Losing Yourself

I should begin this story by saying that I am no stranger to mental illness of many kinds; people in my family have been diagnosed with everything from anxiety disorders to chronic depression.

I, unfortunately, follow this family trait. I am coping with and fighting depression. I'm managing it as my doctor sees fit, so I am currently in a much better head space than I was roughly five or so months ago.

Now, the reason I am writing this piece is not to share my story just for the sake of putting it all out there for everyone to see, but to share my experiences with those struggling or feeling alone. As a precautionary measure, I am opting to link different help sites within my writing, because those seeking help often don't know where to turn.

Suicide Hotline Canada: https://suicideprevention.ca/need-help/

Suicide Hotline USA: https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

Suicide Survivors: http://www.survivorsofsuicide.com/

Suicide Loss Survivors: http://www.allianceofhope.org/

Please do not hesitate to call 911 if you or someone you know is having suicidal or self harming thoughts.

Now, as I sit here, on this brisk October morning and write out my whole story, I can't help but smile. Time heals all wounds, right? It just depends on the person healing, and how they choose to do their healing.

I came home from work last night, and my roommate was out with her boyfriend, so I was comfortably alone. She came in, not long after I had gotten out of the shower and sat down, told me about her day. We work together, but it isn't very often that we see each other due to our scheduling, so it was very nice to sit and chat with her for a while. She boiled the kettle, popped a tea bag into her mug and sat back down to resume our conversation. I jumped on the tea train and made myself a peppermint chamomile tea to help me sleep.

Once she had finished her tea, she headed to bed and left me with my thoughts once again. For the first time in a long time, I decided I was going to write in one of my many journals I possess. I flipped through the few entries I had made into one particular book, and caught myself wondering who was writing them.

When I had gotten the journal, I was still battling my depression fiercely, and had no control over it or myself. Each entry was negative after negative with little to no positive outlooks. I was in therapy, which didn't help me, but she had offered the idea of writing down how I feel throughout the day, which is exactly what I did. I used to put sticky notes each time I had a negative thought, and the pages were lined with sticky notes. While it's an awesome idea to put into perspective the negativity in one's life, it's heartbreaking to look back on and realize that I was so miserable.

My entries stopped on May sixth. I had attempted suicide on May 10th. I don't intend to go into my reasoning behind my attempt, but I am going to sum it up. I had been constantly fighting with my boyfriend at the time, and the stress he had put on me was causing me to push away those who cared about me. I felt so alone and trapped that I didn't know what else to do. My mom had codeine for her chronic pain, so I stole some of that and took it. I took about fifteen Ativan, ten codeine, and a bunch of amoxicillin. I took them all, and walked down to the river and laid by the bank. My best friend's mother took him to the hospital to see me, after they had found me unconscious by the river. She had said to him, "I don't think she was tired of living, just tired of living in her head."

A singular statement could not be more true. I was tired of living in my head with all the constant doubts and thoughts that would not go away. I questioned everyone around me all the time. It didn't matter how long I had known the person, I still questioned how much they really cared for me. Part of this was due to the fact that the relationship I was in at the time was very unhealthy and unstable, but my depression had turned me into a whole different person. I was unaware that I wasn't myself, but everyone around me saw it. I just couldn't wake up.

When I was ushered out of the ambulance on a stretcher, I faintly remember being in a parking garage. Once we were through the doors, I saw my mom and dad come in right behind us and my heart just sank. I knew I had scared, hurt, and disappointed them both. I don't remember much of the night in the hospital, as I had tried to overdose. I don't even remember much of the next day, other than my grandparents had driven nine hours to come see me, to make sure I was okay.

After everything had settled, I started to get better. I was on a new medication, I was going out with the people I love and doing things I wanted to do, I was making new friends, enjoying life, being real again.

It's only just recently that I've been noticing the difference in myself. Everyone else has been seeing it for weeks. I'm alive again, and I've found myself again.

If you're battling depression, don't push away people who love you. I know it's hard, and it feels like you are a burden, but you can't trap yourself in your head, or you'll go down the same road I did. I am a suicide survivor, and the damage I have done to my family is going to take a long time to repair. Don't do that to people you love. Don't do that to yourself. Talk to someone. Actively seek help. If you have lost yourself, find them. Search until you find them again.

If you wish to know more about my story, watch this video.

And;

Your story isn't over.