to your posts so very much, I wish everyone were as honest and real as you are. Keep talking to us, we are out there, so so many of us. We are cheering for you and loving you and we are your guardian angels from near and far making sure you know that this world is better because you are in it. Just please keep talking to us, keep being real and raw and when you close your eyes know we are all out there giving you the biggest and most sincere virtual hug.


This is going to sound overly dramatic and dumb but I’ve been really struggling with hearing the news about you. I have anxiety and depression and hate Trump and worry as much as you. So it shook me up a bit. Please don’t stay here just for the boys and your husband but for us. For me. We can’t let it win.


Long time reader, first time commenter. Please know how many of us love & adore you. We would be heartbroken if you left us. One day at a time, Amy. Sending love & hugs from Oklahoma.


Amy, crying for you, hoping for you too.

Lorrian Ippoliti

Amy...sending love. I'm here and I see you. I hear you. I've been there and I'm so very glad you are still here.


I held my breath while reading this. As hard as it is to read it, I can't imagine how hard it was to live it. I want to hug you and say something profound but I'm not usually profound and internet hugs don't really work. But, I will say that I sort of love that even in your darkest moment, you were still so very you. I kept thinking "Michael Keaton was the lead player in Amy's drug induced dreams? Of course he was. Obviously".

Ashley M.

I have no words. Thank you for sharing your experiences. Please keep writing.


Your honesty is saving a life. Thank you for sharing. You are important.


I've been thinking about you so much and sending you love and good thoughts. You are wanted and loved.


Thank you for sharing your story with us, as always. The good, the bad, and the real. The words were hard for me to read but so so important. I don't know what I could say that would possibly help, but I am listening, and I'll be thinking of you and your family. <3


Sending so much love to you and to Jason and your boys. I’m so glad you’re still here.


I know all of this pain. I was always too cowardly to actually do it but there were many times I simply did not want to be alive. People think we have the time to worry about what this will do to others but the goal is not to hurt anyone, the goal is to not feel anymore; in my case not feeling "not feeling" anymore. I lost 25 lbs in 2 months. When I walked out on my job in the middle of the day and drove directly to the hospital, they suggested partial in-patient. I will admit, it was a two week waste of time and made me feel worse because it didnt make me feel better. But it's just tools to deal with the symptoms. I had a serious chemical imbalance my lazy doctor didnt even try to manage. He actually gave up on me and suggested TMS. I went for the consultations and like Jenny (The Bloggess), insurance would not cover it. In a last ditch effort, I got up the nerve to find a new doctor who swore not to give up on me. (You know decisions for people like us are torture) Two months later, he found the right cocktail. Within 5 days I started to come alive. I went to dinner and a movie and it was the most joyful day of my life. The shell i had become was starting to fill back up with "me" stuff. Superhero movies and making jewelry and FOOD, OHHHH FOOD, and talking and laughing. I got a simple job, I can talk to my daughters (who also suffer) and love my hubby. Life is good. I'm sure you get lots of offers, but I'm here if you wanna talk. I dont give out bullshit "do yoga, write down things your grateful for" but I get it. I've been there. I can talk about it without waking up the monster that ate my personality. I've been here since you only had one baby...I'm still here.

Shelly Kroll

Virtual hugs!


Sending all of the love to you and yours. Thank you for staying with us even though it can be so very hard.


Amy, I am so glad you are here. You've been an internet companion for me for years, a few years ahead of me on the life curve, and someone I've looked at so often when I feel uncertain how to live into my future, and found an example of how life and family and children can be. I am so sorry you've had this experience, and so grateful for the care you have around you, and for the simple fact that you are persisting. You matter a great deal, even to us internet strangers. And I am so humbled by your ability to embrace your vulnerability and share all of this here. It's so strange, this sense of knowing you so well, while you have no clue who I am, but please know there are so many kind, interesting, loving people out here rooting for you, and caring about you and your wellbeing on a very real level, even though we may only know you through your writing.


Oh sweetie I wish I could do more, but let me at least tell you that I’m very glad you’re here. Hugs to all of you. Hang in there.

Lori in CT

Please keep writing. We are here reading and supporting and cheering you on. Your earlier posts on anxiety-masking-depression hit close to home, and I was able to encourage my husband to start getting the help he needs for his struggles. Thank you so much, your writing matters. YOU matter! Love to your entire family from mine.


That's some real shit right there. Thank you for sharing your story. I agree with a previous comment that said you are saving lives by doing so. I am glad you are here.


Wishing for a magic wand to take away your pain and that of everyone suffering similarly. I hope you find the right treatment soon, and like all the commenters here, I am so glad you're still here and fighting.

Margaret P. Gunnell

The manufacturers of Ativan & Xanax recommend their use in the treatment of anxiety - NOT for depression and THEN to be used for 4 - 6 weeks!!! Do not blame yourself. You did not receive the proper treatment.


hugs to you. Thanks for being so honest about what you're going through. We're rooting for you.


Oh god, that sounds so awful for you all. I’m so glad you made it through that night; and I hope this is the first step to getting help. Hoping for the best for you all.


Holding space for you in my heart. xo


Oh Amy. I'm so glad you are here. You are loved and lend light to this place with your writing.


Just glad there's a To Be Continued at the end of this.


I'm glad you're here, too.


Oh honey. I'm glad you're here, in the world. And I hope that sharing this with the rest of us in the world is what you need - don't feel like you have to or like there's pressure for you to if it's not.


I am impressed by your strength here. I will say to you what I say to my 12 year old son. You are not alone. To which he says,"I feel alone." Yes, I understand. I really understand. But you are NOT alone. Have faith in the love around you.

"Faith is taking the first step even when you can't see the whole staircase." - Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Hang in there. I don't find joy in your sadness, but do find joy in seeing you.

Marci Morgan

Long time reader of you and others...never a commenter. I feel now, however, that it is important to do so. Echoing what others have said that we care and are thinking of you and your family more than you could possibly know. But more importantly, please know that you are shining a light on a disease that needs more understanding. I have a brother that has battled depression for 25+ years and I discovered him on the floor of our kitchen after one attempt when we were teens...you are enabling me to understand his struggles and pain...you're enabling me to relate to him. So thank you...I hope writing your story helps you in your healing journey and just know you are absolutely helping others more than you might realize. Positive, healing vibes being sent your way.


There’s not much I can do as an internet friend (former lurker?) but listen and pray, so that is what I will do. Write when you want and know that you have many here who are sitting by your side with open ears and hearts.


I have been thinking about you, and we have so many things in common, 3 kids, working, lots of medications, but I always thought about how much cleaner your house and your kids were, and how you could change your kids sheets when they threw up instead of dropping a towel over the stripped mattress.
I keep thinking about how being good isn’t enough, that doing those things aren’t going to be the thing, and I need to go after what my heart needs like my life depends on it. Hugs to you and yours


I simply want you to know that you are not alone.


Please be kind to yourself, Amy. I have been one of the survivors who watched someone I desperately love fight through multiple suicide attempts. You are not an idiot, you did not make a mess. That’s disordered thinking and you know it. Trust me, your family and your loved ones are just so damn relieved you’re still here.

Taylor Mitchell

Long, long time reader. Before you told us what had happened, I was in Target shopping for deodorant. All I could think about was what personality each type would have, and how much I loved your deodorant posts, and so many others.

I was also a special education teacher, mainly working with kids on the spectrum, and your posts deeply effected how I dealt with the parents of my students and what they were going thru.

I guess my point is, we never really know how we touch, help, and impact others. I suffer from anxiety and depression myself. Thank you for sharing your story.

We are with you, Amy. You are not alone 💙💙💙💙


And in the darkest place, still the most beautiful writing. Wishing you so, so well Amy.


I'm glad you made it downstairs. Keep talking, use your way of relating life with warts and all to help people understand. Even at what may seem like rock bottom, you have a gift of sharing that makes people laugh while reading about this horrible experience.

Depression sucks. It lies like you wouldn't believe. It has taken friends, it nearly took a friend a few years ago (ideation and plan, we don't speak anymore after I called the police and she was held for three days), and you are loved, needed and wanted. Don't let the depression or anxiety tell you otherwise.

Amy W

Thank you for being so open and brave and willing to share. Thank you for still being here.


Amy, I’ve been reading you forever and this amazing act of bravery on your part is so fucking important. Thank you for sharing your story. You will never know how many people you have touched but I am definitely one. I’ve been Jason, only it was my 18-year-old daughter who, like you, had everything to live for, but lost sight of that in the fog of depression and anxiety. I am so thankful she is still here and you are too!! Your story matters and it isn’t over. Every day you fight to stay is a day closer to feeling and seeing the light again. Sending you all the love a random Internet stranger can and hoping for better days ahead for you and your beautiful family


I started to read your blog around 2000/2001 when I was waiting for my baby to come home from Korea. He’s here and 14 now so I’ve read for awhile. I would be sad if you stopped blogging but would understand, but the world without you. I can’t even begin to start to think of that. You’ve given so many so much (if anyone else has adopted you’d realize the wait sucks) you helped keep me sane. Made me laugh. Had me order blue apron. Now you are just like some sort of extended family. I’m sure there are many others out there who don’t often comment but are here and are keeping you and your family in our hearts.


Gah I made a mistake my son is 17!!! My first blog post I read was some sort of recipe blog post and showing how old timey recipes were way out of touch. Do you remember that post? I may have peed my pants a little laughing so hard at the time.

Laurie Ducca

I hope one day (don’t rush it it might take a while) you can look back on this and be in awe of whatever made you get up off the floor. And that you give yourself some compassion, because you deserve it. Life has highs and lows just because, but I hope the next time you’re feeling low or circumstances out of your control make you weep, you can think about how you’re still
here. For the wonderful, the good, the bad and the ugly. I’m not a parent and I’m sure this is easier said then done - but prioritize yourself. It’ll create a ripple effect. I’m in the DMV area and there are so many resources there that we are so so lucky to have - more than you might think. You’ve got this - and you’re still here.


I rarely comment, but I read all of your posts and they were a huge help to me in the dark postpartum days and the year after my second was born when she wouldn't sleep and I slowly had to acknowledge my anxiety was getting worse and needed medical help. Now I read to see what the future looks like and to watch your fierce love for your boys and Jason. I love your writing and your honesty, but more than anything I desperately want you to be okay. I just want to let you know I'm out here.

Mary Ann

I’m one more who is glad you were able to get yourself downstairs and hope you find peace while staying alive, and soon. I lost my best friend to postpartum depression two years ago. She had four kids. They are not better off without her, not by a VERY long shot. Nor would yours be without you...

I know you’ve white knuckled through a few summers with just a day camp here and there, but I really hope you can find the boys somewhere to be most days, for all of you.

(My kids have been out of school less than two weeks, but most of the camps haven’t started yet. Yesterday I listened to a playground chat about what point in the afternoon people have started drinking. Summer break is HARD. Throw some money at the problem and get those kids in camp if you haven’t already. One with a bus pickup.)


The utensils on top of the "finger foods only" reminder would have made me laugh too.

Please keep listening to that part of you that got up off the bathroom floor and made it down to Jason, and to get help.


Just my daily-ish, comment to say, I'm so glad you're still here. Lots of love from Chicago.


Keep talking, Amy, keep talking. It's your story and you need to tell it.

I know why I tried it, you need to talk through and realize your reasons. Generalized depression, anxiety and all the other stuff are real bitches. You'll deal, but this time you'll be open and honest. No more of this bullshit coping during the day and self-medicating with booze at night, ok? Talk to us. Talk to Jason. Talk to the therapist. We all love you.


So, so glad that you made it downstairs.


"plus your anti-depressant stopped working awhile ago but you're too anxious to tell or call anyone about it because you've been (mostly) holding your shit together" -- this could be a sentence straight out of my own story. Luckily (or should I say miraculously) my doctor's office called ME to come in for an appointment to talk about my meds. I never would have called them. Even if the script had run out. And who knows where I would have ended up. After that appointment and a med switch-up I feel SO MUCH BETTER. It's sad that our mental illnesses convince us not to ask for help but maybe, if people like you keep telling your stories so the rest of us an read them and go "OMG I need to get help before that happens to me", things will get better for all of us. Thank you so much, brave lady, for telling your story. I'm so so SO GLAD that you are still here with your family and getting through this bullshit. I know it's hard. Thank you.


I forgot to add that I have two kids with autism and I know how brutally hard the days can be sometimes. I know I'm just a random internet over-commenter (sorry about that!) but I would totally email/text/whatever back and forth with you if you needed to tell someone GODDAMN MY LIFE IS HARD AND SOMETIMES I WANT TO SCREAM INTO A PILLOW ALL DAY and are too afraid to say it to the people you know in real life. Because sometimes I feel that way. xoxoxoxoxo still glad you're here


My heart goes out to you. I read your blog Tuesday night. I had settled in for some "me" time, much needed, because I had just taken my daughter to the psychiatric inpatient program the next town over. My family history is freckled with suicide attempts and depression. Nobody talked about it, though, at first. When I first started to feel it in my early 20s, I had no idea what it was. Several years later, I went through a traumatic event and got treatment at that time, recognizing in the process that depression wasn't new to me. So when my daughters came along, I made sure they understood, as well as I could explain, what that particular family legacy entails. I'm the first generation to talk about it, and it's a touch place to be in, but I think it's important. I'm so glad you're being open. That's what it takes to help people understand. They can look at a broken bone and have a sense of how a person may feel, but mental illness is perceived so much differently. Anyway, this is a long note to say thank you for sharing. Also, your story reminded me of why it is right that I got my daughter this admission and treatment. I don't want her to face this pain herself without all the tools I can give her.
You are so fucking generous to share this and to endure the pain of recovery (because it sucks, no question). You are so much stronger and more resilient than depression will allow you to recognize. I'm glad you got help. I'm glad you're actively continuing to work on getting better. Please keep passing the open windows.

Holly W

You are here.

And that is enough.

Mess doesn't matter. Inconvenience doesn't matter. The damn every-minute-of-the-day-they-come-in nurses and doctors and people whose jobs exist just to process paperwork doesn't matter.

You and here and life matters, for your children's smiles and tears and strength that you are giving to them by living. And the millions of smiles and fist bumps of solidarity and mundane and doldrums and smackdowns that you've given all of us.

You are here. And we are here with you.


Sending love and healing wishes. Thank you for sharing your story.

Amy A

See, you’re already so much braver than I am, because I’ve been living with what I have seen as the shame of depression and anxiety for almost 40 years now. Thank the good Lord it’s been under control for a while, but damn do I feel your pain and struggle.
The fact that you are so open about this has made me resolve to be equally so. F*%k those that tell us to get a grip. F$&k those that tell us it’s all in our mindset and to just not think about it. From today forward I’m speaking out about this struggle and advocating for more awareness-and understanding.
You, by speaking out, have helped so many. I’m hoping now to do the same. Stay brave, stay strong, and know that we love you and are so very happy that you’re here.


Telling the truth helps everyone of us.
Depression and anxiety are hard and we all try crutches for different reasons with different results. You will now find different solutions. I am so glad Jason loves you so much and you have wonderful children and all of us.
And depression and anxiety are hard. Hope you are now getting more help that is more helpful.
Hope you tell us how we can help you and each other and all the people in our lives who are walking hard times. Most of us walk hard times sometimes in our lives and most of us do not know best most current answers that work for us as individuals.

Tremendous caring!!!! Support!!! It will get better.


Thank you, for sharing this. You are in no way obligated to, but I appreciate that you are. My hope is that others will read it and recognize themselves, and stop. I'm so glad you went downstairs. Whatever power forced you down there is incredible. We all love you, and support you from afar.


This is so difficult to read. I can’t imagine your pain and darkness. You are brave and my heart goes out to you and your family


I’ve been following you since Ezra was born. Before I was a mother myself. (Now I have 3 kids.) I love your wit, your humor, your knack for storytelling, and I love YOU. I am a loyal reader and always will be. I don’t struggle with mental illness and never have. While I try my best, it can be challenging to wrap my head around it at times. To understand how someone could be that low, that sad, that suicide is an option. Without having lived it, it’s harder to grasp it. Thank you for sharing your story. For your candor. My heart is breaking for you and your family and I hope the road ahead is easier. And I hope by reading your story I can continue to learn and grow myself, so that I may recognize the signs in others and maybe, just maybe, be of some help.


Have been reading for so many years I can't even remember when I first started!! Your writing has always been so gorgeous to me and I hope we all continue to have many years of reading your content! Thank you so much for sharing, with such raw honesty. Sending you warmth and hugs from the west coast!


Long time reader who enjoys your wit and raw honesty. Sending love your way.

Elizabeth K

Worried about you this weekend; be well and know you are loved.


Thank you for sharing your story. When I was 13, my uncle committed suicide, and part of my coping with that was to avoid the conversation around suicide. I would change the radio station, close my eyes and ignore the tv or movie scene, and scroll past the headlines. But when I saw your post, now, 17 years later, I did not hesitate to read it because of how much I have enjoyed your writing; you make everything so relatable, funny, and real. Thank you for bringing me back into such an important conversation, you have touched the lives of more people than you can imagine.




Just checking in with you and sending you love and virtual hugs from the interwebz. 💜💜💜


When I was 18, my mom came home from work and I knew something was wrong. Not a little bit wrong, something world-ending wrong. She was physically here but it was like she was gone. She was suicidal. And until that moment when she walked in the door, I had no idea she was depressed. She seemed so strong, so brave. She could fix anything. She was always there for me. She was tough and smart and successful. And she was dying inside and no one knew. We both survived and she fought tooth and nail to make her pain and sadness something she could live with and sometimes she was winning and sometimes she wasn't, but that's when I learned what true bravery was. To keep going, to survive and to choose to get up and get help. And to let others help when you can't. I'm so glad you are still here. You bring light and laughter to so many, may it all find a way back to you and help you heal.


I’m just so sorry for your pain. And grateful that you are still here. And sad for your family. And just a million other emotions. Anxious to hear the rest of the story. When you are ready. ❤️❤️


I think you have saved lives by sharing your experience. My mother was suicidal and she thought seeking help was the most devastating admission of worthlessness. Her generation was overcome with the stigma but it's getting better thanks to bravery like yours. I am so, so sorry. Thank goodness for you Amy.

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