However, the REAL reason the title of this post is "I'm Alive" is because, well, I'm alive, breathing, kicking, and proud of it.
2 years ago this past March, I wasn't so enthused about that. In fact, I had hit such a low that I was done. Finished. Fed up and ready to just end it all. Now, I've hit some pretty low lows in my life (Age 9, age 13, age 21... those are some of the lowest) but age 23 took the cake. This is my story.
I've struggled with depression for YEARS, and when I say YEARS, I mean the vast majority of my 25-almost-26 years. I almost failed the fourth grade because I was so depressed, I didn't care. Lucky for me I had a teacher who did, but he and my mom still didn't acknowledge the fact that depression was or could have possibly been a factor in all of my issues. So I basically went through most of my life thinking (once I had an idea of what depression was) "I might be depressed. There is a name for this!" when the rest of my family was like "What do you have to be depressed about? Just do this, or do that! You'll be fine!" I don't think anybody quite understood it or what I was going through, and to be honest, I wasn't exactly very informed either. I dealt with the roller coaster over the years the best I could, even though it was hard and I would have much rather holed up and withdrawn from the world. Until I hit 20.... that's when the landslide started.
At 20, I had a lot going for me: a great boyfriend (Josh, of course!), a good steady job, and the world at my fingertips. I felt happy. Normal, for the most part. Unfortunately, that wasn't enough to stave off the worst. I went through a period where I just couldn't make myself get out of bed. At first, I figured it was because I was staying up too late (I was guilty of it...).... but then I seemed to sleep more and more, or just stay in bed because I just didn't have the willpower to make myself get up. This was an off and on thing for the next year and worsened when I turned 21. One night, before I went to bed, I decided I was going to try and end it. I wasn't sure though, and wound up chickening out. This happened about 2 more times until I turned 23.
It was a Tuesday night, which was my Friday and meant that I had Wednesday and Thursday off. I had a high spell, where everything was okay. Not totally perfect, but okay. I managed to get through my wedding 2 months previously, at least. I came home from work at about 11pm. I was tired, and feeling at my lowest. I was tired, so tired. Tired of my job, tired of my life, and tired of the incessant pain and not knowing how I got it, or why I was having to deal with it. So I figured that the only way to get rid of the pain once and for all was to just end my life. I immediately went straight to my fridge and found the unopened bottle of strawberry Boone's Farm wine. Gone in one sitting. Went outside and smoked a cigarette. Couldn't bring myself to finish it. Went inside, and in a quick flash of rage, threw my cigarettes and lighter against the living room wall. I made a beeline for the bathroom, and found the bottle of Tylenol. There were only 4 left in the bottle. I took them anyway and found my big bottle of Ibuprofen that I kept for my hangover headaches after long nights of partying. I managed to get 4 pills shaken out of the bottle when I heard the door. Josh was home. EARLY. Before I could collect myself, he was standing in the doorway right as I panicked and downed the 4 Ibuprofen I had in my hand. I just knew I'd been caught. Josh wasn't quite sure what was going on though, because I had just taken Ibuprofen so he thought I just had a headache, because I went straight to bed after the run-in.
The next day we went to lunch at a local Chinese restaurant. I was finally able to bring myself to tell him I had tried again, with the intention of succeeding. He got really upset with me, and yelled "What, you want to kill yourself?!?!" All I could do was cower, but of course, I was the one to blame. He finally calmed down enough to tell me that I really needed to get help. I still wasn't entirely in agreement, but I nodded my head in sort-of agreement to make him happy, like "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I hear you. Whatever." When word got out a little further, though, I wound up getting a sort of intervention from my friends. It wasn't one of those everybody gets together and tells you, just random text messages and calls with an approximation of the same message: "Hey Josh told me what happened, I love you, please get help, etc." I finally started considering it, and it took me about a week to finally pick up the phone book to find a therapist. I was still leery of it. I didn't want anyone to know, because I didn't want anyone to think I was crazy. I also didn't want to see one in Parsons, either, because I didn't want to deal with someone who might know me. I wanted complete anonymity. So I called a behavioral health clinic 35 miles away, and got assigned to a therapist. It would be the first of May when they would be able to get me in for an appointment, but I figured I would be okay until then. Josh watched me like a hawk during that time too, so there would be nothing to worry about.
That was the best move I could have ever made. While it took me a year to finally open up about why I was there, and dealt with more ups and downs with the depression (Back in October, I holed up in my room and stayed there unless I had to go to school or therapy and even then I was doing good to get to those places!), it's worked. Once I admitted the suicidal past, and everything, I was referred to nurse practitioner to be put on anti-depressants, as I was getting progressively worse through the year I'd been in therapy. It's helped immensely, even though it's been tough to stay on them due to some extenuating circumstances (No, not the typical "Oh, I'm okay now, I'm cured! I can quit taking them!" excuse). I've also been learning how to value myself and my life over the last couple of years. I haven't fully defeated the enemy that is depression, but I like to think that I'm getting there. At least I've made progress. :) I've also learned that it's okay to be in therapy, that it's not a big deal to take anti-depressants. It's so much easier to talk about it and I feel that I can be more open, because it is something that has been an issue and in some aspects of my life, defined me, unfortunately.
I often wonder what would happen if Josh hadn't come home early and walked in when he did. Would I have followed through? Would I have chickened out again? It's pretty likely with as low as I was feeling, I would have probably went ahead with it. I'm pretty lucky to have married a guy who loves me enough to help put the brakes on a downward spiral.
Now was the point of this story to make people feel sorry for me? No. To brag and say "Hey, I tried to kill myself!" Definitely, definitely no. I am making a statement. For those of you who struggle with depression who read this, I want to send this out to you because I have BEEN there. It will get better, and you can recover. You just have to truly want to fight it. Depression is a nasty adversary, and you can't just let it fester, or hope it will go away on its own because it will only consume you in due time. You have to stand up, put your foot down, and be proactive. Stand up to it and say "You will NOT control me!" You have to not be afraid to get help, know that you're not alone, and be willing to just fight it. When you hear people talk about "fighting depression," it is not a lie, because it truly is a battle that you have to keep on with and just keep pushing forward. Keep looking for that light. Hope for a happy continuation (not ending, because it's not over yet!) in life. :) Also, remember, when considering suicide, that it is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Whatever niche you have in life, the world's a better place with you in it. (I know, I know. These are the lectures I've heard too. They'll make more sense in due time, though. Trust me.)
How's my happy continuation so far? Pretty darn good, I'd say! Josh and I will celebrate our 3rd wedding anniversary in December, I'm working hard on my Music Ed. degree and we have a nice life in our home with our dog and 2 cats. :) Oh, and the most important thing? I'm ALIVE and able to see and appreciate these things that this tricky little thing called life has dealt me.
No comments:
Post a Comment