These aren’t just any letters… they are letters for the future –
one for each of my children, and a couple for other people who have impacted my
life. People who I felt the need to explain myself to… to say goodbye, to leave
a thought for.
In that basket, buried and hiding – are my suicide letters.
Letters written with the intent to be left aside, not necessarily opened immediately after
I died… but in the future, when necessary, to explain my actions – the pain,
the turmoil, and the chaos. Letters written from a distorted, exhausted, and painful perspective.
Throughout my life I’ve contemplated suicide more times than I can
count… some days, it was each breath that I took that reminded me, forced me to
survive, and left me hating life. Some days were worse than others, and suicide
became my only thought… my only desire. The thoughts developed life of their
own, taking control, and leaving little room for rational thought.
Recently, I had taken a break from blogging and writing out my
thoughts on mental health, and in general I’ve pulled back from people. For a
while, I felt lost again – not necessarily depressed, but lost. In writing, there was a period where I
couldn’t call up a topic that felt whole, honest, and truthful.
In my personal life, I’ve been facing challenges that have left me
reeling – spinning in many different directions, each and every day. Spending
time focused on myself and putting together some of the shattered puzzle
pieces, has been exactly what I needed to do - realistically, it was my only option. But it has also left me feeling
just a little bit empty… and a little bit like a fraud.
As I’ve muddled this journey through mental health, trauma, bipolar
disorder, borderline personality disorder, and suicidal thinking; I’ve tried to
grow, learn, and change as I’ve researched, worked, and discovered the many
aspects of the disorders that I struggle with. Combined with situational circumstances,
I’ve tried to live this mental health journey with transparency and a desire to
try to do my part to end the stigma associated with mental illness. It hasn’t
been easy. In the past I’ve revealed thoughts and feelings that I never
previously knew could be shared. I wrote blog posts from the Psych ward. I met
with friends, family, and counselors and I let people in… I let them see at
least some of my triumphs and some of my setbacks.
But the one thing that I’ve held close, is the situational aspect
to my disorders… the stigma attached to my experiences (and specifically,
talking publicly about my experiences), has left me hesitant to share… to
reveal some of my specific triggers, and the situations that send me spiraling.
Several months ago, I wrote out a series of letters.
It wasn’t eight years ago – the first time that I was determined
to end my life – the first time that I spent time in the psych ward.
It wasn’t (almost) four years ago, when I tried to jump off of a
waterfall.
It wasn’t two years ago… the last time that I was
hospitalized for suicidal intentions and planning.
It was just several months ago.
Right now, is not the time for me to talk about why I felt
suicidal, or what those triggers were.
Right now is the time when I tell you why I didn’t kill myself…
why those letters were never left out to be found and distributed.
Right now is when I tell you that I spoke about the situation that
I was in, with people who genuinely cared for me. I spoke with honesty and
transparency. I revealed the depth to what I was struggling with, and the pain
and suffering that I was experiencing – without judgement, without feeling
stigmatized, and without feeling like a failure. In safety with those I spoke
with; I was allowed to feel, and express without being rejected or told that
what I was feeling was ridiculous.
Recently, I’ve found myself repeating phrases such as ‘people
think’ or ‘I can’t talk about this, because it’s not something that I’m allowed
to talk about’ or ‘I try to explain but people don’t get it’. And each time I
say these things, I find myself disappearing a little further into myself,
wondering why I’m so afraid to speak the truth – to reveal my secrets, and to
allow myself to admit my faults, failures, and fears – so that I can actually begin
to heal.
And yet… I’m sitting here alone tonight, typing these words… and
still so afraid to speak out publicly.
“You’ll sound like you’re trying to play the victim.”
“Let the past stay in the past.”
“Sharing your story, is sharing my story too… I don’t want that
going public.”
“Why do you feel the need to air your dirty laundry for the world
to see?”
“Can’t you just get over it and be happy?”
“You need to take responsibility for yourself and stop
blaming/wallowing/bringing up things that happened in the past.”
“You need to work through it and move on (but not talk about it
openly!).”
“What does this have to
do with your mental health?”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“You need to practice gratitude/thankfulness/happiness/finding
joy.”
“You need to _______."
Several months ago, I wrote out suicide letters, because those
words above, were the words that were spoken to me by the people that I tried
to talk to (and sometimes even spoken BY me as a reminder to stay silent). Not
just once. But repeatedly throughout the years.
Several months ago, I started talking anyways. I started
re-assigning my thought patterns. I began the process of changing the way that
I think about my life, my experiences, and especially the challenges that I have
faced over the last several years.
Today I want to reach out. I want you to know that I am here. I am
ready to listen without judgement. I am ready to have the conversations that
nobody wants to have. I am ready to hear your situation, and the choices that
you have had to make to survive. I am ready to be here for you.
And tonight. I challenge you. Be real. Reach out. Share. End
stigma… not just with mental illness… but with all the taboo topics.
Don’t jump to conversation to judge the other side, or to tell
them what they’re doing wrong, or what they should do next.
Talk. Listen. Be there. You don’t have to understand their side…
but try anyways. Tilt your head. Cover your eyes and pretend to be them. Walk
in their shoes. Feel their pain. Hold their hand.
Today is World Suicide Prevention Day 2018.
This year, I’ve felt a pull to continue to not only share my story…
but also to encourage those around me to share parts of their story as well.
Only with open and honest conversation between friends, can we even begin to
understand the fight that every person who battles with mental illness faces.
Only then can we know how to help those who are struggling just to stay alive.
So today, in recognition of World Suicide Prevention Day, I
challenge you to reach out to a friend who is fighting a battle inside themselves. Maybe they are
isolating themselves – pushing you away in either a quiet, or what appears to
be a nasty way. Maybe they’ve been missing work or school, or maybe they are
filled to the brim with anxiety – panic attacks striking more often than usual.
Maybe you’ve stopped to visit and noticed that the dishes are piled higher than
normal, or that their hair hasn’t been washed in days. Whatever it is, reach
out to your friends. Don’t wait for them to reach out to you.
Suicide is preventable.
My life was saved by people who simply reached out... checked in... and shared their stories, willing to listen mine.
**Adapted from a previously un-shared post.
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