As you may well know - and should know, I might add - today, Wednesday September 10th, is World Suicide Prevention Day. It is an important day for all of us; especially those who have lost a loved one to suicide, or for those who have contemplated or attempted suicide themselves.
It is a very serious subject, on which I have written plenty of times in the past (although only once on this blog, after the death of Robin Williams). It is also a very personal subject, of which I have a lot of experience with.
I often hate to admit it, but I have very greatly suffered with suicidal ideologies in the past. And unfortunately I have dealt with those thoughts quite frequently. But now, in a rare moment of, not so much happiness, but perhaps a lack of sadness, I am thinking about all those times I felt so hopeless and sad that I thought ending my life was the only way out.
If you have ever experienced such feelings, I am right there with you. But I am aware that our situations are and probably were very different, - everyone is unique, of course. Nevertheless, depression, anxiety, Bipolar, Schizophrenia, PTSD, and any other mental disorder that I have ignorantly failed to mention are all very similar in that they make us feel things so much deeper than others without these illnesses. And yes, they are illnesses. And deserve to be treated as such.
Often these illnesses are brought on by what appears to be nothing - though in a lot of cases, trauma can be a reason behind the disorder, as well as many other factors that come into play.
For me, nothing traumatic ever really happened in my life, until after I was diagnosed with depression. For a while I was just, well, miserable. I had no passions, no desires; I hated school, I hated living at home, I hated who I was and what I looked like, I didn't even like my own friends. When I was 16, things grew progressively worse and I went to see a psychiatrist who put me on a variety of medications. Through a process of trial and error, I took a total of over 10 or maybe even 15 different medications to ease my depressive thoughts and anxieties. Nothing worked. When I was 18, right before I graduated high school, I took a handful of Tylenol followed by another handful of one of my antidepressants I was taking at the time. Nothing happened. Though I was more disappointed than anything, I wised up a bit and told someone about what I had done, maybe the week after doing it. I was immediately sent to a mental hospital, where I spent about 10 days working with other doctors and other 14- to 18-year-olds who, like me, also suffered from depression. But nothing helped, and I learned useless ways to "get better." Not long after, I overdosed again on my medications, this time winding up in the ER. That was when things in my life grew to be terribly traumatic. The dizziness, the nausea, the inability to even walk or keep my eyes open came over me within a matter of 20 minutes of taking an entire bottle of pills. I don't remember much of what happened next. I remember waking up, surprisingly happy to be alive after a whole night of already feeling like death. "We nearly lost you," my family later told me. I was relieved to be living, but was quickly turned around and frustrated to learn that I would be spending more time in a mental ward. Of course my second trip was nothing but unhelpful. Life went on; things felt awful, I felt awful. I felt like a ghost of myself, aimlessly wandering around the Earth. My depression had become a monster that often felt as though it were eating me whole, using its sharp teeth to devour me down into the pit of its deep, dark stomach. But some days were good; others were bad, and others, still, were even worse. If it weren't for my unsuccessful attempts, I would not be here at this very moment to be writing this for you to read, however.
But, long story short, I have tried killing myself six times. And to no avail. Am I grateful? Of course. Are my family and friends grateful? I believe so. Am I still here because I am happy with myself now and with my life now? Not at all. But I am learning more and more each day that there are little things in myself and in my life that are beyond worth living for.
So today, on World Suicide Prevention Day - spread the word. Depression kills people. But you can save a life. Know the symptoms, learn the signs, talk to someone, and/or call this number: 1-800-273-TALK.
The point in me giving you my story is so you know that things don't get better easily - they get better with time. And some days are better than others. One day I am content, the next day I want to be dead. But then I think to myself, "Maybe tomorrow will be like yesterday - BETTER." And it almost always is. I can't make any guarantees, of course, but if you tend to think more positively and optimistically, there is a better chance of things being and getting better.
Suicide is 100% preventable. Be kind to someone today and everyday; be kind to yourself today and everyday.
You are not alone in your suffering, my friend. You never are.
- I'm sorry if this post is seemingly all over the place; I am writing from a deep place in my heart and with all of my brain power and from the very bottom of my soul, so excuse me for not being my usual "Editor-in-Chief" self and writing more coherently or more in order. Just know the main point of what I'm saying, and helping me spread the word about suicide prevention. Please + thank you.
Have a great day, all.
love, Clare
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