The build-up of depression lowered my energy level, but my eating and sleeping decreased. When I switched from depression into meltdown, my thoughts and emotions built up and raced. The day of the decision, I felt a calm and peace, life was such a frustrating puzzle, but now I knew the solution. The day of the attempt, I felt calm, but also lowered energy level. Once in custody, I felt absolutely drained - physically, emotionally, intellectually. The time in the psych unit promoted proper meals, and occasional thoughtful group exercises or talks with therapists (which I appreciated the most). Today, a week after release, it looks like everyone's focus was on short-term survival, without any tangible long-term skills, or living with mental illness. I did learn how to mouth the words I was expected to, but the contributing factors (long-term depression and crippling grief) are still in place and untouched. While I've been encouraged to reach out, I'm hesitant to do so because I now realize my family or docs literally have the power to return me to the psych ward. All it takes is some venting, the wrong word, wrong inflection. I am glad I found this place, as it may be my only safe place to vent.