I talked with my boyfriend last night.
I confessed everything.
The depression, the eating disorder, the suicidal thoughts, the panic attacks, the hallucinations, the voices, the issues I've been having with the recent changes in our relationship, my fears for the future - everything.
I thought he'd be mad.
I thought he'd hate me.
He cried.
He shared his history with mental illnesses, and suggested that I see a psychologist.
He told me that he still loved me. That I wasn't broken. That I didn't need fixing. And that he'd be here to help me every step of the way.
He made me promise that I'd call him if I felt suicidal again. And he made me put the National Suicide Hotline in my cellphone.
Our conversation gave me the courage to tell my psychiatrist today. I told her everything. She changed my medication, and made me an appointment for next week. She's being really proactive. And I think she really cares. She made sure that I would be able to make it until next week.
I feel like things are finally turning around.
I have hope again.
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