Hey there! Guess who isn’t suicidal anymore!
Yikes. Sorry about that.
This is like the time I let some of my friends know I was in the emergency room by sending them snapchat selfies of myself in a hospital gown.
For some reason people get mad when you don’t seem like you’re taking your health seriously.
In my defense it is hard to talk to people about being suicidal. I mean, if people are uncomfortable talking about mental health to begin with, they are terrified about hearing about suicidal ideation.
Hell they may not even know the phrase suicidal ideation exists.
My parents and close friends have been aces these past couple (years) months. They’ve dealt with my worsening depression, anxiety, and panic attacks far better than I could ever have hoped and I am constantly, continually grateful. And what’s more, they’ve found ways to understand that through it all I’m still me.
Under all the crying and screaming and bruising and weight loss, I was still me.
Admittedly a broken down version of me who needed a lot of help to get back to normal, but the point still stands.
A lot of people have a hard time seeing that. A lot of the time people you care about, people you don’t, well meaning friends and family, and people who couldn’t give less of a fuck only see you as your mental health status.
And sometimes they think you can’t even tell.
Well trust me. I can tell.
I was genuinely scared to write this post because I don’t know how it will affect how people see me. As amazing as it might seem, there are still some people out there who don’t know that I’m a mess.
I know. Frankly, I’m astonished too.
Fortunately, I’m pretty sure only strangers and people who are already at least a little privy to my personal life read this little blog of mine.
That said, it’s still hard for me to talk about being suicidal because honestly it’s still hard to accept that I actually was.
When I think back I don’t ever remember thinking “I want to die”. It was always more of a nebulous desire to stop hurting floating around me than a solid wish.
MAKE THIS STOP MAKE THIS STOP PLEASE GOD I WILL DO ANYTHING TO MAKE THIS STOP
I didn’t want to die. I just didn’t necessarily want to live.
Now those might not seem like different things to some people but to me it was all the difference in the world.
I wanted out. I was so unalterably sad, in such constant pain, and in such a state of resigned terror that this was going to be the rest of my life that I didn’t know what to do. I was desperate and broken and scared and I just wanted it all to
I would get so scared when I thought like this that I would hold my breath, put knives against my skin, open windows in high buildings and stand there, crying and staring, willing myself to live.
So I told my therapist. And then I went to the hospital. I wrote a whole post on that when I got out, so I won’t go into much detail on that subject, but suffice it to say, that was both a wake up call and a turning point.
I was living my worst nightmare and that more than anything compelled me to get back to being alive.
And so I did.
Two months later and some actual medication that works and I’m feeling more like myself than I have in years.
It’s exhilarating and unbelievable and absolutely terrifying.
I’m going slow at the moment. As hard as it can be for me to grasp sometimes, I’m sick. Mental illness is a disease like any other and like any other chronic illness it will ebb and flare and there will be good and bad days.
And I’m trying to be okay with that.
For now, I am good. I’m happy. I’m stable and yet I can still feel the whole range of emotions I’m used to.
I’m less reactive and yet I’m not numb. And for that, I’m grateful.
I didn’t think I would ever get here for a while. And sometimes I still worry that I’m not here to stay.
And that’s okay. If I slip it doesn’t have to be all the way back down. And if it is hell, I got here once, I can find my way back again.
But I’m not going to worry about that for now. For now I’m going to be alive, just like I promised myself I would be.