I am posting my story, as part of my contribution to suicide prevention week. This is me, my story and how I really live. However, before we start, I want you to know, I may have these feelings but in no way do I ever intend to act upon them, if I ever get close I reach out to the people who love me and they help me through.
If you ever need someone to talk to there are plenty of people out there. Message me, talk to one of the Suicide Hotlines around the world. For more info on dealing with your depression click here or text “start” to 741-741 and text someone to help. Most of all never give up or give in, there is no reason to not keep fighting “Always Keep Fighting” as my favorite actor Jared Padalecki from supernatural would say.
Also, this has nothing to do with autism, or celiac disease.
Today I died.
In my head, every day I do.
For most of my life I have fought depression, and with that depression came thoughts of suicide. It started when I was a teen. When I was a teen I had a craptastic life in high school. I wasn’t too badly bullied and it was nothing by today’s standards, but the hardest part was I never felt like I fit. I was one of those people who spent her school years just trying to find where she belonged. I was too geeky to be a cool kid, and too funny to be a geek; I loved reading fiction so I didn’t fit with the science geeks, and I was not athletic at all. If there had been goths then I might have fit with them except that I hated makeup and they seem to live for it. Really, you could say I spent almost all my life trying to fit, to find others like me. To find that inner peace they say comes with knowing your tribe and having people who “get you.” I always had friends, just not friends I would call when I hurt – partly out of fear that they would take my pain, twist it or exploit it. Maybe I was paranoid, maybe I still am. It was simply easier to keep everyone at arm’s length; that way, when they betrayed you, it didn’t hurt quite so badly. However, I still manage to have a pretty wonderful life.
Yet every almost every day I plot my own demise.
I know you are probably thinking I am nuts (but aren’t we all a little at least?). I will see little things like a power line that hangs low enough to touch, or a bridge rail that is broken. A bottle of pills I know I am allergic to; a very sharp blade. Things that others see as dangerous my mind see as an escape. Only once did I act on these feelings. One day 20+ years ago I produced the only failure in my life I am truly grateful for. I was a teen and had just broken up with the “love of my life,” the one person who I thought finally “Got me.” He told me he didn’t love me anymore.
Depression decided I would be better off dead than living in a world that never accepted me. If the only person who ever accepted me had decided I wasn’t acceptable anymore, then I couldn’t endure the pain of life anymore. So I took a bunch of pills, and as I started to feel sleepy, I got scared and asked my mom for help. The next few hours are still a blur. I remember the pain that came with the tube they pushed down my throat, the awful taste of the charcoal they pushed down that tube to make me vomit and neutralize the pills, and I remember the look on my parent’s faces. My dad was simply angry and at the time I thought it was at me. However, as I grew and became a parent I realize he wasn’t angry with me at all, he was angry with himself. He felt like he had failed me. My Mother was so scared and I now truly understand why she would feel that way. I have my own kids and if I were in her place watching one of them in that situation I would fall apart.
Since that day, I have learned that the Man in Black from The Princess Bride was right when he said “Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.” Every day there is something or someone who will create pain in your life. The problem is, life is more than that. It is beauty, love, a child’s laugh and stars bright in the night sky. However, depression doesn’t always want to see the good – the bad is easier. It creeps in and fills the quiet, it steals away the joy and blocks out the stars like a dark cloud. The depression then says life is dark and horrible. It whispers in my ear “Why don’t you just give up?”
Some days I even listen a little, I entertain the idea, mull over how I would for a few minutes then a little light sparkles in the back. Maybe it is the voice of one of my kids, or a playful cat, sometimes something as simple as a song I love coming up on the radio. Then I start to uncover the good things. The spark grows and once again I can breathe and push depression back again. Sometimes it is bad, and I get to the point where I have plotted it out and start to cry. When I do I close my eyes and go back to that day; the day I died inside, the day I lost to the nagging little voice called depression, and I close my eyes and see my father’s face, the tears in my mother’s eyes, and I know I never want my kids to feel these things. I never want my husband to know what it is to lose me to depression or my parents to think they failed me.
While depression still looks to find a way to end my life, I won’t let it win because I can’t. I just can’t. So for one more day depression loses and I start again tomorrow. One day at a time I will make it. I won’t let it win.
At least not today.