I remember being young and naive and not having an understanding of why anyone would ever want to take their own life. I remember when my father took his own life I would lie in bed at night wondering how someone could reach the point of throwing the towel in with life. I would wonder what the very last thing he thought about was. Did he think about me and my siblings and my mother? This kept me awake at night for months on end. It wasn’t until I reached a certain point with depression that I understood truly what it feels like. Too often people say that suicide is selfish but if you ask anyone who survived a suicide attempt, myself included, regardless of the wonderful things I had in my life. Regardless of the loving family that surrounded me and the supportive friends I had, none of that mattered when it came down to it. In the moments of picking up a handful of pills and swallowing them I didn’t think of my family once. I knew first hand how a suicide can effect a family and yet here I was about to have the same fate. The only way I can describe it is like having tunnel vision. Nothing else in the world is real and the only thing you can focus on is ending the pain that you’re in. It’s not a selfish decision. It’s a disease that rots your brain but because there are not many physical symptoms a lot of people don’t seem to understand. I want to express that suicide is not selfish however it is also not the answer. Suicide doesn’t make pain go away. It just gives it to someone else. I know that sounds like a guilt trip cop out but I’m really trying not to make it sound like that. I’m not saying you should feel guilty for feeling the way you do. What I am saying is you need to take the responsibility you have to get help. I know it’s hard when you reach the place of considering taking your own life. One to many people have told me the old cliche of how life gets better and I remember hating them for telling me that because in that very moment I didn’t feel or think that it was ever going to get better. But it did and that’s what is important.
If you reach out or accept the help you’re being offered life can get better. You can improve and sometimes all it takes is a random stranger on the internet giving you a nudge in the right direction. So here it is. If you are feeling suicidal I want you to contact the samaritains or breathing space or go to your local accident and emergency department and they will send you to the right help. Do not give up because,wait for it, another cliche,the world needs you in it.
recovery
You gotta laugh when you’re the joke.
The fog in my head has shifted and my brain has moved back into DRIVE. I’m actually really glad that I am no longer on anti-depressants. The first pills that they gave me were green and white and I got told that they would make the thoughts in my head disappear. I remember taking them each night and praying that they would finally make the abundance of nightmares in my head stop. Unfortunately for me, they just got worse. One night after I had took my green pills in one hand and a bottle of vodka in another I ended up in the Emergency Room. I found it hard to explain to the doctors that I wasn’t really trying to kill myself, no. I just wanted to go to sleep for a long time. I really wanted to go to sleep and wake up when this was all better. After a long night of waiting around I was allowed to go home. Did I regret what I had done? No. Yes. Honestly, I really did regret what I had done. I didn’t care so much that I was alive. I regretted the fact that I was hurting my family and I didn’t know how to stop. After I had done the silly thing that we don’t talk about anymore my medication was changed. Goodbye Prozac. (The only sad part about coming off Prozac was the fact that it was an appetite suppressant. My anorexia loved that, you see. I could make it through the day abusing fluoxetine with coffee and I was like a small child with a sugar rush.) Hello Mirtazapine. These pills were different. They were smaller and they were also classed as a sedative. Boy did I soon find that out. Mirtazapine and alcohol are definitely not friends. I am aware that drinking while depressed and taking medication is not a smart thing to do. One night I didn’t realise how much I had drank until it was too late. To cut a long story short I ended up back in the Emergency Room. Silly/Stupid/Silly.
Again, I was released on the account of being extremely sorry for wasting everyone’s time and promising that I wasn’t going to hurt myself again. I didn’t want to hurt myself again, my brain just seems to have this way of turning me against, well, me. Throw in a few therapist/nurse/psychiatrist/doctor appointments and we find ourselves on June 5th 2014. My appointment to meet with my team was in the morning although I cant quite remember what time. I had been referred to this response team because of my actions the day before.(Turning up at my psychiatrist appointment extremely upset with the intention to take my life.) After a ten minute conversation with a nurse and a doctor it was decided that I would be moved to the ward. This of course sent me further into a nervous breakdown. I was going to be in a psychiatric unit. Me? In a hospital. All because my brain wasn’t playing ball with me. Despite my hesitation they coxed me down into the ward told me to take care of myself and disappeared. The nurses took great care of me as soon as I walked through the door. The NHS might get a horrendous reputation for itself sometimes but in my personal experiences I cannot fault them one bit. I was shown around and to my room. The part that I was the most afraid of was telling my family. I still live at home so if I wasn’t to come home that night my carers would be worried. So as most young people do, I copped out doing the only thing I could think of doing. I sent a text, continued:
Read all about it.
Thinking back to high school I really wish that they taught a subject called “Life”. However, the more that I think about it the more I understand that it cannot be taught. You might be able to tell me how to balance a chemical equation or explain string theory to me and while I know that it is important that we have people in the world that can do this and understand it, I also think its important to learn a few things about life because if you don’t, it will hit you so hard when you finally do. I’m not saying that we should start teaching seven year olds about the conflict in Gaza or about how some people are just so unhappy that they decide life just isn’t for them anymore, no, of course not. Maybe it was just my high school but I really wish someone had told me that life is damn hard work. I don’t mean finding a job or getting good grades or going to a prestigious college. I mean mentally. Life is hard work. Sometimes in life events occur that we do not plan for and if you are not mentally prepared to deal with these issues they will fester until they begin to bubble at the surface. Again, I’m not generalising high schools, I’m sure there are places that teach teenagers about mental health and the importance of it. My high school, however, did not. Young people are stuck in the in-between world. We’re not young enough to be handled with kid gloves but we’re also not old enough to be taken seriously. I know that I have only been here for twenty-one years but in that time I have saw just as many young people have to make “adult” decisions about life and be faced with ridicule when it goes wrong. I have watched so many young people refuse treatment for a mental health condition because they are ashamed of themselves or don’t want to disappoint their families. Families, friends, schools, teachers, employers, you. My wish for this world is for mental health difficulties not be spoken about in a quiet whisper anymore. My wish is for people to openly talk about what they are struggling with. My wish will start with me. I vow to openly talk about any difficult I am facing and not be ashamed of it. I’m not trying to be naïve about the world. I know that not everyone has an open mind and accepts individuals for who they are. Believe me I know. If you do however, have an open mind that is, I will make you a friendly offer. Join me in breaking down the stigma of mental health in adults and young people. The next time a close friend asks you how you are, don’t hide behind the smile and the words, “I’m okay.” Talk about it. Tell them you are having the worst damn day of you life, let them in. Maybe they will surprize you? So who is joining me? Lets end the stigma that surrounds mental health.
Life’s too short to even care at all
As I am writing this I still have the faint smell of hospital lingering around me. I was, for use of a better word, “released” from the psychiatric ward on Monday the 11th of august 2014. I remember not long after my parents died I would continuously tell my best friend that I never want to end up in a psychiatric hospital. It was my worst fear. I guess we all do eventually have to face our fears. Unfortunately this was my second admission of the year. 2014 was not going the way I had planned it. I was depressed, no ,sad, no, in need of tough love, no, in need of attention no,
missingmyparents. Eventually the official diagnosis was adjustment disorder with PTSD. My second stay in the hospital was much longer than the first and with that it was also much more traumatic. I was the youngest patient. Crying myself to sleep at night became a regular occurrence. However, the difference between this hospital stay and the first one was one thing. I realised there was something wrong. Not only did I realise something was wrong I realised that I needed to start changing things or I wouldn’t live to see my twenty fifth birthday. So that’s what I decided to do. Change things. Learn from the past and change the future. I will not let myself become a statistic.
Say something I’m giving up on you.
When I was younger I was blessed with naivety. A complete lack of understanding of the world. Even when I reached High School I was still pretty naïve. I had a loving family and a supportive group of friends. It’s difficult to put into words what I want to say so I will just jump right into it. My parents died when I was 17. To be exact I was 17 when my father died and 18 when my mother died. The naïve glasses that were carefully placed over my eyes were ripped from my face without warning and I can tell you now. I did not like this harsh new realisation of the world. If you haven’t lost someone to suicide I’m betting you probably know a few people or you may have even felt suicidal yourself. I lost my father to suicide. I remember feeling my heart break when I was told of his suicide. I didn’t realise that feeling pain the way I was feeling it was possible. I guess I’m lucky I made it seventeen years without feeling like that. I know some people don’t have the same fortune as me, to have a loving family so I’m going to try my hardest not to make this sound like I’m feeling sorry for myself. Being a seventeen year old girl who was thrown into a new world of mental health, bereavement and suicide I found it difficult to cope. I found it difficult to talk about how I was feeling, mainly because I didn’t want to upset anyone else. I realise now how wrong my thinking was but when you lose someone you love all rational thinking goes out the window. I wish I could say in the six months after the death of my father things got better for myself and my family. I really wish I could change how the events panned out. Six months after I lost one of my best friends I managed to lose another. Most people would probably agree that the events right before being told someone you love has died are foggy, they may even change a couple of times. You’ll never forget the horrendous moment someone tells you that the person you love has died though, that memory will be there forever. I will tell you that after a while it gets easier to live with. It wont be the first thing you think about when you wake up in the morning and it wont be the last thing you think about at night.
I am twenty-one years old and I am here to share my story about loss and hope.
Ramblings of a girl 