Trigger Warning: Suicide
"There's a war inside my head
Sometimes I wish that I was dead, I'm broken"
I think about how many pills it would take for it all to be over. I know I have access to a lot of medications (albeit to try and treat this very illness). I think about how much better off my family and friends would be in my death. How they'll no longer need to be on edge and burdened by my existence. I'm comforted in knowing that my pain will be over. All of this will stop.
And yet, I hesitate.
I think about just this once not being honest with the doctor about how I'm feeling. I contemplate whether there's a better, more successful way, to end it all. My mind rushes 1,000 miles per hour. The thoughts are loud and over and over my mind convinces me that death is the only solution.
And yet, I pause.
Repeated in my mind, I imagine my family free from my illness. I imagine them living their lives without worrying about me. I think of the pain. I feel it deep within me. This depression has taken more from me than I have available to give. It's exhausted my family, but it's exhausted me too. Suicide seems like the only way to escape from it's claws.
And still, I wait.
The concept of death scares me. I don't know what happens after you die. I imagine that there's nothing and everything stops, but what if I'm wrong? I don't want my family and friends to find me, and for that to be etched into their memories. I love my nieces and nephews so much, and I want to see them grow up. I'll miss my family, they are everything to me. Even when depression eats at me, they still make me smile, and make me feel capable of being loved.
So, once again, I hesitate.
An extremely anxious and afraid part of me is honest with the doctor about my plans. I tell him that I can't do it anymore and that death is the only solution to my problems. I tell him that the drugs and other treatments don't work and that I have no hope for the future, because right now, I can't see a future for me. He suggests hospital. I decline. After 514 days admitted in a three year period, I can't stand the thought of another admission. We talk. Hospital still the obvious option. An admission follows. My thoughts still circle around death, but being restricted in a hospital setting prevents me from doing anything.
And so, I live.
I spend anywhere from a week to 12 weeks in hospital. I see the doctor most days. He tries ECT, he tries new medications. Nothing works long term, but it gives me little bursts of hope, and slowly the suicidal thoughts stop taking up the forefront of my mind. I'm discharged home.
And then after a short time, the cycle starts again. Stop the ride. I want to get off.
***Please note - I am not at risk of suicide at the present time. This post is more to share what happens with those I know, in the hopes that I can create understanding and compassion, and support for those who may be feeling similar.***