Depression

The essay below was written by a friend of mind after the suicide of a local teen.  It is painful to read because it resonates so much.  I have struggled with depression since I was at least 13, but it was never something I was comfortable talking about.  Like if I acknowledged it, it would gain a foothold or maybe be more real somehow.  But maybe the opposite is true, if I could only talk about it, it might release some of its power over me.  But like it says in the essay, talking about it tends to freak out the listener.  I have had a few friends who can listen when I talk about it, but not many.  I feel as if my words become burdensome, so I carry it all alone, when what I so desperately need is someone to help me.  Depression has ties to loneliness and insecurity, no matter how high functioning the depressed person is.  I don't think anyone is looking for pity, but we could all use compassion.

In light of the recent loss of a local teen, I feel as if people need to understand what having suicidal thoughts is like. It's not that you are selfish but more like the feeling that you need the pain to go away. Those inner demons are hard to conquer and sometimes they win the fight. Teach your children to be strong and help them fight those demons. Sorry for the long post.

I am writing not about any plan to kill myself, but rather about those lingering thoughts that haunt not only me, but others suffering from depression as well. Suicidal ideation is a taboo topic, not allowed in most groups for fear of triggering others and being misunderstood by anyone who has not suffered themselves.

Most people who have depression know these feelings well. It’s that little voice, that devil on your shoulder, that constant companion who overstays their welcome like an unwanted house guest. It internalizes everything in my life and makes me feel helpless, my life hopeless. It is the constant weight on my chest controlling my every breath, the elephant in the room I cannot ignore.

There are times I greet that little demon on my shoulder as I would an old friend. It has been there more consistently than any friendship and has been the only one to offer any real “solution” to my continuous suffering. I know, however, this demon is a bully. It does not care for me and is not looking out for my best interests. It is ever present, always badgering, forever insistent that giving up is the only way to stop the pain.

That demon is the personification of all the trauma and abuses I have endured. It wants me to give up. It wants me to fail. It wants to win.

I cannot tell you the number of times over the years I have written out my goodbyes to people I loved, apologizing for being me, the mess I am. I apologize for not being strong enough, good enough, for just not being enough. I have cried, “No more. No mas. Please, make all this pain stop.” I have begged for those I loved to not give me another thought because I’m truly not worth it.

I admittedly have daydreamed about acting on my thoughts many times. I imagine those final moments, knowing my pain would finally be over, drifting away. Where other people fantasize about far off, white sandy beaches or beautiful crisp nights under a starry sky, my bliss is simply a world where I am no longer suffering and no longer in pain. When life feels unbearable, a piece of me longs to surrender to that inner voice, to say, “You win!” and just fade away.

MIGHTY PARTNER RESOURCES

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If you are outside of the US, please visit iasp.info to find resources in your area.

via National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Anyone who has not walked in my shoes cannot understand what it’s like to constantly battle my own brain, my own thoughts and emotions. They cannot comprehend having an inner voice who is always poking at me, telling me I’m not enough, that life will never get better and that this pain will never stop. When I’ve spent years in constant torment, any escape seems almost blissful.

I’m constantly haunted by these feelings while simultaneously being afraid to speak about them. The hardest part about having these feelings is that I’ve never been able to talk openly about them. The moment I verbalize having these thoughts, even if I do not intend to act on them, there’s the very real fear people will panic me for my own safety. People are comfortable with me suffering in silence, but panic when any of the despair I feel every day spills out. Rather than let me acknowledge and discuss these feelings, some will ultimately try to use my vulnerability against me.

Perhaps worse than those who want to lock me away out of panic are the naysayers and the minimizers. Those who have never suffered through depression assume expressing these thoughts is akin to having a pity party. If I even bring up these thoughts, some people accuse me of wanting to take the “coward’s way out.” I’m accused of being a drama queen. Some people swear I’m not serious or even dare me to follow through, declaring I only want attention.

I Don't Want to Die. I Just Don't Want to Exist.

What It's Like Going to the Emergency Room for Suicidal Thoughts

Others cannot grasp I’d even consider giving up on life. They assure me my life cannot possibly be as horrible as it seems right now. They toss out cliches about there being a rainbow after the storm, encourage me to keep my head up or that things can only go up from here. There needs to be a middle ground where everyone feeling this way, myself included, can openly discuss our feelings, without fear of judgment, rejection or being locked away against our will for using one of those trigger words that make others uncomfortable. Thinking about suicide does not always mean we are actively planning to kill ourselves. Finding bliss in the thought of there being an end to our suffering does not mean we intend to follow through with it. Many times suicides occur because someone has been suffering alone, without a voice, for so long that their demons begin to make sense. If left alone with our demons long enough, some will succumb to their will.

Those who want to talk are still trying to survive their battles. Suicide often occurs when someone loses the will to talk or to fight. Listening non-judgmentally to us venting our feelings of hopelessness and helplessness, while moderately uncomfortable to you, may save our lives in the long run. It lets us know we are not alone and validates our voices.

We would not be reaching out if we did not want help. We would not be speaking up if we didn’t want to fight, want to survive. We’re putting our trust in you by letting you see us at our most vulnerable. Please, do not let us down.

This post originally appeared on Unlovable.

If you need support right now, call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255. You can reach the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741.

Safety in compliance

It has been a while since I have written anything because it has been a while since my brain has thought about anything.  Not sure why, but it seems to be back in gear this morning, so hooray and let's let it out to play...

I follow a woman of color on Facebook who often writes about her experiences as a black woman in America.  She recently sent parts of the country into an uproar by going into a predominantly white establishment and commenting about how it made her feel a bit uncomfortable to be black in a white world known to be less than welcoming to people of color.  She got hit with a backlash of really ugly comments, which always shock me. But what gave me pause was when another woman of color said she should not have been surprised and really should not have gone in there in the first place.

The part of me that likes things to be peaceful agreed with this second woman.  That side seeks peace at any cost.  It is absolutely not a risk taker. It is not safe to go into places where you are the only X. It is a bit like a human in the lions' den. There is a good chance that bad things will happen to you.  The world may be full of awful things, but if I dot my i's and cross my t's, then all is well.  An apple a day keeps the doctor away and all that.  I look both ways before crossing the street.  I wear my seatbelt and my bicycle helmet. I may be bored at work, but I am working. I keep my opinions to myself.   I follow the rules. I am safe. I am also part of the problem.

Fortunately, or perhaps not so much because it can make me feel crazy, I have other facets to my personality. So some of the other parts of me say "Wait a minute now. If people don't shed light on the ugliness, the ugliness wins." Like the women who insist on being let into the moose lodge or the masons. The women who demand to compete with the men, even if they lose, they demand the chance to try. Rosa Parks sat down because she was tired and her feet hurt. The folks that sat at the lunch counter. The little girl who went to school.  The women who demand to wear what they wish to because others should be able to have restraint.  They were all so brave.

There seems to be a common thread. The folks willing to stand against the status quo did not buy what was being said about them. They didn't believe they deserved less or were the cause of other people's misbehaviour.  I have seen a t-shirt that says "Well behaved women rarely make history". I have been well behaved my whole life. And have been really uncomfortable being brave. Even thinking about being brave ratchets up my anxiety. Maybe the meek shall inherit the earth means "You didn't fight for it to be better, so you get to keep this damaged place because it is what you deserve."

I want to be brave.  I am scared to be brave. Courage is being afraid and doing it anyway.