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I usually make a post for Survivor Day (International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day, to be more precise), and this year I couldn’t come up with anything. I usually talk about my family history of suicide and the loss of my mom, and lately I’ve been talking about my own experiences with mental health crises.
In 2016, I talked about how I sat down with my psychiatrist and had her last session of the day, and we went over what my low periods were really like. She said, "I know you feel like you're in a good place. But I think we can do better. I'd like you to think about adding a medication to the one you're already taking."
I thought it would only take a few months to zero in on the correct dose. I was wrong. I had to deal with a lot of side effects and take the dose further and further down. Last fall, I had a severe depressive episode. My suicidal ideation was back, and it seemed worse because it seemed like a failure. Things eased off, but I was devastated. We tweaked my medicine again, bringing up the dosage of another med and adding vitamin D when tests showed my levels were low.
Since spring, I’ve been in a different place mentally. The drugs are working. Waking up in the morning is easier. Going to sleep at night is easier. I have fewer anxiety attacks. I spend less time on my psychiatrist’s emergency-cancellation list. It’s easier to look at knives, or drive my car, or eyeball a bottle of pills, because none of those things look as attractive - as a way out - like they used to.
I used to operate by getting through five minutes at a time and never looking too hard at tomorrow or too far forward in my calendar because that meant facing the fact that I didn’t want there to be a tomorrow. I faked having the little things together because that was all I could manage. With the help of years of practice and a psychiatrist and a really good support network and months of balancing medication, I faked it till I made it.
I lucked out, right? I dreamed the impossible dream – a life without suicidal ideation – and it came TRUE.
Except… It turns out I’m a babe in the woods now. I’ve been slowly learning what it means to live for tomorrow, and I’m not good at it yet. I’m trying, and I’m learning, but things keep happening. My doctor, or one of my partners, or my financial planner, one of them will say something about the future, and now I’m in a place where I’m not blowing them off. It’s freeing, in a way, because I’m not expending energy pretending that I’m taking their thoughts into consideration. I’m not painting a landscape over a black hole of desperation and hoping nobody notices. It’s also terrifying, because now there’s real dirt in that landscape and I never learned to garden.
I’m having some interesting moments where I listen to people and think, “maybe I could do that!” I’m not even talking about big things like changing my career or moving or getting married. I’m talking about things like going to the grocery store on a whim, or reading a book on a difficult topic, sending out holiday cards, making a phone call to my elected officials, or buying an article of clothing. Before, these were things that I would have to plan for and procrastinate about and berate myself about for days before attempting them. Now, I still don’t feel capable or important or like a responsible adult. I am, however, not in so much mental pain that the idea of making a meal differently than initially proposed sends me into a spiral of dread.
So I’m taking it slowly, and trying to remember that nobody – not even the idealized “normal” neurotypical person I’ve spent time wishing I were - feels like their lives are neatly sewn up and perfect.
I want to put this story out into the world because I want other people to know that “things will get better” isn’t always a lie. It’s not the total lack of suffering I dreamt about when I was suicidal. It’s not immediate; life doesn’t become easy or flawless, but it’s real. There’s hope for better.
If you’re in a place where you can’t see past the next five minutes, and you feel like you’re holding on by the skin of your teeth, you’re not alone. If you’re just pretending to smile most of the time, if you have the sensation of always being on the brink of despair, you’re not alone. Please, talk to someone you care about. If you feel like you can’t tell anybody you know, check out the International Suicide Prevention Directory and options through sites like NAMI.
In 2016, I talked about how I sat down with my psychiatrist and had her last session of the day, and we went over what my low periods were really like. She said, "I know you feel like you're in a good place. But I think we can do better. I'd like you to think about adding a medication to the one you're already taking."
I thought it would only take a few months to zero in on the correct dose. I was wrong. I had to deal with a lot of side effects and take the dose further and further down. Last fall, I had a severe depressive episode. My suicidal ideation was back, and it seemed worse because it seemed like a failure. Things eased off, but I was devastated. We tweaked my medicine again, bringing up the dosage of another med and adding vitamin D when tests showed my levels were low.
Since spring, I’ve been in a different place mentally. The drugs are working. Waking up in the morning is easier. Going to sleep at night is easier. I have fewer anxiety attacks. I spend less time on my psychiatrist’s emergency-cancellation list. It’s easier to look at knives, or drive my car, or eyeball a bottle of pills, because none of those things look as attractive - as a way out - like they used to.
I used to operate by getting through five minutes at a time and never looking too hard at tomorrow or too far forward in my calendar because that meant facing the fact that I didn’t want there to be a tomorrow. I faked having the little things together because that was all I could manage. With the help of years of practice and a psychiatrist and a really good support network and months of balancing medication, I faked it till I made it.
I lucked out, right? I dreamed the impossible dream – a life without suicidal ideation – and it came TRUE.
Except… It turns out I’m a babe in the woods now. I’ve been slowly learning what it means to live for tomorrow, and I’m not good at it yet. I’m trying, and I’m learning, but things keep happening. My doctor, or one of my partners, or my financial planner, one of them will say something about the future, and now I’m in a place where I’m not blowing them off. It’s freeing, in a way, because I’m not expending energy pretending that I’m taking their thoughts into consideration. I’m not painting a landscape over a black hole of desperation and hoping nobody notices. It’s also terrifying, because now there’s real dirt in that landscape and I never learned to garden.
I’m having some interesting moments where I listen to people and think, “maybe I could do that!” I’m not even talking about big things like changing my career or moving or getting married. I’m talking about things like going to the grocery store on a whim, or reading a book on a difficult topic, sending out holiday cards, making a phone call to my elected officials, or buying an article of clothing. Before, these were things that I would have to plan for and procrastinate about and berate myself about for days before attempting them. Now, I still don’t feel capable or important or like a responsible adult. I am, however, not in so much mental pain that the idea of making a meal differently than initially proposed sends me into a spiral of dread.
So I’m taking it slowly, and trying to remember that nobody – not even the idealized “normal” neurotypical person I’ve spent time wishing I were - feels like their lives are neatly sewn up and perfect.
I want to put this story out into the world because I want other people to know that “things will get better” isn’t always a lie. It’s not the total lack of suffering I dreamt about when I was suicidal. It’s not immediate; life doesn’t become easy or flawless, but it’s real. There’s hope for better.
If you’re in a place where you can’t see past the next five minutes, and you feel like you’re holding on by the skin of your teeth, you’re not alone. If you’re just pretending to smile most of the time, if you have the sensation of always being on the brink of despair, you’re not alone. Please, talk to someone you care about. If you feel like you can’t tell anybody you know, check out the International Suicide Prevention Directory and options through sites like NAMI.
