It was a simple trip to REI to look for some new workout clothes. I remember getting halfway through trying on clothes and feeling exhausted. Not the type of exhausted that sneaks up after a long day of work but the type of fatigue that made me question if I had any choice but to curl up on the bench in the dressing room and wait it out. I made it to the car but knew I could make it no further. My body nor mind had the fuel necessary to continue even the four blocks home. It didn’t feel like something had triggered this sudden shut down my body was experiencing but I recognized it all too well. My flight or fight response was screaming at me but paralysis came over me instead. There were tears but no crying. I couldn’t turn the key to start the car to go to a safe space so my phone became that safe space. I tried to call a friend but when they picked up no words would come so it was the feverish texts still present on my phone that came out. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t go home. I can’t stay here. I don’t know how to make it through this day. I don’t think I’ll make it through the next minute. What do I do?”
This to me now is ground zero. It’s the moment of the mental break. The moment that makes absolutely no sense but held hostage the next six months of life. This was the mental break that lead to the depression that lead to a month of planning my suicide. I know some of those words are scary. I know they make people look away or see me a different way but don’t look away, because there is a broken mental health system in this country that is deeply concerning. I guarantee someone you know is afflicted in some way and the lack of understanding, or perhaps care, around mental health is astounding.
Anti-Depressants:
I told myself if I ever found myself in the throws of an episode again I would immediately go on antidepressants. Within a couple weeks of my parking lot meltdown, I was prescribed my first antidepressants. Everyone has a different experience with antidepressants and I know plenty of people who see them as a God send. I am glad that they have found a system that works for them. At my particular doctor’s office, I was asked 3 questions to determine what drug to be placed on. These questions basically assessed my energy level and hygiene while being depressed. The first round of antidepressants made me detached. I could read the emotions of a room around me but I could never quite feel them. I found myself back at the doctor’s office to answer a new set of 3 questions. I became very ill on my second antidepressants. I can handle a lot of things but physical illness brings out the wimp in me. I couldn’t stay on them long because of vomiting, migraines and the fear of seizures. My therapist suggested I do genetic testing to find which drug my body metabolizes with the least amount of side effects. I felt encouraged by the idea of not simply taking a stab in the dark. However, instead of that medication helping my mood, it detached any sense of connection I had to existing or surviving. On this drug, I found myself very logically planning my suicide. I called my son’s dad to let him know when I’d be making my exit. I told friends where my legal documents were and what I needed them to do to help with Porter. I told family that it was no different than scheduling a dentist appointment, the time had simply come. As everyone around me freaked the fuck out, I wrote a logical plan and a letter to my son.
Antidepressants felt like the answer. They’d always been packaged as the one thing I hadn’t tried. I was completely discouraged that I could somehow be on antidepressants and still be having panic attacks and suicidal ideations. My therapist simply said to me “you have to decide you want to fight like this is life or death”. I knew with this medication subduing my mind there was no way I could get depressed enough to be scared or joyful enough to see hope. I knew in my heart getting the drugs out of my system was the only way to even have a chance of survival. What I did not anticipate was the struggle to convince a doctor you don’t need antidepressants once you’re on them. I drew the line at trying a fourth antidepressant, a fourth opportunity to have an adverse reaction. Yet today, I still received a phone call that the refilled the prescription I asked them not to.
Safety Checks:
From first contact with the police by a friend who called for a safety check on me to the moment I opened my front door was 7 hours. 7 hours. I cannot imagine a suicidal human who would not have completed their mission in that time. I also cannot imagine a world in which the first person you want to see while under distress is a uniformed police officer. Let me break down for you how a safety check works.
“People are worried about you. Do you have a plan to hurt yourself?”
“I rather not talk to you about this.”
Police Officer hands you the number of crisis services.
I guess that’s all it takes to stop death by suicide?
Criminalization of Suicide:
As it became clear that I was at an alarming place, several friends came together to contact a crisis service on my behalf. This time it didn’t take 7 hours but 5 days for them to get ahold of me. I do not love people being in my home. I like it to be mine and Port’s space but I legally had to allow them in. It instantly put me on my guard. Upon entering my home, my safe space, they handed me a dumbed down version of the Miranda Rights and told me I had the right to an attorney at any point in the process.
Since when is it a crime to have a mental illness? Clearly, we as a society have felt this way for some time as we call it “committing” suicide. I have a controversial view of suicide but here is how I feel; if we would not criminalize a cancer patient for refusing treatment, why would we make it punishable to choose not to seek treatment for a mental illness. Pain feels different for us all. We have not lived in each other’s stories. How can any of us be the judge for someone else’s pain? In the end, do you know what it feels like? The system in place seems inadequate to just someone’s mental state unless you present with the stereotypical suicidal profile. If you can just answer the ten questions correct about how you’re feeling and why, the system in place can pat itself on the back and sign off liability for your death, should it come to that.
Community:
There aren’t many people around me who can relate to suicidal ideation. The one thing I cannot express enough is to just show up anyways. There were friends who stayed up with me for almost a whole weekend straight and mostly it was to say “we don’t understand”, “this is awkward and uncomfortable”, and “you’re not leaving even if you want to be pissed at us about it”. I know all the things that didn’t save me. It wasn’t the survey of why I feel like shit. It wasn’t the questions that came with the shame of a plan. It wasn’t medication or distraction. It was people showing up and not knowing what to do. They didn’t try to convince me to stick around, in honesty. They laid out the options and said “pick”. The beautiful reminder in their tough love was that when you’ve seen the finish line, you can decide to brush off all the excuses and build exactly the life you want. There truly is nothing left to lose.
The last six months have made me afraid, not for myself, but rather for people who don’t have community. The people who find themselves staring into a system that is not equipped to treat them as humans but rather as people who are “crazy” or “attention seeking”. The truth is we are aware of how uncomfortable our reality is. It is not who we are but rather the power of our mind to make us believe the unimaginable. It is you who must adjust. I would encourage you to stare into the uncomfortable with us. It sounds cliché but you never know what that one smile or “hello” can do to reground someone in the throes of an episode.
Bravery:
Bravery looks like staying. Bravery looks like hurting and healing and struggling through the pain. Bravery is looking the face of the people who held you through it in whatever way they saw fit and humbly saying “thank you”. Bravery is looking at what you lost in the process. Bravery is knowing that people now have notions about you that aren’t reality but what people must tell themselves to feel safe with their interactions with you. Bravery is repeating to yourself that you want to be here until your heart matches that refrain. Bravery is being scared you’ll reach the lowest low again but living life anyways. Bravery is giving yourself permission to smile and laugh again. Bravery is hard.
