Hey all,
So this one isn't going to be an article, this one is personal, and it's something I need to get out. If you've known me for a while, you know that I suffer from dysthymia, it's a persistent major depressive disorder that effectively means you suffer massive bouts of depression on regular intervals. It also comes with a heavy sprinkling of suicidal ideation with it, and so unsurprisingly, I've had a few...incidents...most of those I've never spoken about to anyone, because as far as I was concerned they were finished, they were in the past. Until a week ago.
About a week ago I was feeling so depressed, so utterly hopeless, so stressed, so out of my mind that I hit probably the lowest point I've hit in many years. In have people I can turn to, but I also hate burdening people with my problems, so a lot of the time I keep quiet. This was one of those times I wish I'd reached out. I was so, so far down, so far beyond caring. I reached for a stash of pills I had, a mixture of everything you can think of -- muscle relaxers, tranquilizers, very, very strong pain medications, anti-depressants, the lot. I had it stashed away just in case. Turns out, just in case arrived, and I took more pills than I can remember. So many. Not all of them, and thankfully not enough, but so many that I passed out completely for over 16 hours and woke up to one of the worst bouts of sickness I've had. Could not stop throwing up for days, I was in a real mess.
I mention all of this to say that the end result wasn't a feeling of resolution, I'm glad it didn't work, I'm glad I got sick afterwards, I certainly deserved it, but the final result of it all was a feeling of emptiness, of guilt, of sheer stupidity. That's something we don't think about when our brains are so set on the task. The end result means so, so much more to those around you, and those you care about. I told some of my friends and the reaction ws mostly supportive, but some friends broke down. Some friends were so mad at me for trying, and others didn't respond. Some I couldn't bring myself to tell. I felt so ashamed of myself, so full of guilt that I couldn't do it. I couldn't get the words out to tell them. Some people here don't know, and I'm sorry to those people that this will be how they find out. If you're one of those people, I'm sorry, I love you, but I hope you can understand my shame, my guilt. I never wanted to let you down.
So the main point of this thread is simple -- One thing we don't think about when it comes to suicide and suicidal ideation is just what happens in the aftermath of an attempt, successful or failed. The people beyond ourselves that are impacted, and what you mean to them. Take it from someone who has tried many times, failed every time, and hopefully won't try again -- it's not the answer, it's not the right thing to do.
If you're in that place, reach out. I didn't, and I was stupid for not doing so. That said, I am here for you, any of you, who feel that building sense of desperation to end it all. Reach out, you are loved!
I'm sorry.
So this one isn't going to be an article, this one is personal, and it's something I need to get out. If you've known me for a while, you know that I suffer from dysthymia, it's a persistent major depressive disorder that effectively means you suffer massive bouts of depression on regular intervals. It also comes with a heavy sprinkling of suicidal ideation with it, and so unsurprisingly, I've had a few...incidents...most of those I've never spoken about to anyone, because as far as I was concerned they were finished, they were in the past. Until a week ago.
About a week ago I was feeling so depressed, so utterly hopeless, so stressed, so out of my mind that I hit probably the lowest point I've hit in many years. In have people I can turn to, but I also hate burdening people with my problems, so a lot of the time I keep quiet. This was one of those times I wish I'd reached out. I was so, so far down, so far beyond caring. I reached for a stash of pills I had, a mixture of everything you can think of -- muscle relaxers, tranquilizers, very, very strong pain medications, anti-depressants, the lot. I had it stashed away just in case. Turns out, just in case arrived, and I took more pills than I can remember. So many. Not all of them, and thankfully not enough, but so many that I passed out completely for over 16 hours and woke up to one of the worst bouts of sickness I've had. Could not stop throwing up for days, I was in a real mess.
I mention all of this to say that the end result wasn't a feeling of resolution, I'm glad it didn't work, I'm glad I got sick afterwards, I certainly deserved it, but the final result of it all was a feeling of emptiness, of guilt, of sheer stupidity. That's something we don't think about when our brains are so set on the task. The end result means so, so much more to those around you, and those you care about. I told some of my friends and the reaction ws mostly supportive, but some friends broke down. Some friends were so mad at me for trying, and others didn't respond. Some I couldn't bring myself to tell. I felt so ashamed of myself, so full of guilt that I couldn't do it. I couldn't get the words out to tell them. Some people here don't know, and I'm sorry to those people that this will be how they find out. If you're one of those people, I'm sorry, I love you, but I hope you can understand my shame, my guilt. I never wanted to let you down.
So the main point of this thread is simple -- One thing we don't think about when it comes to suicide and suicidal ideation is just what happens in the aftermath of an attempt, successful or failed. The people beyond ourselves that are impacted, and what you mean to them. Take it from someone who has tried many times, failed every time, and hopefully won't try again -- it's not the answer, it's not the right thing to do.
If you're in that place, reach out. I didn't, and I was stupid for not doing so. That said, I am here for you, any of you, who feel that building sense of desperation to end it all. Reach out, you are loved!
I'm sorry.
