Maurice and I met online. Our first date was like a dream. We spent the night laying on the beach under a full moon while we talked for hours. The night went perfect in every way and we both knew this was going to be more than a one night gig.
We spent a lot of time together those first few months. He lived with his grandmother who had Alzheimer’s so any intimate time together we had to spend at my place. I was renting the maid’s quarters in a house in Brentwood, so we slept many nights together in my little twin day bed. Maurice is 6’3″ tall so it was it was no small feat for us both to fit.
Within six months after we began dating, Maurice and I each had to move. The company Maurice worked for moved their entire operation to the Los Angeles Southbay and my company transferred me to the Southbay. It was kismet. We took advantage of the opportunity and moved in together. Six months later, however, the shit hit the fan. I became severely depressed most of the time, yet occasionally I would be in a frenzy. I felt my life was spinning out of control…and it was. The depression was the worst. Thank God, I had Maurice to help me. Only six months since we moved in together and he didn’t hesitate taking care of me. He understood.
In addition to the depression, I began having seizures. I ignored them at first and didn’t even tell Maurice. I had a series of seizures about ten years prior, however they stopped suddenly so my doctor was unable to determine why they occurred. Based on that experience, I didn’t take them seriously and assumed it would quickly go away as they did before. I was wrong. The seizures continued and became more frequent. I was always alone when I had them until one day when Maurice happened to be in the same room and watched stunned as I had one. Later I panicked when I had two in a row and without hesitation Maurice quickly left work to get me and take me to the hospital. Tests were done, but, as before the doctors could not detect why they were happening.
Between the seizures and the depression, my work suffered. I would sometimes just not show up in the mornings, or sometimes I would leave very early. These actions were not well received. As a manager, I was not setting a good example. I struggled the best I could, but things started to go downhill faster. I called in sick for a few days, which turned into weeks and into months. We lived off Maurices income, and he never once thought I should go back to work. He understood.
Through my insurance I was able to go to therapy for awhile. When my insurance ran out, my psychologist allowed me to keep coming at a lower fee. It wasn’t enough. He was growing concerned over my situation and thought it was important for me to get medication of he some kind.
Being broke at this point I didn’t know where to turn until I remembered that I should try and get help from the L.A. County Department of Mental Health. I went to their office expecting to meet with a doctor. I could not. The man at the admissions desk told me that I was too high functioning to receive their aid and that I should come back when things get worse. At this point I was broken. I had no job, I frequently could not go out of our front door and would have a panic attack if I tried. I didn’t know how long I was going to be able to take it anymore. Maurice became furious that I was turned away at the clinic. He understood.
Finally the last straw broke. I lost it. I didn’t kill myself because I didn’t have the energy to get the job done. Maurice was terrified regarding what may happen. He reached his limit also and he and a friend took me to the emergency room to get help. They told admissions I was suicidal and I was immediately checked in surpassing hundreds of others in the waiting room. I was placed on a bench in the psych ward. I was given a blanket and I curled up and tried to sleep. I had no concept of time but it seems like I waited hours for a doctor. She finally arrived. She told me she had talked with Maurice and was sending me home. She felt that with Maurice there and with the help of my friends, I was not high risk because I had a good support group. I told her I would not leave. She seemed shocked. I told her I was not going to leave until I had a place for me to go. I needed a doctor who could help with my depression and I was not going to leave until she found me one. I continued to tell her it was foolish to let me go, not get the help I needed, only to wind up back in ER again. She said she’d see what she could do and vanished again for a very long time.
When the doctor returned she had a name for me and a phone number to call. I told her that there was no appointment time and I would not leave until I had an appointment scheduled. She convinced me that at two in the morning there was no way she could make an appointment and all I had to do was call that number and she guaranteed I would get help. I accepted her response and took the number. The next day I called to make an appointment. Who was the number to? The L.A. County Department of Mental Health, of course. An appointment was made and I scheduled a meeting, but not expecting much hope. Maurice was waiting outside in the lobby for me the entire time. He understood.
Tomorrow I’ll tell how my appointment went, as well as, how Maurice continued to support me and why he is such an amazing man.