What stopped me was two people—one, a friend with depression who understood, and who would engage my darkest thoughts with her darkest thoughts, until we had to laugh.
Everyone kept saying I should live for my kids, and I wanted to, except I thought I was hurting them by being alive. I thought the same about my wife. But she convinced me she actually loved me, and that brought me back.
I had a relapse here and there—one of those sudden, “hey, that would be a good thing to do” kind of thing, but they were transient. Just some kind of weird artifact of my mind.
All my life, I loved life. I thought it was the greatest gift, and I knew I would never throw it away. What I didn’t count on we turning into a manic-depressive person. I had no idea. I am so grateful for all those pills. For they, too, kept me alive. But it’s so scary, because it could come back again at any time, like a sneak attack. I’ve been fine one minute, and dropped deep into a depression in a day, and then come back out of it in three days, or one day. So unpredictable.