September is Suicide Prevention Month. As a suicide attempt survivor, I feel compelled to share my story because I believe that doing so can prevent suicide. We are all on our own journeys, and not everyone is yet in a place where they can share theirs – there are a lot more of us survivors out here than people may realize. Since I am able, I must speak up, for all of us.
Ten years ago, I was living (struggling) with unmanaged depression, attempting to treat it but not getting anywhere. I hadn’t yet learned the tools to cope with the overwhelming feelings I had. I was in so much pain all the time that I couldn’t feel anything else. I didn’t use lotion because I couldn’t feel how dry my skin was; I didn’t eat meals because I couldn’t feel how hungry I was; I felt lonely because I couldn’t feel all the love people were trying to give me. All I felt was the crushing sadness and loneliness, all I felt was pain, and no one around me could see it since “it was all in my head”. It was a weight pushing down on me all the time, it made it hard to move, to do anything, to even get out of bed. It felt as if it had always been there, and it would go on forever, and that there was no hope that things could be any different.
Nine years ago, I attempted suicide to escape the pain and got placed in an Intensive Outpatient treatment program (IOP). That treatment program, and the skills that Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT) taught me to help me cope with the depression every day, changed the trajectory of my life. The core concept of ‘dialectics,’ that two seemingly contradictory things can both be true, saved my life. I had thought my story was only one of pain and that I couldn’t bear for it to continue. Treatment taught me that there is so much more to this world than my pain. Now, I am proud to say that my story is NOT over.
In the years since, the work on myself has never ceased. I must constantly do the work to stay in a good place. The depression is still there, too, but it no longer takes up so much space that I can’t feel anything else. The meds have helped, but the therapy and practice of self-care have helped more. I am a depressive, AND I can still experience joy. The depression is always there, AND I have hope. Both can be true.
I discovered cooking, and the power of being a creative force in this world instead of a self-destructive one, the ability to lose yourself to the ingredients in a daily mindfulness practice. Food became a way to incorporate joy into my life every day, and the use of seasonal ingredients became this beautiful way to celebrate being alive right here in this moment.
I discovered sobriety, and the recognition that substances will always be a superficial fix in the short term but not sustainable in the long term. Understanding that, as an addict, I will always desire to cover up the pain of the depression with whatever substance I can get my hands on helped clear the way for me to thrive in recovery. Now, I look for the things in life that I want more than alcohol and the brief reprieve it can give to me. Amazingly, there are more and more things that I want in life as my story continues.
I rediscovered my support network, the people who had always been there when I was in too dark a place to see it. My family and friends, who are willing to learn how to reach me when the depression makes me unreachable, help to anchor me on this earth.
I discovered my identity as a survivor, and the power in sharing my story with people. We are convinced we are alone in our darkness until we hear someone else has struggled like we have. We think there is no way out until someone shares how they made it out. We think that we cannot possibly survive all this pain, until someone stands up and says, “I survived.” Telling my story has the power to plant a seed of hope in someone who has given up – I know, because of the seeds of hope that were planted in me when I needed it most.
As much as I must thank all the people who have supported me over the last decade, I also must thank myself. I’ve worked hard over the years to take it one day at a time; and on the hard days, one hour at a time, or even one minute at a time. It is only because I was able to survive all those minutes that I am here now, to tell you that My Story Is Not Over. In fact, it is just beginning.
