****WARNING- this is not a lighthearted post and may be difficult for some people to read. If you yourself are having suicidal thoughts please reach out to a doctor or a loved one. You can also call the suicidal hotline at 800-273-8255. Speak out and don't keep it in***
She stopped looking both ways before crossing the street;
she stopped wearing her seat belt in the car,
and she stopped counting the pills before she took them.
She wasn't trying to kill herself,
but she did stop caring whether she lived,
The thoughts of not wanting to exists consumed me. It was peculiar how much the thoughts and feelings were like what you would see in the movies. There was a million voices surrounding me, but I was the only one that could hear them. My psychical feeling was that of a deflated balloon.
I am a natural humorous and outgoing person. Not one person around me could tell by looking at me that I wanted it all to end. But I would cry in the bathrooms at work, or alone on my bedroom floor. Then after I pulled myself together I would drink until I couldn't feel anymore. The fact that the feelings only grew stronger and stronger no matter how much I tried to fix it scared the shit out of me.
I remember one night, I drank about 3 liters of wine. I was at a such deep low that all I could do was cry. I text a few people... My brother telling him Im sorry and tell my nephew I love him. My best friend my password to my phone, and a few others. The next morning I woke up late for work. I didn't remember ANYTHING that happened but the texts I read helped jog my memory. I made a sad attempt at suicide. I say sad attempt because there is no way that what I did would have actually done the trick. At the time though, I thought it would. When I came to the realization that I had finally reached that point, I was in shock. All I could go was hold my hand over my mouth, gasp and then fall to my knees in tears. I was terrified that I had reached that point and if I was capable of that, what else was I capable of. Feeling like shit, I pulled myself together and went to work. There were two people out of the dozen I saw that day that knew because I told them. But for the most part no one knew what had happened, or how bad my heart was hurting.
That's the sad part about it. Not sad for myself. I feel sad that no one noticed how bad I was hurting, and cannot imagine who else goes on with life feeling the same. Can you imagine the person you are joking around with and laughing, was in the bathroom floor the night before taking a knife to their thigh just so they could feel something real?
Once I had the realization that I was scared of what I was capable of and terrified of death, I spoke out. I told several people and asked for help. My aunt was my saving grace because she got me back into therapy. At that point, my healing began. I started speaking my real truths and not what I thought others wanted to hear. But I was still hurting, and I still had those low nights. My behavior was still reckless and destructive. I was very reluctant on taking any kind of medication to help with my mental health. The reason being was my family has a history of addiction, and I didnt want to add to the family tree. There was a crossroad I was met with and had to make a decision. Either keep down this dangerous path that would more than like end my life too quickly, or keep seeking help and go see my doctor.
I thought about having myself admitted two or three times, but wanted help, not sedation. Unfortunately, the mental health system isn't what it should be. It took a lot of courage to make a doctors appointment. To go into the room where I go for a cold, feeling healthy, and telling them that I need help. To admit my faults and say things I never dared to say out loud.
I am four months into my medical treatment, and on 3 antidepressants. I am still a work in progress, but starting to feel like myself again. I truly believed I would not get the woman I was before back. That my demons had finally taken over who I was and turned me into a person I didnt want to me. Happiness is a thing for me now. I go weeks without crying and its been about two months since the feeling of not wanting to exist has crossed my mind. I still have my bad days and low points. But, coming from where I was to where I am... Holy Shit!
Glor;ous is tattooed on my wrist to remind me that life is glorious and worth living.
Speak out, and seek help. You ARE worth it. Life is worth living even if you don't see it just yet.