Words from a Survivor

Someone once asked me what it’s like being a survivor.

Here’s what it’s like.

Some days I’m full of life. I can feel pure happiness coursing through my veins. On days like these I dream of a future so beautiful it makes me tear up. A future where I have a purpose. A future where dark days are few and far between. On days like these I start writing my vows to my future wife. I dream of a house filled with love and lots of dogs. Days like these are what makes surviving so worth it.

But some days I feel like a shell. Like whatever soul and being once inhabited this shell died during one of my attempts to end my life. Like my entire being has died and just left me living inside an empty lifeless body. And a body is nothing without a soul. On these days I am numb. I am lifeless. I am nonexistent. On days like these disappearing seems to be the only viable option because the fact of the matter is, I’m already gone.

People expect that once you escape death, you are suddenly filled with this new love of life and that you’ll create a cure for cancer or win a Nobel peace prize. They expect you to jump out of your hospital bed with a smile tattooed on your face, with a plan for a bright future planned out to the tee. But that’s not always the case. In fact that’s rarely ever the case. Surviving a suicide attempt doesn’t cure you of your mental illness. Surviving doesn’t always mean you wanted to survive. At the time, for me, surviving meant failure.

Since my last attempt, days have gotten easier. Since then I have found purpose and a reason to live. That reason being a girl and the idea of a future with this girl. She knows pain like an old friend who will occasionally come to visit. She knows anxiety like the devil that resides inside your head like a terrible house guest who doesn’t ever let you forget he’s there. But she also knows strength and perseverance, the friends who push you through dark times when you need them the most. This girl embodies everything I want in life. Grit and strength, a humor that helps her see past even the darkest days, an empathy for those who have suffered like her and the ability to love so purely, that she’d give anything for the ones she loves. This girl changed my life.

But that doesn’t mean I’m cured.

Just last week my mom asked me how is it that I could possibly be depressed. I was at the best point in my journey with mental illness. As she pointed out, school was going well, I have a girlfriend, my home life is manageable, and my family isn’t driving me crazy, which don’t get me wrong, are all true things. But the problem was I didn’t know how I could possibly be depressed either. I am at the best and most stable place I’ve been since my grueling battle with mental illness began. But something inside of me just wouldn’t let this battle finally find some closure. It’s almost as if my brain doesn’t know how to handle normality anymore. As if mental illness is where my mind feels most comfortable. And I’ll be honest sometimes it is comfortable. It’s all I’ve known for so long that I guess part of my brain just can’t quite let go of it.

And now everyday can consist of 3 moods and 3 moods only. An elated happiness caused by being with my girlfriend, a numbness caused by mindlessly distracting myself or simply just clocking out mentally, and a deep depression where I’ll cry and cry without reason, just lay in bed for hours, starve myself, or binge and purge. All three moods however all involve one main factor. Ignoring responsibility. Ignoring school, ignoring college applications, ignoring my hunger, ignoring my hygiene, ignoring anything remotely productive in my life.

Some may see this as lazy and maybe they’re right. Maybe I am lazy. Maybe it’s my choice to not leave my bed. Maybe it’s my choice to break down over the slightest little things. Maybe it’s my choice to cry for hours on end. Maybe it’s my choice to be depressed. But maybe it’s also the chemicals in my brain so complex and so much bigger than myself. Clinical depression doesn’t just come along just because your life sucks. Many people have shitty lives. Many people go through rough patches. But not everyone’s brain goes through depression. Depression is chemical and depression is real. So you can tell me to try yoga, you can tell me to go to the gym, you can tell me to try some magic herbal supplement you found on an obscure corner or the internet, but these things cannot cure me. Sure endorphins are great and maybe that supplement can boost the mood of someone not in my situation, but don’t try and cure me. I work everyday to combat the daily struggles of depression. I work hard to look inside myself and find insight into what is causing me to feel such pain without any apparent stressor. My brain is doing its very best. I am doing my very best. So please don’t be so presumptuous to think that you know the cure to my struggles.