National Suicide Prevention Day

Today is National Suicide Prevention Day, a day very dear to my heart. I’ve known people who have taken their own lives, I know many who have attempted, and I myself, have come to that point of desperation and hopelessness. Sadly, though, many of us suffer with suicidality in silence. We fear that by reaching out, we will be stigmatized as “crazy,” “attention-seeking,” “weak.” The world still knows so little about the plague that is depression (and other mental illnesses) and as a result, many don’t recognize their struggles for being real, worthy of mentioning. They feel alone, misunderstood, afraid of the world and of themselves. Not only is a suicide tragic in itself, but I believe it is almost more tragic to consider how alone that person felt in the end, that he or she felt so isolated that even reaching out felt hopeless. In a world full of so many people struggling with the same (if not similar) problems, it is a tragedy that so many of us feel alone.

So today, let’s do our part in spreading that vital awareness of the threat that is suicide. Learn more about mental health. Educate your friends and family. Tell your loved ones on a daily basis how much they mean to you, how much you love them. And take time when you can, to listen to a stranger’s story, to smile at them, to make them feel heard and appreciated. And if it is you that is struggling, pay attention to those feelings, give yourself care and love. If you feel that you can’t, please reach out and let someone else give you that affection. Despite feeling alone in your suffering right now, I think you’ll be surprised how many people want to be there for you, want to listen, to care, to hold your hand. I agree that the world can be a lonely place, but I also believe that our minds can make it feel even more that way. We can convince ourselves that we’re invisible, worthless, unloveable. But in reaching out, we can prove those internal truths to be false.

I’m not going to say that life gets easier, because it doesn’t. You just get stronger. You may still feel at times, scared, lonely, sad, or even, hopeless. But the more time that you allow to pass, you’ll start to realize that those feelings will, too. Slowly, we can learn how to cope with those feelings. By reaching out, we bring more supports into our lives, so that we are no longer the only shoulders upon which the weight will rest. It takes time to build that strength and resilience. But you’re deserving of that time.

I came across this acronym a few months ago and sometimes, I recite it to myself over and over until it’s almost automatic. It’s taken me a while, but I believe I’m starting to believe in its truth:

Hold On, Pain Ends.

It does. I promise.

♥

 

*If you need support, please see the tab below my header entitled “Support.”

Alive

Sometimes I just have to marvel at the fact that I’m still alive.

I’ve had people tell me over and over, doctors, therapists, friends… that I’m lucky to be alive. Being still in my sick mind at those times, “lucky” seemed an inappropriate adjective for the subject. I had no gratitude for continuing to exist. I was fighting to die, not fighting to live.

But something has changed.

Today, as I look back on my life, I’m not only amazed, I am grateful. (Even writing that sentence feels strange to me… to admit that I appreciate the fact that I’m still alive means that I want this life. And that’s something I’ve never been able say, let alone believe.)

This past week, my sponsor gave me an assignment to make a list of all my near-death experiences. It was an arduous process, painful and humiliating. So many attempts to take my own life, so many reckless decisions that nearly led to my death, so many instances in which the only explanation for my survival must be from some power that is not me. I have no definition for whatever this power is, whether it be God, the universe, nature, etc. In my honest opinion, I don’t believe that divinity is meant to be understood or defined. It’s merely meant to be felt and to be believed in. And after making this list, my faith has strengthened. Though I remain ignorant to the reason or purpose that is being served by prolonging my life, I have come to believe that there is one. There must be, because if not, what the hell am I still doing here?

Something, whatever or whomever it may be, saved me. I was saved. Numerous times. And at last, I’m capable of being grateful.

Looking back on this list, I hold a lot of shame. While reading it to my sponsor, I raced through it, keeping my eyes glued to the paper in fear of seeing my sponsor’s reaction. I’ve told her that I’ve made attempts, but somehow, describing each one and exposing how many almost-attempts there have been in addition to those, how constant my desire for ending this life had been for those years, made me feel reprehensible. I admire her so much for her selflessness, her infallible faith, her unending gratitude. She is perhaps the strongest person I’ve ever known. How could she look at me now and not think of me as selfish, weak, pitiful? I know that I was sick, that I wasn’t thinking clearly, that I was in the midst of my addictions, but despite all of that, I still am responsible for the person that I was then. That person is still a part of me, and continues to show her face from time to time.

But then again, maybe that shame I have for my past is actually a sign of progress. I can use that shame to see how I’ve changed, how I’ve grown past that life. Back then, I’d destroyed my values, my dignity, my self-respect. I didn’t care what happened to me, what I did to others in my attempts to give up. But now, as I look back, I do care. I hold shame and regret now, because the contrast between the life I lead now and that of my past is so glaring. It’s the comparison between the person I was and the person I am today that causes shame.

If I was still the person of my past, my perspective of this list would be entirely different. I would hold anger and shame for an entirely different reason. That person would look at this as a list of all of the times I’d failed. But today, I see it as a list of all of the times that I’ve survived.

From the Bottom of My Heart…

To All Victims of Suicide,

I might not have known you personally. I might not know your family or what it was like to grow up in your childhood home. I don’t know what you’ve been through, I don’t know what brought you so low as to think that the only solution was to end your life. I don’t know if someone hurt you. I don’t know if you hurt someone else and lived your life in regret. I don’t know anything, really, except that I know what it’s like to be in that place where it feels like there’s no way out but to die.

I’ve been in that hopeless and desperate place too many times to count. I’ve held a blade vertically along the veins in my wrists, begging for the strength to press down. I’ve tied a belt in my closet, stood on a bridge overlooking the highway, held a fist-full of pills in my hand. I’ve even swallowed those pills on three occasions. I’ve spent years of my life praying every night that I wouldn’t wake up in the morning.

I’ve had that same voice in my head telling me that I’m worthless, the scum of the earth, a burden to my friends and family. It told me that I was a pathetic excuse for a human being, that I was unloveable. It followed me everywhere, using every tiny mistake as a signal to attack me from every angle. It still follows me, today. I hear it when I look in the mirror. “Ugly.” “Fat.” “Disgusting.” It criticizes my every word, my every move. It tells me nasty things that others could be thinking about me. And over and over… as if on repeat, it tells me to kill myself. That voice never leaves me.

Living life this way is exhausting. The weight of depression is cumbersome and suffocating. It takes so much effort to open your eyes, to get out of bed, to speak, to breathe. And day after day, the weight doesn’t get any lighter. That is… until you tell someone. Until you reach out. The sad thing is, we often don’t in fear that we’ll be judged or not taken seriously. This is the most tragic part of suicide… the fact that it could be avoided if we knew that someone cared, that there is help.

It breaks my heart that perhaps you thought that no one cared, that no one knew how it felt to be where you were. The sadness envelopes me, because I know what it’s like to feel alone in the darkness. I’ve screamed and cried because I just couldn’t bear the pain any longer. It felt like it would never stop, that my heart would shatter, reform itself and shatter again ad infinitum. I was being tortured on the inside day after day and no one around me could see the tears or hear my screams. No one knew and the voice told me that no one cared.

I find suicide devastating because all you knew in life was pain. You didn’t have the chance to see what was beyond your suffering. You didn’t feel the relief of that weight falling off your shoulders. You never saw the dazzling light of hope. And it was so nearly yours.

I am so, so sorry that you faced this death alone. I am so sorry that this society made you feel that depression or hopelessness was strange, selfish or attention-seeking. I’m sorry that you were made to feel ashamed for expressing your pain. It’s not fair that you had to go through this alone. I’m so sorry that you felt trapped, that there was no way out.

Because there is. There is hope. There is more to life than this pain.

From someone who survived three suicide attempts, I will carry you with me. I will continue your fight. I will carry every soul that was lost to suicide in my heart. I will live fully for you, in honor of you. Because you were just as deserving of this life as I am.

I hope that you’re at peace wherever you are, that you have found relief from your pain. And I hope that you never again feel alone or unnoticed or unloved.

Because though you have left this world, you will never leave our hearts.

All my love,

M ♥

Truth.

One More Chance

There was another suicide today at my sister’s school, my old high school.

There’ve been four in the last year. The number seems to be increasing annually. It’s scary and it’s tragic, not only that the world lost another beautiful soul… but the aftermath is just as heartbreaking. Having nearly taken my life on more than one occasion, a question that runs through my mind in those moments is whether anyone will miss me when I’m gone. Will anyone notice?

Well, Bobby (the name of the boy who took his life this morning), if you were wondering the same thing, people have noticed. You are missed and will be missed by so many for so long.

I’ve seen and felt the aftermath of suicide, and though I never met this boy personally, I feel it now. My sister feels it. The world feels it. I know that when you’re in that place of absolute desperation and hopelessness, you think of nothing else but ending the pain. It’s hard to think of others, of how the world would be affected if you took your own life. You’re so immersed in pain, regret, fear, loneliness… Like trying to see through a blizzard, you can’t think of anything outside of the sheets of snow surrounding you and blinding your vision. Your only focus is on your inner turmoil and finding a way to make it all stop. I get it. But I wish those people who have succeeded in making it stop, making their hearts stop beating, could have waited… just a short while. Maybe only five minutes.

Because what they didn’t know and never had the chance to know… was that it passes. You don’t believe it in the moment. You see no light at the end of the tunnel. But it’s there, I swear. The feeling passes, the hopelessness, the overwhelming pain. You can survive it, you can make it through. And it might take you a while to be grateful that you did, but one day, you will be. You’ll be glad you gave yourself those extra five minutes… because in that short time, an entire life can be saved. Yours.

I have to admit, I still have those desperate moments sometimes where I think about ending it all. But by giving myself that extra time, I’ve learned that making a permanent ending to a moment’s discomfort isn’t worth it. I remind myself of how people are affected by suicide, how it tears lives apart, leaving trauma, guilt and confusion in its wake. You leave behind the people that you love, spending the rest of their lives wondering if they could have stopped you, could have said something or done something to keep you here with them. You leave them without closure or understanding. Believe me, that’s not the mark you want to leave on this world.

To those of you out there who are struggling: I beg you, don’t give up. Keep fighting. I know how hard it is to see outside the dark, to see the love and care of those around you. I know you feel alone, that you have no one, that no one would miss you, but I think you’re wrong. There’s no way any of us can know the lives that we’ve touched. There’s no way of knowing who would be hurt by us leaving. Please try to reach out, to seek help. Even if you talk to a perfect stranger, I know that most people would listen if it meant saving that person’s life. And know that you’re not alone in the way that you’re feeling. Know that others have been in your place, have felt those feelings and some of them, are still here. They made it and you can, too.

Just please, give yourself one more chance.

I did.

And though I can’t promise that it’s going to be easy, I can promise that there’s more than this pain. Don’t miss out on all the good that awaits you in the future. Don’t die without ever really giving yourself the chance to live.

♥

Dawn is Coming

Missed.

Maybe this sounds selfish or egocentric, but sometimes it’s just nice to know that you’re missed, that someone cares and notices your absence in their life. For years and years, the thought that “no one would give a shit if I wasn’t here anymore,” circled through my mind like a song on repeat. It was my favorite punishment for myself, to go through the list of people who I loved most and picture them not giving a damn if I keeled over in that moment. I told this to myself over and over until I believed it to be truth. I convinced myself that their love was artificial, pitying, forced. I wasn’t worthy of real love.

This belief that I was unloveable benefitted that sick part of myself, giving me more reason to give up. If no one cared, what was I even still doing here?

I even pictured my funeral on numerous occasions as further torture for myself. I pictured an empty chapel, one bouquet of wilting flowers, no eulogies or stories about who I was or what I did with my life. For so long, I truly believed that was what I deserved.

I now know differently. I know now that it was selfish and presumptuous of me to assume that I knew others’ love to be false. I now know of several people who would care if I left. I’ve seen and felt the aftermath of suicide and I refuse to burden my family and friends with that weight. Of course, I know that suicide is not a selfish act. I know what it’s like to be in the midst of agonizing emotions that blur reality and prevent us from thinking about anyone or anything other than ending the pain. I’ve been there… too many times to count. But I know now that the darkness can end. I know that if I open myself up to loving and being loved, I’m not unloveable. I’m noticed. I’m cared for. I’m even cherished.

It takes time (for me, quite a bit…and I’m still learning) to believe yourself worthy of that love. It takes time to pull yourself from the shadows and to live in the light, but when you do, the warmth of the sun shining on your face trumps any night shivering in the cold and darkness. 

I still feel shocked and doubtful when I receive a message that says “I miss you.” But you know what? I’m finally starting to believe it’s true.

Don’t give up.

There is someone out there who would miss you.