The Price of Pearls

Imaginary voices from every corner of the room whispered, "You're headed fro a breakdown. You'll never get through this. Why don't you just give up? Nobody knows how to fix you. Stop wasting your time. You're such a burden to your husband. You can't even take care of your kids anymore. Pretty soon you won't be able to do your job. Everybody will be better off without you."
Lately I had entertained thoughts of checking myself into a treatment center and had considered a place I'd heard about on a Christian television station. That was the last place I wanted to be, but I couldn't seem to control my compulsive thinking, and quite frankly I was completely exhasuted from the energy it took to get out of bed and face each day. But I couldn't bring myself to even mention the idea to my husband Willie. I was afraid he wold think I had finally reached the point of no return. While I had desperately tried to let him know how bad I was feeling, I could never totally define the sheer torment I was experiencing.
Besides, I wasn't sure if I wanted to admit I was a failure...a failure at living. To admit that was too painful...too humiliating...too awful. I was holding on by a thread. To say what my heart already knew was to sign my death certificate. I felt as if I would totally unravel if I opened my mouth and actually say those words. That step would mean no more pretending I could make it on my own.
My family needed me whole, but I had nothing left to give. I was running on fumes. I choked back tears and wondered what my children would think of me. Surely, they would never understand my going away for an extended period of time to get help. Who would be there to take care of them?