The Awkwardness of Speaking Out

“If I Fall, If I Die.” There are a few moments along my journey that make me smile… call them inside jokes, or my twisted sense of humour. Occasionally they come up and I will sometimes laugh, or try to explain the reason for my smile… but usually, it’s met with a stare, a nervous chuckle, or it’s simply ignored, obviously making the people around me uncomfortable with my casual approach to the topic.

One of the stories that I most often tell is the story of the day that my husband was faced with going into my work to talk to my manager about my absence… the reason that I would be spending the next couple of days in the psych ward. I had just attempted to jump off of Inglis Falls in a suicide attempt. Since I am an avid reader and my job just happened to be working in a book store, my husband was also trying to find books to keep me amused in the hospital. When one of the other store associates tried to help, she suggested a brand new book – the title ironically, “If I Fall, If I Die” (Michael Christie). It wasn’t until nearly two months later, when I began this blog and shared what had happened that she found out why the title was vehemently rejected by the store manager – at the time, she only knew that I was unwell and would be missing work. When she eventually told me the story, I immediately found the humour in it, laughing quite loudly at the entire scenario… of all of the books to suggest!

To this day, I find that story funny. A touch of humour to add to an otherwise horrific time in my life, a time when I had been determined to die by my own hand. But it still makes people uncomfortable… even today, more than three years after the fact.

But it isn’t just the story that makes people fidget in their seats and look away. It’s the topic in general… the disconnect that people are faced with when an otherwise ‘normal’ appearing person, opens up and reveals a story, a fact, or a joke about their struggles. It’s a topic that has yet to be normalised.

It’s a disconnect that even I, myself can feel.

When I wake up each morning I look in the mirror… I judge my appearance harshly – searching for the good girl… the normal one. I don’t see the manic or the depressive. I don’t see the girl who has tried to kill herself or that has experienced hallucinations and blackouts and a darkness that simply cannot be described.

When I meet with a friend, or share a story with an acquaintance, I can’t always associate the things that I describe and feel and do, with the person that I am.

I can talk about suicide. I can share my story and give an inside look to what I was thinking, or how it felt. But it feels worlds away… unreal. How can I share that last week I was suicidal, and today, speak with eloquence on the issue? How can I reach out for help and describe the darkness, the unusual behaviour, the depth of everything wrong… how can I be so aware, and yet so out of control? How can I flip between put together and on top of things… able to converse and join discussions and speak out for mental health, only to fall into a fog – a pit of heaviness that leaves me spinning so fast that I no longer know who I am or more importantly, how to come back?

So when I look in that mirror each day… I know. I know the awkward silence that ensues when I openly speak out about mental illness, or bipolar disorder, or borderline personality disorder, or suicide, or hallucinations, or simply confusion. I know that it is hard to see that this is not only real… but it is terrifying and it makes no sense. I know that the humour I find, it is found because I can’t associate these things myself… and I know that from an outside perspective, it’s nearly impossible to understand.

I know that attempting to normalise mental illness is a long shot, with each case so unique, and each person’s experiences so vastly different, and yet somehow eerily similar. I know that when I speak about suicide, people will shift uncomfortably, or their eyes will flit away, looking for something else to focus on.

I know that people will listen, and they will read, and they will see the experiences that I share. I know that they will at times make absolutely no sense at all, and the disconnect will feel so great to what they have experienced in their time with me… but I also know it will in some way resonate. It will spark a recognition or maybe a curiosity. It might cause doubt to flare up, and silent arguments to form… it might cause courage to speak about your own internal struggles, or it might simply be an encouragement that you’re not alone.

Whatever it sparks… engage it, learn about it, breathe it in and let it out.

Forget the awkwardness that ensues… live in the discomfort of asking questions and accepting answers. Talk, share, and listen.

Every person has a story… and even those that might seem invisible… strange… hard to understand… they are valuable.

If we want to end the stigma surrounding mental health… if we want to encourage people to get help and to speak about their struggles, we need to embrace the humour. We need to share the stories. We need to ‘like’ a post, or spread the word, or simply just be there for a friend. We need to see beyond the outer shell that they allow the world to see… we need to embrace each other as we are… silent pain, fear, and embarrassment; hurting, anger, and successes.

Let’s fight the chasm, let’s build a bridge between normal… and ill.

** If I Fall, If I Die by Michael Christie, is a fiction novel about a mother and son, and their relationship - it is NOT a novel about suicide.