When I wrote my last post, I had honestly thought that it was something I was doing for myself - I felt that if I continued to hide my condition from my friends and family, I would never be able to accept myself as I am. I thought that by removing my emotional mask, I'd finally be able to breathe. And my courage did accomplish that for me, but also so much more than I was expecting. On Facebook, comment after comment came rolling in from friends and acquaintances, telling me how much they appreciated my honesty, how much I had opened their eyes, and how much I had helped them. Somehow, I hadn't even imagined my story would make such a positive impact. Yet, it did. And I'm so grateful for all of your support. For some reason I'd had it in my head that I'd receive at least as much criticism as encouragement - my brain has a habit of generating outlandishly awful scenarios. But, in spite of all my brain's dark predictions (including the one where I'd suddenly find that no one wanted to talk to me anymore because I'm simply too weird to associate with), you all have said nothing but kind things to me. I guess that just goes to show how little I should trust that nervous voice inside my brain that tries to keep me afraid.
It's seeing what an impact my last blog post has had that made me realize that there's something else I need to be more open about. A certain condition that I can barely speak out loud. A problem that I've always flinched away from, to the point of pretending that it doesn't exist. I can almost talk about my anxiety disorder without feeling ashamed. But I find this other challenge far harder to admit to. As if I think that I've somehow done something wrong in having it in the first place.
I'm talking about depression. I have, in fact, found myself in that dark place when you consider destroying yourself, because going on living is so exhausting. I've never made an attempt. I've never had an exit plan. But the monster in my mind is ever-present. Nothing it can say will make me kill myself. I'm determined it won't. But that monster has a really annoying habit of trying to convince me that I would.
I've been incredibly ashamed of myself for years. I remember the fist time I ever had such a thought. I was thirteen years old, and I'd just had an argument with my parents over something, I don't remember what, and I was sitting in my room and having one of the worst meltdowns of my life. I was so hurt that I felt my parents hadn't been listening to me (I don't know if my assumption that they hadn't really been listening was true, but it felt true at the time), and I felt that not being understood was the worst feeling of my young life. If felt so awful, in fact, that I felt I needed to escape, and the sooner the better. I thought about climbing out of my bedroom window and running away, but even my worked-up, irrational mind recognized that out in the world would be considerably more dangerous than inside my bedroom. So, I thought, the only other way to get "out" would be to kill myself.
I had felt a nasty shock the moment I had that thought. I was so shocked, in fact, that I felt myself go numb, although at the time I had thought I was "coming to my senses" and "calming down." I could not believe that I would be stupid enough, wicked enough to have such a thought. I don't fully understand how, but by then I had internalized the idea that there must be something wrong with anyone who would consider suicide, even briefly.
For years, whenever a thought of wanting to escape (I never truly wanted to die - I simply wanted my overwhelming existence to be put on halt for a while so that I could have a break from the hurting), I'd push the thought away as hard as I could. Pretend it didn't happen. And when I eventually talked to my mom about my depression when I was seventeen, I downplayed those thoughts. Told her that I had never been in any danger - things just hurt, and I wanted things to stop hurting. I was being honest with her when I told her I wasn't in danger of destroying myself, but what I didn't realize is just how much the fact those thoughts had happened in the first place were hurting me. I wasn't about to go jump off a bridge, but the shame I felt over my own thoughts was wearing on me, breaking away any self-confidence or self-esteem I had.
Here, I want to stop my story where it is to say that it honestly and truly wasn't that argument with my parents that was responsible for my tailspin. If that argument hadn't set me off, my next major frustration probably would have. I was very stressed out at the time (my best guess at why is the fact that those awkward transitions happening in my brain chemistry as I became a teenager proved too much for me to take), and looking back I can see that I had a lot of emotional pressure building without a clear idea what to do with it. I have always been very emotionally intense, and the additional moodiness I acquired when I became a teenager definitely caused serious problems for my state of mind. What I'm trying to say here is that it really wasn't a big, obvious, traumatic event that caused my depression. It was far more everyday.
As for how I'm doing today, I honestly can't say. Sometimes I think that I've somehow simply outgrown the worst of those intrusive thoughts, only for them to come back and wear me out. I'm not in danger of doing something to myself, but I have been feeling isolated. When you hide so much of your hurt from other people, you start to feel disconnected. You might even start to think that you're lying every time you smile. I know that sometimes I feel downright uncomfortable when I say, "I'm fine." In spite of my misgivings about my own state of mind, however, I am definitely doing far better than I have in years past. I've been going to counseling. I've been reaching out to my friends. And I'm taking the fact that I somehow scraped together the courage to write about this to mean that I've come a long, long way.
I really am so scared to actually post this. I've heard a lot of awful things said about people with mental health challenges. Some people think that people who have mental health challenges must be weak-willed. I've even had someone tell me to my face after I confided in them that committing suicide is a selfish thing to do. But come what may, I am going to publish my post. From the research I've been doing lately, I know that the best way to overcome mental health challenges is to talk about it. And if even one person decides to keep on living after reading this post, I'll consider my trouble worth it many times over. Even if you don't take away anything else from this post, here this: You are not alone in feeling this way!
Depression and thoughts of suicide don't come from a weak will. They don't come from a selfish intent. They don't mean anything is wrong with you. If you're feel suicidal, that's because you're in pain and want the hurting to stop. Depression is dreadful to go through, but it really is a natural consequence of having a hard time over an extended period of time (or sometimes your brain chemicals going weird). It's an ingrained human instinct to try to make pain stop in any way we can, and sometimes it interferes with the instinct to keep on living.
If you've been feeling with thoughts of suicide, please, please, please choose to stay. Contact a crisis hotline. Go into the ER if you need to (many emergency rooms are also equipped to deal with mental health crises, including the hospital here in town). Reach out to someone you trust and talk to them about it - anything you can stand to say. Find a counselor to help you learn how to manage your struggles. Do anything that it takes to keep you here, and help you feel less isolated.
Let me recap for you: I've been there. No one who knows me would call me weak, and you're not weak either.
If you know someone who is struggling with these thoughts, please show them your support in any way you know how, and find them help quickly. Some burdens are simply too big for one person to carry alone.
It's seeing what an impact my last blog post has had that made me realize that there's something else I need to be more open about. A certain condition that I can barely speak out loud. A problem that I've always flinched away from, to the point of pretending that it doesn't exist. I can almost talk about my anxiety disorder without feeling ashamed. But I find this other challenge far harder to admit to. As if I think that I've somehow done something wrong in having it in the first place.
I'm talking about depression. I have, in fact, found myself in that dark place when you consider destroying yourself, because going on living is so exhausting. I've never made an attempt. I've never had an exit plan. But the monster in my mind is ever-present. Nothing it can say will make me kill myself. I'm determined it won't. But that monster has a really annoying habit of trying to convince me that I would.
I've been incredibly ashamed of myself for years. I remember the fist time I ever had such a thought. I was thirteen years old, and I'd just had an argument with my parents over something, I don't remember what, and I was sitting in my room and having one of the worst meltdowns of my life. I was so hurt that I felt my parents hadn't been listening to me (I don't know if my assumption that they hadn't really been listening was true, but it felt true at the time), and I felt that not being understood was the worst feeling of my young life. If felt so awful, in fact, that I felt I needed to escape, and the sooner the better. I thought about climbing out of my bedroom window and running away, but even my worked-up, irrational mind recognized that out in the world would be considerably more dangerous than inside my bedroom. So, I thought, the only other way to get "out" would be to kill myself.
I had felt a nasty shock the moment I had that thought. I was so shocked, in fact, that I felt myself go numb, although at the time I had thought I was "coming to my senses" and "calming down." I could not believe that I would be stupid enough, wicked enough to have such a thought. I don't fully understand how, but by then I had internalized the idea that there must be something wrong with anyone who would consider suicide, even briefly.
For years, whenever a thought of wanting to escape (I never truly wanted to die - I simply wanted my overwhelming existence to be put on halt for a while so that I could have a break from the hurting), I'd push the thought away as hard as I could. Pretend it didn't happen. And when I eventually talked to my mom about my depression when I was seventeen, I downplayed those thoughts. Told her that I had never been in any danger - things just hurt, and I wanted things to stop hurting. I was being honest with her when I told her I wasn't in danger of destroying myself, but what I didn't realize is just how much the fact those thoughts had happened in the first place were hurting me. I wasn't about to go jump off a bridge, but the shame I felt over my own thoughts was wearing on me, breaking away any self-confidence or self-esteem I had.
Here, I want to stop my story where it is to say that it honestly and truly wasn't that argument with my parents that was responsible for my tailspin. If that argument hadn't set me off, my next major frustration probably would have. I was very stressed out at the time (my best guess at why is the fact that those awkward transitions happening in my brain chemistry as I became a teenager proved too much for me to take), and looking back I can see that I had a lot of emotional pressure building without a clear idea what to do with it. I have always been very emotionally intense, and the additional moodiness I acquired when I became a teenager definitely caused serious problems for my state of mind. What I'm trying to say here is that it really wasn't a big, obvious, traumatic event that caused my depression. It was far more everyday.
As for how I'm doing today, I honestly can't say. Sometimes I think that I've somehow simply outgrown the worst of those intrusive thoughts, only for them to come back and wear me out. I'm not in danger of doing something to myself, but I have been feeling isolated. When you hide so much of your hurt from other people, you start to feel disconnected. You might even start to think that you're lying every time you smile. I know that sometimes I feel downright uncomfortable when I say, "I'm fine." In spite of my misgivings about my own state of mind, however, I am definitely doing far better than I have in years past. I've been going to counseling. I've been reaching out to my friends. And I'm taking the fact that I somehow scraped together the courage to write about this to mean that I've come a long, long way.
I really am so scared to actually post this. I've heard a lot of awful things said about people with mental health challenges. Some people think that people who have mental health challenges must be weak-willed. I've even had someone tell me to my face after I confided in them that committing suicide is a selfish thing to do. But come what may, I am going to publish my post. From the research I've been doing lately, I know that the best way to overcome mental health challenges is to talk about it. And if even one person decides to keep on living after reading this post, I'll consider my trouble worth it many times over. Even if you don't take away anything else from this post, here this: You are not alone in feeling this way!
Depression and thoughts of suicide don't come from a weak will. They don't come from a selfish intent. They don't mean anything is wrong with you. If you're feel suicidal, that's because you're in pain and want the hurting to stop. Depression is dreadful to go through, but it really is a natural consequence of having a hard time over an extended period of time (or sometimes your brain chemicals going weird). It's an ingrained human instinct to try to make pain stop in any way we can, and sometimes it interferes with the instinct to keep on living.
If you've been feeling with thoughts of suicide, please, please, please choose to stay. Contact a crisis hotline. Go into the ER if you need to (many emergency rooms are also equipped to deal with mental health crises, including the hospital here in town). Reach out to someone you trust and talk to them about it - anything you can stand to say. Find a counselor to help you learn how to manage your struggles. Do anything that it takes to keep you here, and help you feel less isolated.
Let me recap for you: I've been there. No one who knows me would call me weak, and you're not weak either.
If you know someone who is struggling with these thoughts, please show them your support in any way you know how, and find them help quickly. Some burdens are simply too big for one person to carry alone.
