And here is why.
On a night in the fall of 2006, mere months after
graduating college, I attempted suicide. For reasons not relevant to this story
I had reached the bottom of the utmost bottom of my own personal hell of a
black hole. I had convinced myself that I was not worth living and that the
pain of living was too much of an unbearable task to try and take on. I had
convinced myself that the people who loved me did not love me anymore. That I embarrassed
them. That I let them down. I had also been taking an anti-depressant for about
a month and abruptly stopped taking it because I was convinced it wasn’t
working, (DO NOT DO THIS) when in reality I was not okay with the side effects
that come with starting an anti-depressant (read: hang in there, it gets
better. I promise). More recent events
leading up to that night inevitably led me to attempting to take my own life,
but the depression had been years in the making.
I grew up in a loving, supportive home with parents and a
brother who loved me and told me how proud they were of me on a regular basis. We had family dinners together. We laughed at
America’s Funniest Home Videos weeknights on the couch. We took family
vacations to our lake house with my grandparents, aunts, uncles and friends. Our
extended family spent at least one Sunday a month together celebrating someone’s
birthday or cooking out. I had more friends than I could count on two hands who
all still agree, we had the best childhood anyone could ever ask for. I played
sports and excelled at them. I won medals and was captain of our track team.
I was outgoing and made people laugh. I went to a private liberal arts college
and was in a sorority. I ran track in college. I was a captain there too. I
(sometimes) did well in school. I randomly joined the dance team. I rocked the
shit out of Greek Week. I went home for dinner on Sunday nights.
I paint you this picture because depression, at any age or any
chapter in life, is unbiased. It is sneaky. Depression doesn’t care if you are
rich, poor, have married parents, divorced parents, have been abused. It doesn’t
care if you are religious, if you drink or don’t drink. It doesn’t care if you
wear all black and listen to goth music. It doesn’t care if you have a track
meet, or plans with friends or if you were the captain of your team. It doesn’t
care if you are shy or outgoing or don’t have many friends. Depression does not
care what you want.
What I wanted, and
what I struggled with on the inside, was to be free of the shackles that kept
me from hating myself on a daily basis. I talked to therapists, I talked to
friends and family. I prayed for this illness to go away. Nothing seemed to help. It seemed helpless. It
was helpless.
***
But it wasn’t. Fortunately, and by god do I mean
fortunately, I came to my senses shortly after my attempt that night and called someone for help. Many could say my attempt was a huge cry for help. And it was just that. I am just glad to say I can live to tell you that you do not need to wait to
cry for help when you are about to attempt suicide. Please do not wait. Please. Do not wait. You
may think that you have disappointed the people who love you the most but you
never could. They want you here. We want you here. Depression is a disease and
an illness and with the right care from a doctor and support from people who
care you will find a way to unlock the shackles. Talk to your doctor. Talk to
your family. Talk to your friends. Call a hotline. Talk to someone, anyone, and
tell them that you are struggling. There are people in this world who can help
you. If you believe anything tonight believe that you are wanted and that it
can and will get better.
***
My recovery has been a work in progress, but a great one. I
have talked to a couple of therapists over the years whenever I feel like I am
being pulled back into that damn black hole. They have given me the tools to train my brain to think differently (really- it's neat). I spoke with
my family doctor who helped me get on a medication that worked with my body, and
we closely monitored how I was feeling and how much to take. It is very
important to closely monitor how you feel when starting or when stopping an
anti-depressant. Do not attempt it alone. It is not something to be scared
about, just be smart and cautious. Over
the past several years I have weaned back to a low 10mg a day (the lowest you
can go) to even out the last part of my brain that just does not want to
develop some of the normal levels of chemicals that should be produced. (Damn you, genetics!)
But the real growth has come from the soul searching I have
done for myself over the years. I believe in medicinal help, but I also firmly
believe in the importance of the inner soul searching you have to do to get you
to your happy place- whatever that is for you. If you do not know, get searching. Get moving- run, join a club sport, do yoga. Travel. See a world outside of your own. Remove the
negativity from your life- toxic friends, old hangouts, people who drag you
down. Call your Mom. Go on a walk at
dusk. Looking back, one of my favorite memories of my immediate recovery was
running at Highbanks in the fall and admiring the colors of the changing trees. I would run up that last hill through a tunnel of trees with yellow leaves hanging over my head thanking God I came to my senses. Take notice of the beautiful reasons to stay with us in this life. You are
worth it. We are worth it. I promise.
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