Day Five: A Time I Thought About Ending My Life

Day 5 of the 30 Day Writing Challenge

Day Five: A time I thought about ending my life

This is the one of the topics I wasn't looking forward to writing about. It's a personal subject and to me, a little embarrassing, even though mental health issues aren't supposed to be taboo anymore. But they are. How many books have I read or how many movies have I seen or how many people do I know who have said that people who commit suicide are cowards? Or that they simply weren't strong enough? It makes me angry because I've thought about ending my life and the desperation that comes with those thoughts is so intense and overwhelming that cowardice just doesn't come into it. The Autobiography of a Tibetan Monk by Palden Gyatso is a book I read in college. It's about a monk (Gyatso) who is forced into a labor camp in Communist China in 1967. Gyatso spent the next 25 years enduring interrogation and torture because of his beliefs. He writes

Many prisoners committed suicide. Some thought they were cowards; others that it was an act of courage. I dare not pass judgement. No one can understand the extreme despair that drives someone to take their own life.

Thoughts of suicide are brought about by many factors, including depression, which is a mental illness. Sometimes medication is required (or all the time depending on who you ask) and psychotherapy is a must. Whatever the case, it needs to be acknowledged and treated.

So let's get down to the nitty gritty: when I was in my last year of high school I cut up my wrists with a pair of scissors. In retrospect, I wasn't trying to kill myself. If I had wanted to, a knife or something sharper would have made more sense! But it was definitely a cry for help, as clichéd as that sounds. My parents took me to the emergency room by the recommendation of my GP and I was subsequently put into a psychiatric ward for awhile. It was right around the end of the school year and I remember my GP asking me how I would feel about missing prom. I think it was her litmus test to see if I really needed help. I told her, "I don't care." And I really didn't. At the hospital I was interviewed by a student in residency and then taken to sleep in some no-man's land where a stranger sat by my bed to make sure I didn't try anything. When I got up to go to the bathroom she practically jumped down my throat. The next day it was to the psych ward. A nurse went through my things and took away anything sharp or potentially dangerous. I wasn't even allowed an emery board. It was the best rest I have ever gotten. No phone. No school. No friends. No work. Nothing. Just sleep. Eat. Read. I was overwhelmed by life. I couldn't cope with everything life was throwing my way. I think it was just exacerbated by the fact that I was a teenage girl. Ever see Girl, Interrupted? Sometimes I felt like Winona Ryder. There was a girl who believed everyone was out to "get" her. There was a woman who spoke with ghosts. There was a woman who sang Elvis songs really loud. There was a woman who refused to take her meds and had to be given them forcibly. It wasn't pretty. There was also an old man in the ward with us, I guess because the men's side was full. He often went around in his underwear until a nurse would usher him into his room to put on a robe. And one day I was given someone else's medication. Some student in residence explained that I should be more careful when taking drugs to make sure they were mine -- even though it was a nurse who gave them to me!! Nothing happened, thankfully. I'm sure this all sounds funny and now I can laugh about it but at the time I cried when these things happened. I would think to myself, I don't belong here. I'm not crazy. I told this to a doctor in one of our talks and he at least had that decency to say, "I don't think you're crazy." It was also a little awkward when my family came to visit. I mean, I wouldn't know what to say to someone in a mental institution. I don't think they knew either. Anyhow, after I left I saw a psychiatrist every week and then every two weeks and then once a month and then not at all. I was also prescribed an antidepressant and eventually got off that too. I had a lot of help from my then boyfriend, now husband. I'm amazed he stuck around!!

Then I got pregnant. I blame it on all the hormone changes in my body. I had an anxiety attack or two. I started panicking and worrying about everything. Thankfully, my brother-in-law referred me to someone and I spent the next nine months with a therapist. Honestly, I think every pregnant woman, especially first-time moms, should see someone. It was so helpful and everything calmed down.

I understand now that I didn't really want to end my life. I wanted the pain, the worry, the emotions, the CRAP to stop. I am a worrier, as I wrote in a previous post, so I know that I have to be careful and take the proper precautions so that these worries don't get out of hand. I now have the tools to help me.

Just the same, it embarrasses me to think about this part of my life. It seems so melodramatic and ridiculous even though I know it was serious and not to be taken lightly.

My advice is even if you don't think about ending your life but you feel overwhelmed, chronically unhappy or always worried TALK TO SOMEONE (a professional). It can help you so much if you are open to it and willing to do the work.