A Stash

I did something today that was strange and unsettling, but I'm not going to undo it. I there are others who understand why, and even some who've done the same.

Three days ago, I suddenly tripped and fell into a reeling depression. An incident among my family in which I played a key role - a bad role - devastated me. In just those few days I've gotten increasingly suicidal; in fact on the day of the incident I took a small overdose (small because I took them one by one and after seven I blacked out). My husband came home to find me passed out and barely responsive so he confiscated my supply of that drug. 

Today I woke up still feeling desperate and full of dread, so immediately, frantically, I searched my mind for sources of more of that drug. No ideas. But I made myself come downstairs, fed my dogs, ate breakfast, read the paper, went on the Internet and began to feel better. I even thought maybe that awful incident wasn't as momentous as it seemed. Maybe I hadn't caused a major irreparable rift. It could be just a bump in the road. But when I went to get coffee in the afternoon, I saw a bottle of leftover pain medication next to the coffee machine, enough to kill me.

So, without feeling suicidal or even depressed anymore, I STILL HID THE PAIN PILLS WHERE NO ONE BUT ME COULD FIND THEM. And it was such a relief. Even though my mood had just changed from really bad to okay, and I knew that happened all the time, and probably would continue to do so - I still wanted a suicide tool in reserve. Just in case one time it didn't and I stayed in hell.

In the end, all that matters to me is that I'm not trapped at the bottom of that pit with my suffocating hopelessness, flaming pain in every cell of my body, and screaming in my head that never pauses even for a minute and will never end. So I stashed the pills.

Does that make me brave or a coward?