Journal WannaBeGeekGirl's Journal: Paper Writes Openly About Suicide 2
"There is only one really serious philosophical question, and that is suicide." -- Albert Camus, Le Mythe de Sisyphe (1942)
i didn't know what i was getting in to when i made a promise not to take my life thirteen years and one month ago today. i sat in a mental health worker's office, heard a diagnosis of unipolar depression, received a Rx script and a pamphlet. at 20 years old, i'd just finished my third year of college. i'd come home for the summer and woken up unable to get out of bed one morning--i was that exhausted, for a week. then i couldn't stop crying, i was in despair but not sure why. nothing anyone did helped. so i ended up at this office with my parents.
on the drive home i read the pamphlet, it was my introduction to the disease that has haunted my mind and body since. it had some statistics on the back about depression and suicide. suicide. now there was a term i knew too well. my senior year of high school a classmate that sat next to me, always said hi to me (even though the athletes aren't supposed to talk to band geeks.) she had the most beautiful smile, but obviously wasn't smiling inside. she blew her brains out with a pistol. at school they wouldn't talk about it. they wouldn't say the word "suicide". it was like if they didn't say it, it made it go away? not to her friends, who felt like they might have missed something and been able to stop her. not to the boyfriend who had broken up with her and thought it might be his fault. not at her funeral when they all "tsk tsk tsk'ed" that she had committed the unforgivable. no counseling for a class of 120 kids that knew everyone by name. the crime scene was across the street.
yep, i read that stat about suicide and i swore to no one that i wouldn't be part of that statistic. i don't even remember what that statistic was, how high it was. i just knew that something is wrong in the world if you can't talk about something that is a disease that makes a 17 year old girl blow her brains out. i swore i wouldn't be a part of that. i swore i would talk about it, i'd educate myself about it, and i'd beat the disease.
six years later to be diagnosed as "chronic", "severe" and eventually "treatment resistant", i was keeping my promise. a lot of mental health care people ask me how and why. i tell them the truth. i made a promise. they ask to who. i find most of them ask this rhetorically and smile and shake their head or something and i've not had to answer it much face to face. only in my writing or online with someone in crisis do i really get into it. if people want to believe its a religious thing then i let them. i was 20, i had faith, but i hadn't carved it out yet. i was about to undergo a huge change in my life too--chronic severe treatment resistant depression is not an easy row to hoe, my faith would evolve as would most aspects of me--never that promise though.
so its been 13 years and a month to the day. i don't know why a date is significant after so long, especially if you stick a month on it. yeah its rare to have gone 13 years with severe depression and not attempted suicide. its also rare to get a lis-franc fracture without falling off a horse or stepping in a hole if you aren't out playing some massively active sport. still, i managed to do that the night of my 30th birthday. mathematically the odds on that have to be not in my favor. i should have at least won a small lottery first. i did win a ten-speed from McD's raffle when I was a kid. so maybe i defy odds? or maybe i'm just determine to be a survivor?
maybe hearing the lousy way the adults--the system, dealt with my friend's death made me determined. i don't think you go into a school and tell them all the gorey details about depression and suicide. i do think its ok to give them someone to talk to. providing appropriate education at an appropriate age about something that can hurt you is not political or controversial--its logical. a sticker in the bathroom with a 1800 number for an anoymous suicide hotline in a highschool is not taboo. even back when i was a senior there were government studies by NIMH that proved that talking about suicide in an educated matter doesn't cause kids to do it. as for education about having a disease that causes you to have an impulse to kill yourself? we weren't even taught about birth control. tolerance wasn't something our small town could handle then, i doubt they can yet. even if that girl had to keep it private that she thought she was going crazy, i think she was smart enough she might have asked a doctor for help, discretely. maybe it would have gotten her killed by hate though. i know i've been told i should be 'erased' for being mentally ill and that was at least 15 years later. tolerance is a whole different journal entry.
i didn't make my promise for her. her situation may have left a mark in my heart forever though that influenced it. i don't judge her at all. i don't know that education, meds or therapy would have changed her path. like i said, depression is no easy journey. not by far. i don't judge her. i don't judge anyone lest myself, if i have enough time to judge anyone else, then its surely a sign i have too much time on my hands! i pray to her and look forward to holding her, and so many others, when the angels come to take me Home. i have no doubt she'll be there.
Himura Kenshin (an anime/manga character) is right, its so very much easier to die, than to live. literally. figuratively.
easier to be the victim and blame the system, the disease or your demons.
when i chose to finally get out of bed and start healing, i was warned how much more it hurts to do that. the "survivors" in my support groups, the recovering addicts, and the ones who i haven't crossed off my prayer list because they succeeded in suicide--they warned me.
its easier to be the victim and blame the system, the disease or your demons. i thought healing meant no more fighting, putting away my weapons and armor and finding peace. i was so spoonfed naive and completely wrong.
victims surrender to an illusion of peace in this battle.
survivors fight to their death.
my angel holds a sword, i pray it doesn't have to attack, that it will only defend and protect, but by God, it will help me survive this.
if you or someone you love is hinting/thinking/talking about suicide there is a toll free hotline: 1-800-273-TALK (8255)
(note: the last description, of the angel, is taken from a missive to a friend. its purpose was to describe some body art i'm having done, but it fit the entry too. my poetry and other writings portray angels much differently, so i thought to add the note about the contrast. in case you read my writing about my encountering an angel, please note that i didn't describe it visually because i didn't see it, so this piece is unrelated. ~pf)
i didn't know what i was getting in to when i made a promise not to take my life thirteen years and one month ago today. i sat in a mental health worker's office, heard a diagnosis of unipolar depression, received a Rx script and a pamphlet. at 20 years old, i'd just finished my third year of college. i'd come home for the summer and woken up unable to get out of bed one morning--i was that exhausted, for a week. then i couldn't stop crying, i was in despair but not sure why. nothing anyone did helped. so i ended up at this office with my parents.
on the drive home i read the pamphlet, it was my introduction to the disease that has haunted my mind and body since. it had some statistics on the back about depression and suicide. suicide. now there was a term i knew too well. my senior year of high school a classmate that sat next to me, always said hi to me (even though the athletes aren't supposed to talk to band geeks.) she had the most beautiful smile, but obviously wasn't smiling inside. she blew her brains out with a pistol. at school they wouldn't talk about it. they wouldn't say the word "suicide". it was like if they didn't say it, it made it go away? not to her friends, who felt like they might have missed something and been able to stop her. not to the boyfriend who had broken up with her and thought it might be his fault. not at her funeral when they all "tsk tsk tsk'ed" that she had committed the unforgivable. no counseling for a class of 120 kids that knew everyone by name. the crime scene was across the street.
yep, i read that stat about suicide and i swore to no one that i wouldn't be part of that statistic. i don't even remember what that statistic was, how high it was. i just knew that something is wrong in the world if you can't talk about something that is a disease that makes a 17 year old girl blow her brains out. i swore i wouldn't be a part of that. i swore i would talk about it, i'd educate myself about it, and i'd beat the disease.
six years later to be diagnosed as "chronic", "severe" and eventually "treatment resistant", i was keeping my promise. a lot of mental health care people ask me how and why. i tell them the truth. i made a promise. they ask to who. i find most of them ask this rhetorically and smile and shake their head or something and i've not had to answer it much face to face. only in my writing or online with someone in crisis do i really get into it. if people want to believe its a religious thing then i let them. i was 20, i had faith, but i hadn't carved it out yet. i was about to undergo a huge change in my life too--chronic severe treatment resistant depression is not an easy row to hoe, my faith would evolve as would most aspects of me--never that promise though.
so its been 13 years and a month to the day. i don't know why a date is significant after so long, especially if you stick a month on it. yeah its rare to have gone 13 years with severe depression and not attempted suicide. its also rare to get a lis-franc fracture without falling off a horse or stepping in a hole if you aren't out playing some massively active sport. still, i managed to do that the night of my 30th birthday. mathematically the odds on that have to be not in my favor. i should have at least won a small lottery first. i did win a ten-speed from McD's raffle when I was a kid. so maybe i defy odds? or maybe i'm just determine to be a survivor?
maybe hearing the lousy way the adults--the system, dealt with my friend's death made me determined. i don't think you go into a school and tell them all the gorey details about depression and suicide. i do think its ok to give them someone to talk to. providing appropriate education at an appropriate age about something that can hurt you is not political or controversial--its logical. a sticker in the bathroom with a 1800 number for an anoymous suicide hotline in a highschool is not taboo. even back when i was a senior there were government studies by NIMH that proved that talking about suicide in an educated matter doesn't cause kids to do it. as for education about having a disease that causes you to have an impulse to kill yourself? we weren't even taught about birth control. tolerance wasn't something our small town could handle then, i doubt they can yet. even if that girl had to keep it private that she thought she was going crazy, i think she was smart enough she might have asked a doctor for help, discretely. maybe it would have gotten her killed by hate though. i know i've been told i should be 'erased' for being mentally ill and that was at least 15 years later. tolerance is a whole different journal entry.
i didn't make my promise for her. her situation may have left a mark in my heart forever though that influenced it. i don't judge her at all. i don't know that education, meds or therapy would have changed her path. like i said, depression is no easy journey. not by far. i don't judge her. i don't judge anyone lest myself, if i have enough time to judge anyone else, then its surely a sign i have too much time on my hands! i pray to her and look forward to holding her, and so many others, when the angels come to take me Home. i have no doubt she'll be there.
Himura Kenshin (an anime/manga character) is right, its so very much easier to die, than to live. literally. figuratively.
easier to be the victim and blame the system, the disease or your demons.
when i chose to finally get out of bed and start healing, i was warned how much more it hurts to do that. the "survivors" in my support groups, the recovering addicts, and the ones who i haven't crossed off my prayer list because they succeeded in suicide--they warned me.
its easier to be the victim and blame the system, the disease or your demons. i thought healing meant no more fighting, putting away my weapons and armor and finding peace. i was so spoonfed naive and completely wrong.
victims surrender to an illusion of peace in this battle.
survivors fight to their death.
my angel holds a sword, i pray it doesn't have to attack, that it will only defend and protect, but by God, it will help me survive this.
if you or someone you love is hinting/thinking/talking about suicide there is a toll free hotline: 1-800-273-TALK (8255)
(note: the last description, of the angel, is taken from a missive to a friend. its purpose was to describe some body art i'm having done, but it fit the entry too. my poetry and other writings portray angels much differently, so i thought to add the note about the contrast. in case you read my writing about my encountering an angel, please note that i didn't describe it visually because i didn't see it, so this piece is unrelated. ~pf)
It gave me pause to read this (Score:2)
I'm very glad for your resolution, and I hope that you find worth and strength in the battle.
It needs to be talked about... (Score:2)