From Operation Depression: The Day I stood up

I agree when people say there are obstacles in front of us. I agree when people say life is difficult. In fact, I even agree when people tell me life sucks.
There are times when the feelings turn inward. The thinking doesn’t stop. Everything adds up to this unfixable thing that only gets worse.

There is no light at the end of the tunnel. There is no hope. There is nothing but the bleakness of life as it is. Everything becomes too complicated.
We have social problems, people problems, and family problems. We have financial concerns and other worries.
Sometimes, it seems like everything is falling apart and life has this “Dead-End” feeling.
It’s just more of the same. And that’s it.
The glass is half empty and all the mind can focus upon is the missing half. We think about the losses.
We think about our part in this and how our choices led us here. Right here. And it seems like no matter what we do or how we try, —there is always an opposition that will never let us rise above or regain any kind of greatness again.

I agree with this.
I agree with the opposition. I agree with the depressive thought and I agree with dead-end ideas and the origin of them because of course, the origin of any thought is me.

It is true. There are times when above anything else; we are the worst enemy we have. We are the fiercest critic of ourselves. We are the internal narrative that disputes anything and everything.
We are the sum of our failures and fears and the creator of our own sad distortions of what life is.

Truth is our life is perception based. Truth is many of our complications are nothing more than an illusion.
However, when the illusion is real, the illusion is real, and nothing and no one will ever convince us of otherwise.

There is a feeling we have when things go wrong. There is an echo in our mind, which is the reverberation of our thoughts and the whispers of our insecure fears that refuse to quit talking. The depression hits and onward comes the feeling of impending doom.

And you wait.
You look for the other shoe to drop. You wait for the next round of bad news. There is no way to get away from this because our thoughts betray us—and what I mean is they won’t stop multiplying and magnifying every little detail and ever little fault. The illusion gets bigger and the predictions become worse. therefore, the fears become bigger and continue to grow.

What I am about to share, I share openly and freely. I do not share this for sympathy or comment; however, I share this openly to qualify my seat here with you.
I also share this openly to expose the dishonesty of my internal demons that told me the lies of, “This is the best you will ever be!”
Also, I share this to show the outlines of depression and what depressive thinking does if left unattended.

I woke up on a bathroom floor. I was convulsing while regaining consciousness. I was unsure of where I was and why I was there. I didn’t realize what just happened.
All I could recognize were the small tiles on the bathroom floor.
I remember the sink was near me. The toilet was at my head and my feet were at the door. The tub was behind me as I lay on my left. I can see this in my mind’s eye. I can see my first vision as I regained consciousness.

The reason why I woke up on the floor is because the knot slipped. What I mean is in a quick minute of desperation; I decided to end it all.
I remember my thinking, which was clear to me. I knew that I could not speak to anyone because if I spoke with anyone; I would not have the courage to do what most people told me was a cowardly act.

I ran into the room I was staying at, which was somewhat hotel like. I grabbed a pair of my jeans and tied one pant leg to the sprinkler pipe and wove the other pant leg around my neck.
I began to breathe deeply and fast so that I would pass out quickly when my air was cut off. And it work. I sunk down from the top of the toilet seat and allowed my body to weigh me down.

I can still see this. I can see this in my mind’s eye. I can see this while I write these words to you and feel the hairs stand up on my arms as I type.
I can see the way my eyes closed, which in the moment, I believed this was the last and final time I would ever close my eyes; never to open them again.

I sunk down and allowed the breath of life to diminish because at best, this was the best that I could do.
Life sucks. Remember?
Nothing works. Nothing I could ever do will ever rid me of my past. Nothing anyone can do or say will ever make me forget who I am.
So why bother?

I slipped into a dream of me being a child. I was on the side of an old white schoolhouse. Everything was so vivid to me. The colors were almost blinding.
I was dressed in a white uniform. There were two girls skipping rope on the green grass. They were wearing pretty white dressed. And there was a boy swinging on the swing-set. He was wearing a white buttoned down shirt and white pants with black shoes; just like me. He had a little boys haircut. he was looking at me, curiously, as if to wonder, “Is he coming to school here too?”
There was a woman with me. I think she was something like a teacher or a teacher’s aide.
She was kind to me. She was almost motherly, in fact. The woman pointed to the other children playing in the little schoolyard.

There was nothing modern about this place. Everything was the way it would look from before our Grandparents were born. I was shy in my dream, afraid to be the new kid in school, but the woman standing by my side turned me away and sent me back into the opposite direction. She did this as if to say, “Not yet,” and as she turned me away, that’s when I woke up on the floor of the bathroom.

One could say that if I really wanted to die then I would be dead. And I would agree with this. However, most suicides are more about stopping things that won’t stop. Suicide is the combination of thinking that becomes unmerciful, —there is no relief. All ideas are bleak and all the possible outcomes seem to corral us like cattle into an overstocked pen.
I just wanted everything to stop. I just wanted relief but there didn’t seem as if there was any other way. I just wanted to breath.
(Do you get where I’m coming from?)

I woke up on the floor, which in a figurative way; I woke up at the bottom of my aftermath. I swore nothing could get worse than this.
I’m not sure why I stood up and went for help. I’m not sure if I was afraid to die because at the moment—I can’t say that I was afraid of dying as much as I was blown away that I brought myself here, which was that close to death.

I’m not sure what pushed me forward. I just know that rather than try again, I went for help.
I wanted the thoughts to stop. I wanted the ideas to go away. I wanted to feel better; to feel human, or “Normal,” if there is such a thing.
I wanted to feel good. I wanted to feel wholesome. Above all, I wanted to feel deserving and worth the survival instead of feeling the unfortunately painful sting of survivor’s guilt.

I agree when people tell me life sucks. I agree with the freedom of this expression because by expressing myself; at least I’m talking.
At least I’m saying something. Put simply, I agree with the idea of telling on myself because if I tell, this will spoil my plans.
And keep in mind, there is no such thing as an empty threat when it comes to this. Even if this is only attention seeking, which, it might just be —still, pay attention because we kill ourselves in different ways.
Sometimes we kill ourselves figuratively. Sometimes our behavior matches our emotions, —we act out in reaction to what goes on inside of us, in which case, subconsciously, we self-destruct and corral ourselves like cattle into an overstocked pen that we just can’t get out of.

Our outcomes become the way they do because we led ourselves there. And it hurts. It hurts to take responsibility.
It hurt for me to get back up. It hurt for me to realize my place in this game and how I facilitated most of my outcomes.

I do not say that depression is my fault. I only say that depression was the reason behind my behavior, which is was led me astray and left me to feel lost and utterly abandoned.

I agree. Life sucks sometimes.
Of course it does. I agree that we can be our own worst enemy. We criticize ourselves. We beat ourselves up. Of course we do. But if this is so then how will we ever see hope?
If we do nothing to change our thinking or behavior; how is possible to not be so bleak.

I was young when I woke up on the floor that time. However, and with a heavy heart; I regret to inform you that this was not the only time I felt that desperate.
I just wanted to jump out of my life. I wanted to be free.
Depression and me have been on a first name basis for as long as I can remember. I was never sure what this meant.
What I mean is I knew about the word, “Depression.” I just didn’t know this was me. I thought whatever my problem was it was too big and too detailed to be summed up in one word.

Depression . . .

The truth is I did get up from that floor. The truth is my thoughts can magnify my fears. Anxiety and me are old chums. This is for sure.
I know what fear is. I know what doubt is. I know what suicide means to me and I know what thoughts come into play.
I have spoken with others that have survived themselves, and equally, we relate to the idea that we just wanted everything to stop.
We all agreed that we saw no other way to make things stop, which is why we followed through with our plans to die in one form or another.

I envision a sunrise. I envision me on my front stoop. I see the streets of where I live, empty, and there is a wind that picks up. I see me walking from my front step. I see me walking faster. Then I see me running. I see me running away into something, which hopefully brings me freedom and peace. The sky is blue. The sun is on its way and nothing can stop me (except me.)

I had to come to the idea that this is me. I can do one of two things. I can lie down or give in. Or I can stand.
I can face the new day. I can step off my front stoop and walk forward.
First and foremost, I had to give myself the permission to try.
I had to allow myself the right to improve. More importantly, I had to learn how to forgive me of my past, accept that yesterday is unalterable, and above all, I had to allow myself a turn at being better.

The question comes down to when is it your turn to have the life you want to live? Once we find the answer, then we have to ask ourselves, “When will I give myself permission to make it so?”

I can tell you this; the day my determination beat my feelings of despair was the same day I stood up.
This was the day I stood up after the aftermath of my attempt. I held me accountable for the next step I took. And that my friend is why I am here to write this for you today.

So please, with love in my heart and a tear in my eye
Don’t be afraid to stand up.

Okay?

This is where I was. This is where I regained my life

One thought on “From Operation Depression: The Day I stood up

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