I’ll start with my own story. One I’d prefer not to think about. In fact, I spent a good part of my recovery trying to just forget those terrible feelings of despair, of hopelessness, of giving up. But I think the most important part of prevention, is awareness. And awareness only comes by talking about it. By sharing our stories. So I’ll share a brief part of my own. You’ll have to read my book if you want the full story (when I finally finish it).
I was 16. I was anorexic. I was extremely depressed. I spent most days wishing I could just make it stop. I had already been in therapy for what felt like a long time, but really it was like 6 months (but when you're a teenager, that's like a lifetime). I was already on anti-depressants. I had even been through a short stint of inpatient therapy for my eating disorder. Nothing was working. I was more depressed than ever. Suicidal thoughts were part of my daily life. But with anorexia, it makes you hate yourself so much that you believe you're not worthy of even a quick death. The only allowed suicide is a slow, painful, agonizing one of starvation. But that didn't keep me from wishing I was brave enough to just end the pain.
That’s how I thought. I didn’t think of suicide as weak. I thought of it as a brave thing to do. To be strong enough to just end your own life. I felt far too weak and terrible about myself to believe I was capable of having the guts to show everyone that all that mattered was my pain. Mine. That my pain was so great, that no one else had possibly felt the way I did. It just seemed like a selfish thing to do. And in the state I was in, doing anything selfish was almost like giving myself love that I didn’t feel I deserved. So my brain just looped through that cycle of wanting to kill myself and then feeling like it was too selfish and then feeling shittier about myself for wanting to do something selfish and around and around until death would’ve been a sweet release to rid myself of the sickening and never-ending carousel from hell.
One time I attempted to take too many pills. Since killing myself wasn't really my goal, just hurting myself, all I took was a bunch of Ibuprofen and Tylenol. Clearly not a real suicide attempt, but definitely a cry for help. Even if it was a weak cry, it was all I was capable of at the time. I didn't know how to communicate what I needed, didn't even understand what I needed to fix it. I was not ready to admit how terrified I was or how much I needed people to help me. But I knew I couldn't do it alone.
I had done what I thought would’ve been the hardest part, and told my parents about my eating disorder pretty early on, but I wasn’t able to express to them, or anyone, how depressed I truly was. I was lucky enough to have parents that loved me and tried their best to help. No matter how much my depressed teenage mind was trying to tell me that no one cared and I should just end it, deep down I knew that wasn't true. My parents had shown how much they loved me too many times for me to just end my life on the premise that no one cared. So even though I couldn’t tell them everything, just knowing they loved me, helped more than I could possibly put into words.
Luckily I had a few friends who I was able to talk to and they were also instrumental in keeping me alive and helping me through the worst of it. Once rumor spread around the school that I was anorexic, my number of friends seemed to dwindle. People started to look at me funny, whisper behind my back, ya know, typical high school stuff. But on the other hand, I had a surprising number of random people I barely knew offer me kind words, an ear to listen, or a shoulder to cry on. I think back now about how much those few nice people made up for a whole bunch of jerks. Never underestimate the value of a few positive words for someone suffering, even if you don’t know them well.
And then of course, there was Brian. Not many people get to say their spouse saved their life at 16, but I do. And not a day goes by that I'm not grateful for him and everything he's done for me. He gave me what I needed most. He loved me and he accepted my love. Realizing that I was not only capable of being loved, but of loving that much in return, that’s what helped the most. That love helped me start to see that I had worth and purpose, that there was meaning to life. That I belonged here, alive, on this planet. He listened to me and cried with me. He didn't run away screaming when he realized how crazy I was. For whatever reason, he made the choice every day to stick it out with me, through all the hard years of recovery. And best of all, he's still here.
Now in retrospect, I can see very clearly that talking about it was what helped the most in getting on the path to recovery. I had to admit all of it out loud. All the dark thoughts, the fear, and how truly depressed I was. Opening up to the people who cared most about me was the ticket. And now, so many years later, it has been very healing to talk about the subject with a wider audience.
We must all stop being afraid to speak about mental health. The judgements, the stigma, the idea that it's "taboo". It's all ridiculous and needs to stop if we expect to make any progress. The reality is that a HUGE number of people suffer with some sort of mental illness. Even the people that haven't been diagnosed with something... I mean really do you know anybody who doesn't have issues? Know anyone really well adjusted and "normal"? Maybe there's a few out there, but most people have had at least some episode of depression in their lives. Life can suck balls sometimes. We all have shit in our lives that gets us down. It wouldn’t be so damn hard to deal with if we weren’t afraid to talk about it.
But even somebody like me who has been writing about it for years now, it's still a challenge for me, every time. There's a handful of people I'd rather didn't know so much about me, and I often worry they will find out. I worry that it could affect my job, my career, my reputation. But then I remember it's more important to be the person who isn't afraid to speak about it, than the person with a perfect career. I'll risk my reputation over and over again if it means I'm able to help someone. A reputation is of no real importance when compared to someone’s life.
We all have to tell our stories of how suicide has touched our lives. We can't be afraid anymore. Because it's not just our life that it affects. It ripples through way more people than you think it will. And those ripples go far and for a long, long time. You don't know who you will hurt if you don't talk. Or who you will help if you do.
Don't shut everyone out. Humans need each other. Anytime we try to spend too much time alone we go crazy. Alone, it's easy to go too far, to feel too depressed. For an unbalanced brain to convince us there is no way to fix this.
But the truth is that you can always fix it. No matter how fucked up you think you are, there is help. There is someone who wants to help you. There is someone who can help you. There are lots of people that care about you. Maybe you don't know enough yet, but I guarantee there's somebody in your life that cares about you and I know there's more people that will care about you if you let them.
The most important thing I want everyone to take away from this is:
You are not alone. Not now, not ever.
If you are feeling suicidal, please, please, please, find help. Tell someone. A friend, an acquaintance, hell a random stranger, anybody! You can find a crisis center in your area by going here. If you're in the US, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 (Available 24 hours everyday).
Other resources:
American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP)
Suicide Prevention Resource Center (SPRC)
The Mighty
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