I posted something about a year ago talking about life after attempting suicide. I explained the causes leading to said attempt. And all those things, so it has been about a year since I have updated my blog on here. And i wanted to update everything again. Explain that really, truly life does get better.
Two years ago in December i was lying on my bathroom floor crying with a bottle of pills. I had called suicide hotline a ridiculous amount of times, to the point where they were actually calling me everyday just to make sure that I would answer. I didn't go to work because they thought that it would be best if i stayed home so that I could get the appropriate treatment so that when I did go back to work I wouldn't be so careless in doing my job (I had a warehouse job) because while being careless about myself i wasn't caring about other people.
Two years ago in January I was lying on a ridiculously uncomfortable bed in the mental health ward in a local hospital. I was lucky, it wasn't a state hospital. Sanitariums. I had checked myself in, and I remember you had to have permissions to use the phones, and there was group every day and then individual therapy sessions also. We had medicine delivered to each of us, and the television was playing all day. We had puzzles and books, and we weren't allowed to wear any type of shoe or even wear bras. I don't even know how I was able to convince them to let me to keep mine. My roommate cried every night, and they took away all our cellular phones and anything of importance to us. We were encouraged to write, but only with a felt pen. and if we stayed in our rooms for longer than a day and didn't speak to others that was yet another few days added onto our original stay. A doctor would drive an hour every day after his practice closed just so that he could hold individual therapy with us. The food was good though, well the salads were. But ultimately it was a place that no one really wanted to go. It was cold, and the clothes were just not comfy enough. They would wake you up at 5 am to draw blood to make sure you were healthy and your do your blood pressure. Not gonna lie, when they woke me up the first time I was so angry.
Now Two years later, I am sitting on my plush living room couch watching Tom and Jerry with my six year old daughter. My mother is in the kitchen and she is making grilled cheese and tomato soup, and I just finished my Early U.S History test for college. I'm sick, but the cold is nasty this time of year.
The difference from two years ago and today is shocking for me. Two years ago I didnt know why I should exist. I didnt know where I wanted to be. I hated myself, I hated everyone and I could justify all of the reasons why they would be better off without me. I could justify everything, because honestly I thought that it would be better to just die and no longer have any feeling than it would be to fall on the floor every other day in an anxiety attack.
But today, I dont know what I'd do if I wasnt here. Why would I even want to think or do that? Those people, the ones who made me feel so horrible. They arent in my life anymore, yes I might have become a bit more cold. And I might do things that arent that spectacular. I'm twenty-three and I still live with my mother and just started school. I dont have a job that would make my parents proud, I havent graduated from anything that would make them proud. But i'm alive. And that is the best thing that my mother would ever have. Because she no longer has to worry when she goes to sleep at night if I'm still up and if I'm crying hysterically. She doesnt have to worry when i go out in my car and drive around, shes not waiting for that call from someone telling her that I was found dead. That is the best thing that she could ever ask for.
I'm okay. I'm not sad. I'm in a gray area.
I can feel my anxiety attacks coming, I can control the outcome almost. They can be horrible or they can be minor. My depression is a fluxuation, I never know if I'm going to come out happy one moment or if I'm going to be so low its a ridiculous moment. I'm not going to say that I have lived my life for the past couple years without a bad moment. Bad things will happen to you, but it's how you handle those bad things that tell people who you really are.
I feel like depression and suicide is a sensitive issue/topic. I feel like people get made fun of for it, i feel like people who get bullied develop it. And I feel like bullies who do those sort of things dont even comprehend what its like to feel these ways. Some people say that you cant justify suicide. That nothing that someone can say will ever justify it for them. I hate to break it to you, but it's not for you. We justify it to ourselves, not to you. Because for obvious reasons you wouldnt understand what it's like, maybe i'm wrong. Maybe someone has killed themselves in your family. or you are one of the lucky few who haven't developed a disease like this. (And it is a disease. Mental illnesses are due to neurons in our brains firing incorrectly. Look it up.) Either people dont understand this disease or they judge the disease.
It's not fun. Especially when you get to the point that I was at two years ago. I didnt have people to talk to, I had my mom, but I didnt think she would really care. All i ever did was worry her and fight with her. The one person who got me out of it, was the one woman I worked for. She was actually manager of my HR department at my job. She would e-mail me whenever she could, she would call, she would just hold a conversation with me. I didnt understand why a woman like her would even speak to just an associate like me. Originally she wasnt the one who was told of my note. My manager had went to a different HR lady. But she read the reports that they had to write up and found me. She eventually told me that her sister had killed herself when she was a little girl. She didnt know me, but she didnt want me to go away. She didnt know me, but that is the most kindness and the first time someone actually talked to me. Really talked to me about it. talked to me about everything.
I guess what I am trying to get with my blog is this: If you are out there and you suffer from this. You have a disease like this or similar. Talk to me. I dont care who you are, boy girl whatever. You want someone to talk to, talk to me. I will give you my number. I will text and call you as much as you need someone too. You don't have to be alone in this. I thought I was, but it turned out I wasnt. Bad things happen, and assholes are out there to bring you down. You dont have to be alone. I dont talk about this that much, maybe with some close friends, so really this is the first time im really really reaching out. So just take the offer up. Message me. Dont let yourself be alone.
Please.
In the year 2012, I was working at a company as an associate. No school. Nothing.
As of February 2015, I am finishing my first year of college, work part time as a waitress, paid off all my debt, raise my daughter and have finished applications to move overseas to study abroad. I am a history major and want to be a museum curator. I volunteer at a historical society four days a week researching my cities history and holding museum tours. I dont deal with the negative light that was once there, I only have sunshine.
Needless to say, Life is good. Its worth it to live.
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