It gets worse before it gets better...

The weekend of the 21st through 23rd (February) was a real lesson for me in the oft-heard phrase about recovery, that it gets worse before it gets better. A good friend told me today it's like climbing a mountain. As you get close to the peak, the climb gets harder and you get discouraged from the fatigue and shortness of breath but once you get there the view is fantastic, and the downhill climb is easier, but you still have rough spots and have to be careful.
Friday the 21st I got extremely depressed, almost suicidal. This was due to my obsessive, intrusive thought patterns, and a rage issue that I've recently come to grips with. I was feeling so bad I was raging against myself and the world because of how bad I felt. Something I call the "Dark Side".
This severe depression and internal rage continued until late Sunday night the 23rd, when around midnight I called a suicide hotline. This was after taking an overdose of my anti-anxiety medication, because I really didn't care and I desperately needed help. I didn't down the whole bottle or anything, just enough that I knew might really kick me out of the mood because I had come to tolerate my normal dose and the normal dose didn't work much anymore.
I called the suicide hotline just because I needed someone neutral to talk to that late at night with my disturbing thoughts and I needed reassurance and didn't want to wake up my cousin and her husband. And I told them I didn't want to kill myself, just talked, and I inadvertently told them about my overdose and they almost insisted on sending the police over. I refused to let them do that. They were concerned about my health with the overdose, but I knew my limits and I wasn't having any side effects. So they made me promise to wake up my cousin and talk to her about it and have her take me to the hospital.
So we talked, took my blood pressure which was in normal levels, and drove to my aunt's house because she's an RN. We decided I wasn't yet having any adverse reactions to the OD, and that we would make an appointment to see my therapist and psychiatrist first thing in the morning. But I didn't tell either of them about the real, nasty, disturbing, raging thoughts that were going through my head, I didn't want to shock them or scare them anymore than they already might be. My Aunt stayed with me through the night and went with me to see my therapist the next day, and I let it all out to him.
So how did I get through all this to get close to the peak of the mountain? First, by not letting my rage become external and hurt anything or anyone, but instead by writing all my thoughts out in a free-flowing manner on paper, just letting it all out, every bit of it. Secondly, a day later, by analyzing those thoughts and making a list of how I wanted to approach getting through this episode. Lastly, by asking for, and getting help from my therapist, and brining what I had written with me so he could understand. And seeing my psychiatrist and making big changes to my medications, and scheduling follow-up appointments.
There is hope to get to the peak of the mountain and see the beautiful view at the top of the world, and relaxation but determination to make it back down to the other side of the mountain safely. I really hit to the core of my depression issue with this, and I am very happy for having this terrifying experience.
Soon, I will write a breakthrough feature about my experience with my Dark Side and dealing with it.