I am writing this because this has been a topic of conversation over the last few days. This has been brought up by different people for different reasons by all circumstances still relate on one specific way.
And I’m glad for this. Not that I like the topic but I would rather someone reach out and speak out than suffer in silence and carry out their plans to say goodbye.
So, essentially, this is for you.
And you know who you are.
The toughest conversations are the conversations had with parents and siblings, family, or friends.
After the tragedy hits, they all ask the same thing.
“Why didn’t they come to me?”
They all say, “I would have helped.”
They say, “I would have been there,” to which, they mean every word.
However, there is another side to this. There is the opposite end —or better yet, there is the depressive end, which mutes the sound of hope. This distracts attention with an internal dialogue that creates a mental chaos, and suddenly, —it’s like you have no other choice. You have to see it through.
Why do people drink themselves to death?
Why does anyone shove a needle in their arm?
Why does depression do things, like steal charisma, or keep us from yearning, or take away our drive, and keep us still, or stagnant, or keeps us to lie in bed. You lie there and watch the ceiling or stare out the window or at the glowing stick-figure numbers on the alarm clock?
We act out. We do things, wondering if . . .or wait, no —it’s more like hoping something will happen or someone will come along and instinctively understand. And BAM, something will change. Maybe this way we won’t have to go through with it. But nothing ever changes
I speak out about suicide and my experience with this because at one point, I literally saw no other alternative. Suicide is very real. The hardest thing to do in times like this is to reach out for help.
I get it . . .
The phone weighs 1,000lbs.
And I mean, I wanted help.
I just didn’t know how to ask for it. I didn’t want to feel the ashamed anymore because shame is insurmountable.
I wanted everything to stop. I wanted my thinking to stop. I wanted my frustrations to go away. I didn’t want to feel intimidated anymore. I was done with regret and done with rejection. I was tired of feeling frustrated and tired of trying to go along to get alone; yet, meanwhile, it didn’t seem like I could get along with anybody. All I could do is pretend to smile, but inside, I knew this was all make believe.
How could anyone accept me when all I did was see me as unacceptable?
There was no hope. There were no answers.
Nothing . . . .
How is it the rest of the world can go, move, or work the way it does, and yet, here I am, lost, confused, misunderstood, and no matter how I try, nothing seems to fit easily. Everything is forced or coerced..
I was asked
by people that care, “Why didn’t you say anything?”
I was asked, “Why didn’t you come to me?”
There are several answers to this question.
First, I never told anyone because I was ashamed. I was embarrassed. Plus, I always believed people thought I was overly emotional or overly dramatic and full of shit on top of this—besides, who’d believe me. As I saw it, I believed people would just shrug me off, as if to say, “Sure you will,” and walk away from me, which, of course, would further my feelings of rejection and shame and distance me even more from the rest of the “So-called” normal world.
God, I just wanted to fit and feel okay
Second, if I went to anyone, I felt like a burden. I felt an unwanted problem,—like I had special needs or I was mentally ill; as in totally crazy, as in funny farm or flight deck kind of crazy; as if I was always going to be the one on the outside looking in or just some kid that needs to be driven around on the short bus.
You want to know why I didn’t ask for help?
I didn’t ask because I believed I was weak. I didn’t ask for help because I thought I was a let-down to my family and anyone who cared. I didn’t ask because I already felt like a joke so why make anyone else laugh at my expense?
I do not expose this for pity or empathy. I do not explain my past to gain attention. No, I expose this because perhaps this might do one of two things. Either this will raise a sense of awareness or understanding—or—someone will read this and realize one thing above all: They are really not alone.
Suicide and depression is the loneliest of all things.
The anxiety always spins. The thoughts always move too fast, which makes it hard to rest or relax, and meanwhile, all you want is for everything to stop. But it won’t.
The world still spins.
You might not feel it spinning but you certainly know it moves, and meanwhile, all you can do is feel stuck while everyone else seems to move freely. It’s taunting . . .
I have news
There is a way to feel better.
Replace thought with action.
You can do this
Movement creates change. Change affects emotion.
Get your blood moving.
Do something, even if the phone weighs 1,000lbs, I get it, but don’t sit still because the stillness hurts more than anything else.
Part of why I never told anyone why I thought what I thought or felt what I felt is because if I did, aside from the shame based thoughts; I also believed if I spoke to someone, they might talk me out of the only solution, which made sense to me.
And sure, i gave off signs. Sure, I did things which were obvious cries for help. In all honesty, it always seemed like no one noticed.
Maybe they did
Maybe someone tried to reach me
Maybe their words just fell on deaf ears . . .
I never thought anyone could or would understand.
Either they wouldn’t care to or they wouldn’t know how to understand
But this was wrong.
Do you want to feel better?
Good, then find an outlet.
Create an action that is opposite of your thinking and watch the change take place
foremost, none of this will happen unless you give yourself the permission to
do any of the above.
You have to literally give yourself permission to feel better and to live better so you can be better.
There is hope.
I know it doesn’t seem this way.
But there is a way to feel better.
However, in my worst of times, my biggest problem was faith based because above all things, I never believed it was possible for me to be better, live better, look better, or feel better. And this was the law because I fed into this way of thinking.
This is why I never reached out. This is why I walked up into my room in a treatment center back in 91 and tied my neck to a sprinkler pipe in the bathroom.
Only, I never expected to wake up on the floor . . .
I wasn’t supposed to survive.
But I did
I get it though
I understand what I was thinking and why.
Over the years, I had to learn how to defy the lies in my own head. And no matter what, I cannot and will not ever allow myself to be still in my sadness. I will never allow myself to be stuck in depressive thinking. I will always replace thought with action.
I learned to move
And to be honest, for me, this movement was lifesaving
Whatever you do, please, just don’t give up.
I’m not saying it won’t hurt.
But I am saying things can get better
You just have to stay alive because otherwise, your permanent solution to temporary problems just passes on to those you never meant to hurt anyway.
I go back to the conversations I had with teary-eyed parents and loved ones of those who’ve taken their own life. Whether this was accidentally or deliberately, everyone wished they could have done something or said something.
I remember when they called my Mother to tell her what happened. she asked me what I was thinking. And I wanted to tell her but I didn’t have the language to explain myself.
I will close with this:
My friend once sat by my bedside and talked to me for hours, asking me the questions I wished someone would have asked me before I had the idea. I always wondered how he knew why to say or what I was feeling.
Years later, my friend was found in his apartment, hung from the ceiling, and I found myself asking the same question.
Why didn’t he call me?
I would have done anything to help him . . .
But just as I asked this, I answered the question for myself.
He never knew there was another way out
But there is
So if this you and you feel this way.
Just move. No matter how it hurts; trust me, moving will help you feel better. Screaming works too. Trust me on this
Make a call
If you can’t find someone to talk to . . .
Look for me, i’m always around