Today’s topic is heavy. Really
heavy. Today I’m going to talk about suicide.
What prompted this post happening
now is the death of Chester Bennington, lead singer of Linkin Park. But this
post would have been written anyway at some point. It needed to. It needed to
be written for myself. It needed to be written for my friends who have
struggled (or will struggle) with suicidal thoughts. It needed to be written
for those who never have and never will face this demon.
I’m not here to judge anyone. I’m
not here to say your thoughts and feelings aren’t valid. Suicide is terrible
and it rips families and friendships apart. I understand being hurt, even
angry, when someone you love commits suicide. I’ve had two uncles do so when I
was just a kid. What I am here to do is perhaps shed some light, to extend
mercy and compassion, and to offer hope.
I’ve heard a lot of people say
some horrible things about people who have committed suicide. They were weak.
They were cowards. They didn’t care about those they left behind. They were
heartless. Maybe these things are true for a small percentage of people who
commit, or attempt, suicide, but these things are not true for most. Not even
close.
Want to know why most people commit
suicide? Because they’re tired. Tired of life always dragging them down. Tired
of being hurt by others, or worse, by themselves. Most feel like they’ve done
everything they can do to rectify their situation but nothing is making a
difference. They feel like they’re hurting the ones they love by just being in
existence. They feel like they’ve failed themselves and those around them. They’re
tired of feeling like they’re never going to achieve anything or break out of
the negative cycle that holds them down. They’re exhausted because of the
relentless attacks of depression in their own lives. They just want to cease to
exist. Some look forward to peace in an afterlife. Some even expect damnation.
Others believe death is the end. Regardless, they want out of life. For those
who see damnation as a possibility, they feel so miserable in their lives that
they believe even hell would be a better option than continuing to exist. Can
you imagine how low you’d have to be to choose hell over life?
There are thousands there, facing
suicidal thoughts, right this minute. Not all of them will go through with it,
but way too many do. In the United States alone, there are on average 121
suicide deaths a day. Chester Bennington may have been the news last Thursday,
but he was only one of over a hundred who died by their own hands on Thursday
alone. And that’s only the ones who succeed. For every successful suicide,
there are 25 attempts. That’s approximately 3000 people in the United States
attempting suicide every day. Suicide is a real problem and we wouldn’t have so
many suicide attempts if it weren’t for the hell that is depression. Yet we
continue to downplay the effects of depression on a person and don’t treat them
seriously when they admit to having depression.
This topic is even more poignant
for those of us with bipolar disorder. Not just because we deal with depression—though
that obviously a very large factor. Yet people with bipolar disorder are 30%
more likely to commit suicide than people without bipolar disorder. This means
that 15% of people with bipolar disorder will kill themselves. Not just attempt
it, rather 15% of people with bipolar disorder will successfully kill
themselves.
If I hadn’t gotten help when I
did, if my diagnosis and treatment hadn’t been as prompt as it was, I might
have been part of that 15%. I don’t talk about this almost ever because I hate
remembering that period. I hate remembering how much I didn’t want to keep
going. I hate remembering I was this close…
In the summer of 2012 I went to a
psychiatrist and a psychologist to figure out what was going on. Depression
medicine wasn’t cutting it. I had had a friend suggest I was bipolar and I was
curious to see if she was right, because if she was, then I needed something
different than the help I was getting. So, when I moved to my sister’s, I went
on recommendation to a new clinic where I was given a phenomenal psychologist,
and a psychiatrist whose actions lead to me becoming suicidal and then saved me
from myself.
My psychologist recognized
patterns of bipolar disorder in me right away. He went into our treatment
program with that in mind. My psychiatrist agreed that I had some symptoms, but
he wasn’t sure he agreed that I was bipolar. He wanted to test the water, so he
upped my antidepressant.
For those of you who don’t know,
this is a big deal. People who are bipolar don’t respond to antidepressants the
same way as people who are just dealing with depression. The effects vary by
case. And I’d been on this antidepressant at that dose before, so my body’s
reaction was a complete surprise to me, but less of one to my doctor. When we
upped my antidepressant, I began to rapid cycle, and I mean really rapid cycle. I went from lows to highs and back so fast! I would
have hypomanic episodes that would last hours followed by depression episodes
that would last maybe a day and then I’d be back up again. The antidepressant destabilized
me incredibly.
The problem is when you feel that
high and then crash that low, the lows seem even deeper. The opposite was true.
The highs also felt higher. But the lows felt so low. My life spun out of
control. I would go from being the happiest person on the planet to feeling
like I wanted to end my life. As the days progressed, it got worse. At least
the lows did. Day after day of crashing down into those pits wore me down. I
began creating a plan. I got to the point where I had a suicide plan that was
realistically achievable and I knew what time of day I would carry it out. I
wasn’t quite to the point to follow through, which is why I foolishly didn’t
tell anyone. I figured if I got that bad I could tell my husband and he could
take me into the hospital. But I wasn’t that bad yet…What I should have done
was immediately call my psychiatrist and/or psychologist. But I was suicidal. I
wasn’t thinking straight.
There’s one major reason I wasn’t
ready to carry out the suicide: I didn’t want to hurt my family. I didn’t want
to put my husband through that pain. I didn’t want my sister to have to explain
to my dear nephews that Auntie was never coming home again. I’m crying just
thinking about it because I honestly believe if I had been left in that state for
even a couple more days, I would have taken my life. My family was holding me
back, slowing me down, but even my love for them wouldn’t have stopped me if I
hadn’t had a major intervention.
The intervention was on the part
of my psychiatrist who I’ve come to appreciate a whole lot more the more I
think about this. I went in for my follow up visit, told the doctor I was rapid
cycling and he responded immediately. I never told him I was suicidal. Yes, I
know how idiotic that seems now. But I didn’t think it counted since I wasn’t
ready to carry through my plan. But my psychiatrist realized this was a serious
situation and responded immediately by putting me on one of the heaviest mood
stabilizers in existence, an antipsychotic named Geodon.
I hate Geodon. The side effects
were horrible, the worst of any medication I’ve ever been on. But I thank God
for that drug because it saved my life. It immediately
put a stop to my wild swinging. It balanced my moods faster than any other
medication I’ve ever tried. I may have slept 16 hours (or more), had crazy
shaking in my whole body, struggled to think and talk, but I no longer had the
desire to end my life. I no longer felt so depressed. My psychiatrist saved my
life by putting me on a medication that would act so quickly, of that I have no
doubt.
So, I’m a lucky one. I never followed through with my plan. I’m not even part of the 3000 each day who
attempt suicide. If that makes you feel better, it shouldn’t. If approximately
3000 people attempt suicide a day, how many more are there who are like I was
who are so close? How many more secret suicide plans are being dreamed of? How many
more people hope that something happens that ends their life today? There’s no
way of tracking that number, but it scares me. How many of my friends have
wished their life could end in the last 24 hours? Considering my friends, the
answer is probably more than one.
I wasn’t being cowardly when I
thought of ending my own life. Bravery or cowardice had nothing to do with it.
I wasn’t being weak. Matter of fact, it takes a whole lot of strength to follow
through with suicide. I definitely cared a lot about those I would have been
leaving behind. As I said, they’re why I’m still here, but even they couldn’t
have kept me if it had continued to get worse. Depression twists your thoughts
to the point that you honestly believe they’ll be better off without you. I
wasn’t being heartless. I thought a lot about the effects of my choices, but
every day I believed more and more that it would be better for everyone if I
ended my life. I was just so tired, so exhausted by my life. I couldn’t see
that life wouldn’t stay that way forever because depression made it so I couldn’t
focus on the future at all. Depression lies to you and twists your thoughts. No
one who is seriously depressed is in their right mind. They are being lied to
by their own brain. Who do you trust when you can’t even trust yourself?
I’m not telling you this to make
you pity me or feel sad. I could care less. I’m doing great right now. That’s
the nature of bipolar disorder, and frankly, life: you don’t stay down. I am
telling you this so you can realize that just because you don’t see it, doesn’t
mean suicide isn’t a part of someone’s life. When you attack people who are
suicidal, you may be attacking people you love dearly. And that attack won’t
help them, I promise you that. If anything, it’ll “prove” to an already twisted
brain that they are not good enough.
I know several people who I love
a lot have said things over the years that attack those who commit suicide and
it hurt. I didn’t commit suicide, but I believe I would have without Geodon. Those
attacks feel very personal when they come from someone you admire. If it comes
from a stranger, I can brush it aside, but when it’s family, I have to face
that if they knew everything, they might be saying those things about me.
This brings me to my request:
extend mercy. Please extend mercy. Don’t judge harshly. You don’t know what
pain that person was experiencing inside their own brain. You don’t know how
worn down that person was. You can’t know because you’re not them. And as much
as you think you wouldn’t, the reality is you might do the same if you were put
in their shoes. Realize these are sick people who were so desperate for (whatever
their own inner hell was) to end, they were willing to do anything to make it
stop.
And for those who are struggling,
who have struggled, or who will struggle with suicidal thoughts: remember life
is always worth fighting for. I know it doesn’t seem like it in the moment,
trust me I know. And I’ll be the last person to judge you if you make the
choice to end it, but if you can, please reach out to someone. Don’t do what I
did and isolate yourself. Don’t think “I’ll talk when it gets worse” because by
then you probably won’t want to. As soon as you start feeling that way, reach
out for help. There are so many resources for those struggling with suicidal
thoughts. Don’t give in to your brain. Remember, life is full of hills and
valleys. Right now, you’re in a valley, but you really won’t stay there
forever. I promise you a hill will come.
Last, I leave you with a truth that I've often doubted:
Life is ALWAYS worth fighting
for.
