Progress?

Is this what it feels like to fail? Or is this what progress looks like? I'm confused, because I know once upon a time (and even at the beginning of this struggle) I would pretend like nothing was happening and hope that by avoiding my troubles, they'd disappear, with no intervention required.

The fact that I've been in hospital now for almost 4 weeks, and the fact that I'm still alive with no attempts on my life taken should be seen as a positive step, but when you awaken each morning in a hospital bed, and you struggle to see the light at the end of the tunnel, one must question whether you can really claim progress has been made?

Since late last year, I've noticed my mood slip beyond "a little depressed" and more into the category of "completely unable to cope and to continue to function as a normal human being". I have reached out for help. This is my third (and longest) hospital admission in recent times. I've tried medication, I have tried new age therapies, like Transcranial Mangnetic Stimulation (TMS), and more recently, I've progressed onto Electro Convulsive Therapy (ECT). Thankfully I've noticed a slight shift in mood through receiving ECT and I can only hope that another 6 sessions will help me recover and find the me that I've created and lost underneath the beast that is depression somewhere.

It is hard pretending like I've got my shit together, when everything feels completely overwhelming. Or in those fleeting moments when I feel I can actually beat this, which are quickly followed by an all consuming fear of not being strong enough to fight my way out this time, it's hard to stay positive and remind myself that I've likely been through worse than this before, and I am therefore equipped to deal with it, no matter how far over my head I feel.

The hospital itself is so much different to everywhere I've stayed before. It is calm, the staff are kind, it's the perfect environment to relax and recuperate strength. It's more than a place to keep me safe. It's a place to get me on the road to wellness and get me back to enjoying the life that I've created for myself. I just hope that I'm strong enough to ride it out, that the ECT continues to bring about successful results, and that at the end of this ride, I'll be stronger coming out the other side, ready to face the world in front of me.

It's been a while...

Depression, my old friend. It's been a while. We spent a few years apart, and each time you tried to claw your way back into my life, I thought I'd be able to successfully beat you off. Only this time, you were too much and I was too far gone before I realised the seriousness of it all.

So here I sit, alone in Room 19, pondering how it got to this point, and questioning how I can manage it better next time, so you can't slip in through a doorway or a window I've left open somewhere.

I know we have a long history. I know for many years I welcomed you into my life, because you were safe, you were comfortable, and I'm pretty sure I wrongly assumed that you would protect me from the world outside, by destroying me from within, where although destroyed, I would remain in control.

This time around, my life has changed somewhat. Sure, right now, I'm a little over it all, but generally speaking, I'm a pretty happy person these days. I'm married, I have wonderful friends, a supportive and amazing family, including some very cute little people who can hug me and make everything feel like a million times better.

I first realised that you were making your way in early last year. But with the wedding and honeymoon to distract myself, I figured that you'd just go away on your own. Once the wedding and honeymoon were over, and you started to make your presence a little more well known, the echo of your existence a little louder, I considered it the come-down after such an exciting time in my life, and once again, thought if I ignored you, and tried to drown you out with friends, with exercise, with distraction and avoidance, that you'd realise you weren't welcome and leave on your own accord. Only this time, it wasn't that simple.

I linked in with a GP. I got a mental health care plan. I saw a psychiatrist, I saw a psychologist, I found a better GP. All was on track for recovery, only you didn't want to make it that easy. The medication did nothing to lift my mood. Your friend, Anxiety, who I'd not really experienced like this before, came along with you for the ride. It was hard enough to try and gain control of you, but with Anxiety tagging along, both of you feeding off the other, I knew I was in over my head.

And here we are... the third hospital admission in as little as four months. The first one to save me from making decisions in the heat of the moment, the second much the same, but also to try an alternative treatment. After the anti-depressants did little to help, and the Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation (TMS) did not assist as I'd hoped, you left me with little choice but to travel down the Electro Convulsive Therapy (ECT) path.

At first, if I'm honest, I wasn't hopeful. It was just another thing to tick off the list to say that I'd tried. Another thing that would show others that I don't ask to be depressed and anxious, and that I would literally try anything to ease the pain. Even if it meant going under three times per week and having surges of electricity sent to my brain to trigger a seizure.

On Monday, I had treatment #4 and today, treatment #5, and I'm happy to report that although, nowhere near where I need to be, I do feel as though that heavy weight is lifting. What previously crushed me through the floor, and made it feel difficult for me to be able to pull myself even to floor level, has now had part of the weight removed. I still feel trapped, I still feel suffocated, I still feel afraid and alone and so very lost, but I don't feel like I have no other option. I feel as though with the ECT showing improvement, I, at the very least, do not need to give up and throw in the towel right now.

Right now, beneath the rubble of it all, I have found something I'd lost somewhere along the way. Hope. And as long as you have hope, you have reason to keep trying. And that's what I intend to do, for now anyway. What have I got to lose?

To hide or not to hide?

Tomorrow I start a new job. I feel happy, excited, anxious amongst a mix of emotions. I’m currently questioning what I’m going to wear, how much of myself I’m willing to expose on the first day. I am not referring to the length of my skirt, or whether or not I hide my cleavage under a collared shirt, I’m talking about whether or not I allow my true self to be revealed, scars and all. Do I wear long sleeves and jackets in the middle of an Australian Summer, or do I open myself up to vulnerability and the possibility of being judged by my past and the interpretation from my new colleagues of what they misguidedly believe it may mean?

For my friends on Facebook I’ve not kept my past history of self-harm a secret, I’ve not hidden it, because whilst I’m not particularly proud of the scars, I have come to accept that I did the best I could with the skills I had at the time. I know each individual scar holds a memory of a time when life was more difficult for me than it was for most, each scar reminds me that even though the emotional pain at that time was overbearing, I still somehow found a way to make it through. Each scar tells a story of hopelessness, of anger, or despair, of numbness that I never thought I’d get through, yet here I am.

My self-harm history is something I don’t give much thought to these days, because the scars have healed and all that I see when I look at them are victories and lessons learnt which have given me the skills of empathy, understanding, kindness, and an ability to express compassion to others without making impetuous judgements. However, in times like this where people have not had the chance to get to know me and what I am capable of, I am weary that others don’t have the same life experience as myself, many others do not express the same understanding and empathy that I do, and I am mindful that the appearance of these scars can sometimes lead to others judging me and my abilities prematurely.

I guess as unjust as it may seem, am I willing and open to the possibility of having to work three times as hard as anyone else to prove my worth to the workplace, by allowing them to see the scars of my past before they see who I am and what I’m capable of, or will I be the crazy, uncomfortable colleague who sits in the office in long-sleeves and jackets, sweating profusely, trying to hide the scars that have shaped me into the positive, hard-working, friendly person I know I am?

And the battle, although just as painful, becomes easier to cope with...

And as she climbed up on that chair and placed the noose around her neck, she realised she would finally get that escape that she so desperately longed for. She would finally be free of the constant battle against herself. She would finally have an end to the chaos that all too often erupted inside her mind. She would finally find peace. But, before she had a chance to take that huge leap of courage, with only a small step, and seek the freedom that she so desired, a lifetime of memories flashed before her eyes..........................


She saw her mother standing in the corner of the Intensive Care Unit. She saw the pain in her mother's eyes. She could tell that her mother hadn't slept a wink all night. And whilst she'd seen that look of pain in her mother's eyes many times before from not being able to pull her out of this depression, and not being able to show her the beauty the world has to offer, she realised that nothing had ever compared to the fear and pain she saw in her mother's eyes right then and there.

She remembered the words that still resonate with her today. The words that send a sharp pain right through her heart, and never fail to bring a tear to her eye. That one statement, a single sentence from her little sister, which easily broke her heart, and changed her world. "It was hard growing up, going to bed each night, and not knowing whether I'd still have my sister when I woke up." Her sister was an adult when she'd shared this raw, emotional statement, but despite them both being adults, all she'd seen was her little baby sister, a young teenager, standing in front of her, in a world of her own pain, and all at the thought of losing someone she'd cared so deeply about. All at the thought of losing her big sister, who had long lost herself and constantly questioned her existence through the pain. The big sister who honestly, and whole-heartedly believed that life would be easier for her family if she ceased to exist.

She remembered the exact thoughts she had at that time. She remembered feeling like things would never get any better. She remembered feeling so guilty for the pain she was consistently putting her family through. She remembered the tip-toeing that the family was forced into, for fear of pushing her over the edge during one of her intensely emotional mood swings. And hearing her baby sister express in this single sentence that despite the emotional pain and outbursts that were tip-toed around, despite the pain of seeing her sister fade away into a shell that she feared she'd never come out from, the most painful thought was that she would lose her completely, and that somehow, life would have to go on without her.

The last 12 months have been an intensely emotional rollercoaster for me. There have been some great ups, really there have, but each time the downhill has closely followed and I've delved faster down that track swaying from side to side, hoping like crazy that the safety harness would hold me in, the entire time feeling like my life was turning completely upside down.

I've been trying to write this post for months. I've been struggling to find the right words. And I've been afraid of what people would think of me if they'd learnt that even today, I'm not always that bright and bubbly person that they all see. Would they judge me, treat me differently, whisper nasty things behind my back? Surely it would be easier to fake it than to show them the real way I feel at times? Right?

Despite questioning whether I'd get through the pain, and whether I was strong enough to come out the other side for quite some time during the past 12 months, this week things became a whole lot more intense and I seriously considered options I'd not seriously considered in years. I had two good friends, both unknown to each other, that questioned our friendship, and the reason, because I didn't share myself with them wholly (negative and all) and because of that, I avoided any conversations that may lead them to believe otherwise. I had friends questioning our friendship because I failed to communicate with them at all, failed to share my true emotions, because I put up that mask, and because I hid behind that wall that protected me from them finding out and consequently realising I was way more work than any friendship was worth, and that quite simply put, I was toxic and a burden on their lives.

I know I've shut my family out for years, because of similar reasons, and I know how irrational it is to not share your emotions with the family that have continued to love you through the worst and most difficult years, and that have never left your side when things get tough. I realise how completely ridiculous it is to hide your feelings from those who love you unconditionally, and feel completely crushed that when things do hit rock bottom, because you'd not shared your pain with them and let them be the support you so desperately needed.

And gradually but then all at once, I realised that life isn't the same as it was a decade ago. I'm not a 19 year old girl consistently struggling to make sense of my own head. I'm not wearing long sleeves to cover the fresh cuts on my arm, or on the very odd occasion in which someone found out, sitting at Emergency waiting for a nurse and doctor to give me a look of disgust and reluctantly stitch up the damage I'd bestowed upon myself, the self that I seemed so determined to destroy. I'm not constantly in and out of psych wards several times a year (and when I say several, I mean SEVERAL), merely to protect me from myself and the costly, permanent decisions I was likely to make in the acute heat of the moment. I'm not in a hospital bed, covered in wires plugged into monitors that will reveal if this time, I've managed to cause some irreversible damage to my body.

I'm now a 29 year old woman, who whilst still affected by Bipolar Disorder, whilst still battling the same mental illness I was a decade ago, whilst feeling that forceful pain I have in the past, has learned healthy coping mechanisms, and isn't that tiny, scared little girl she was back then. I'm now a 29 year old woman who, at 19, never imagined a year without a hospital admission, let alone the fast approaching three years since such an admission has taken place. I'm now a 29 year old woman who has no desire to place any more scars on my body that has already been punished so badly. A woman who whilst uncomfortable with meeting strangers for the first time and receiving judgement for something they simply don't understand and for their inability to see past these and get to know who I am, feels proud to see those scars on her arms. They are a constant reminder of how much pain I was in, and how I'm still here, and I'm still fighting. They are my battle wounds. They are my evidence that the pain I've been through is a lot deeper than many others could handle. They are a testament to my courage, my strength and my determination to go on, despite at times feeling as though all hope was lost.

I am now a 29 year old woman who has been given a lot of support over the past 15 years, even from those who don't realise it. I am now a 29 year old woman who can honestly say she has the most amazing family and friends in the world. I'm now a 29 year old woman, who despite still suffering at times, even with getting out of bed proving a struggle some days, believes that life has so much more to offer. A woman who has been questioning her existence and feeling like a failure for not accomplishing most of the things on her "before 30" bucket list.

I now know that I have the power to create my own reality. All I need to do is try and believe it's worth it, believe that I'm worth it. Be determined... Love completely... Trust fully... Believe it's possible... Try... Hope... Create... These things have the potential to change my life. These things have the potential to assist me along my journey, with all it's twists and turns, and at 39, write another post about how much further I've come in the last decade, and how glad I am that I made the decision at the time of writing this very post that I have the power to manifest my dreams into reality, and that I deserve to be happy and fulfilled with my life.

I started writing an application to become a member of the BeyondBlue speakers program, and that's really the driving force that provided me with the inspiration to share this raw, deep and mostly hidden side of me and the battles I still fight each day. I'm willing to share my story with complete strangers and allow them to somehow see they're not alone, and that things can get better, and even if they don't recover completely, they can have good moments as well as bad moments, and those good, positive, loving moments can be enough to pull them through the darkest of their days. Showing them that even if their illness is likely to stay with them, it gets easier to manage, and they'll learn how to cope. Show them that there is nothing like the hug of a niece or nephew (or their own children / partners) to make them smile, inspiring them to be all that they can be, and provide them with the determination they have been lacking to make this possible. If I'm willing to share my story with complete strangers, surely I should be willing to share this story with friends and family. Surely I should be willing to let them know what depression and mental illness feels like, to give them some sort of insight. Surely I should be willing to share my story with the friends that are suffering so that they, like the complete strangers I'm willing to share with, will know they're not alone, and that things can get better.


.........................And in that moment, with those very thoughts and images running through her mind, she slipped the noose from her neck, cut the rope from where it was hanging, lit it on fire and watched it burn, envisioning the fire taking away all negativity and things that were holding her back, the smoke floating away as she let her fears leave with it, allowing her to free her mind and believe that life could be wonderful, and that if you look hard enough, you will always find beauty in this sometimes messed up crazy world. To believe that life was worth it... To believe that she was worth it.

**Please note - the writing about suicide by hanging at the top of this email was only meant as an indication of the pain and anguish within the story. I have not stood on a chair with a noose around my neck, and I am in no danger of self-harm or suicide. It was used as an analogy, and should not be interpreted as a serious threat to my safety.**

This post was originally posted on my Facebook page on 8 February 2015

That positive moment...

I started with a completely different approach to this post, but have decided to take this in another direction.  I've had a wonderfully, content weekend, and I was going to share some things about the realisations of the weekend, and the positive potential they have to take my life in a way that I've always dreamed.  But then I changed my mind.  I decided to move on, I need to let go of the past.  I came to a point this afternoon, where I let go of those that had hurt me, and I forgave them, all of them.  Then, as I started the original idea of the post, I realised that the only person I hadn't forgiven was myself, so that's what this post is about...  A letter to a younger me, a letter to myself, reminding myself that I did the best I could with the skills I had, and that I am a lot stronger than I gave myself credit for back then.

Dear The Early Adult Me...

Please stop destroying yourself.  You will see one day, that life has amazing, beautiful things in store for you.  I know it doesn't feel like it now.  I know that every single day, you feel like life is never going to be any different.  I know that every single day, the pain you feel inside for absolutely no reason, consumes you, and takes over your thoughts.  I know that, right now, you can not see any possible way out.  I know right now, you think your friends, and your family would be better off without you destroying their lives.  One day though, you'll realise that you're an amazing friend, and an amazing sister, daughter, aunty, and anyone would be lucky to have you in their lives.  One day, YOU will realise that YOU are a worthwhile person.

Every time you pick up a razor to release that pain inside, and distract you from the intensity of those thoughts, I want you to know that one day, your thoughts won't be consumed like they are now.  One day, you'll be able to deal with your problems in a way that isn't physical harming to yourself.  And each time you punish yourself for cutting, with another cut, I want you to know that in a decade's time, even though you'll still feel a sense of disappointment when you see the hundreds of marks on your body, you'll also feel a sense of pride.  Because although your body will be scarred for life, each scar will remind you that despite the hundreds of times you felt no other way to cope, despite the times you didn't care what the outside of your body looked like, because the inside was even uglier, despite your feelings of worthlessness, each scar will remind you that you have overcome things that most people couldn't even begin to understand.

I want to tell you that, although suicide will always be an option, you're stronger than this.  And you can, and will beat this.  It may not seem like it now, and taking those boxes of pills may seem like a great idea to escape, to ease the burden you are to others, but one day you'll realise that you are a worthwhile person, and people actually feel lucky to have you in their lives.  I want you to know that when you wake up in hospital, for the second, and third, and fourth time, and feel that pang of disappointment in yourself, and see the pain in your family's eyes, wishing you'd succeeded so that they wouldn't feel this, every, single, time, one day you'll see that the pain in their eyes was not a pain caused by you being a burden, it was one of not being able to help you.  One of not being able to show you just how amazing you are, and how lucky they feel to have you in their lives.

I know the first visit to the psych ward made you feel so stupid.  I know the walk up those stairs was one of the biggest steps you had forced yourself to take at that point in your life.  I know you wanted to turn around and run.  I know you wanted to go and take the pills you'd planned on taking to get you admitted it in the first place.  I know you worried about what people would think and the shame this would put on your family.  I just want you to know that I am proud of you.  I am so proud of you for taking those steps.  Without taking those steps, not just that time, but so many times after, that I've lost count, you saved your life, you saved my life.  I know many hospital admissions you felt were unnecessary as no one was able to save you, and when you got out, you'd just do something stupid again to escape the pain, but I'm still proud of you for agreeing to go most times, and not fighting it, when you were forced to stay against your will.  And whilst your hopelessness at the time, blinded you from asking and accepting the help you needed, hospital was at least a safe place for an interim period.  Hospital will keep you safe, until such time as you can keep yourself safe on your own.

I want you to know that the moment you get that glimmer of hope that encourages you to reach out for help, beyond a safety measure, that glimmer of hope that encourages you to try and change your treatment, from the crisis management perspective to assistance with overcoming and dealing with underlying issues, it won't be easy, but it will be worth it.  I want you to know that for every two steps forward, there will be another step backwards.  I want you to know that as time goes on those two steps forward, will become three and four steps forward, and the one step back will only come occasionally.  And whilst it seems incredibly hard to keep the hope alive when you see yourself get so far, and then feel like you go back to where you were, I want you to know that one day you will succeed.

I want you to remember that even as the years pass you by, there will still be moments where you believe you can't cope anymore.  There will be moments where you just want to give up.  There will be times where you truly believe that things are as bad as they were in the beginning of your journey, where you will feel frustrated and like you're failing again.  There will be set backs and quite a lot of them.  But as you mature, as you accept the help you're given, you won't be that same scared sixteen year old, you won't be the eighteen year old taking those first steps up the stairs, or waking up in emergency for the very first time.  However, all of those things have equipped you to deal with the set backs you feel at this time.

I want you to know that one day, there will come a day when you don't even need to see a psychologist any more.  One day, the problem won't be with your difficulty handling your emotion, and you'll be able to cope with any issues in a healthy way.  One day, you won't even fit the criteria for Borderline Personality Disorder any longer.  One day, you'll get that Bipolar diagnosis that you've known existed for years.  And you'll realise right then, there is hope.  If you can overcome a personality disorder, and change the way your thoughts work after a decade of thinking this way, a simple chemical imbalance is unlikely to beat you.  If you can go from thinking of self harm and suicide at least once a day for as long as you can remember, to letting it be a fleeting thought from time to time, with no intention to act on it, correcting that brain chemistry in your head should be an easy task.

Mostly though, I want you to know you are worth it.  I want you to know that you're amazing.  That you have overcome so much.  That you're stronger than you give yourself credit for.  That people are lucky to have you as their friend, and as a member of their family.  I want you to know that whilst there was a time when I would look at my arms, legs and stomach and hate you for what you did to my body, I forgive you.  I realise now that the constant labeling you gave yourself of being weak and pathetic was anything but.  I want you to know that I wish I could have shown you how things would be for you today.  I wish I could show you how happy you could be, how functional your life could be.  I am proud of who you will become, and one day, you will be too, even if it doesn't ever seem like it right now.  I want to apologise for all you went through.  You didn't deserve it.  But I also want to THANK YOU, for if you didn't go through what you went through, if you didn't fight for our life so many times, I wouldn't be the person I am today, or worse still wouldn't exist at all.  Thank you for shaping me into the amazing 29 year old I am.  Thank you for trying, even though you felt like giving up so much of the time.  Thank you for being you, and contributing to making me, me.  I love you, and you are a very, very worthwhile person.

World Suicide Prevention Day

So today is World Suicide Prevention Day, and I'm not entirely sure what I can say that I haven't already said in my initial post.  I think I'll just start writing whatever pops into my head, and see if it makes any sense.

Today I came across an article advising that there was a woman stuck under a train at one of the train stations here.  She was freed from the train and transported to hospital with lower leg injuries.  As depressing as this was to read, there was something unfamiliar I noticed in the article.  They had stated that "police believe that this was an act of self harm."  Is this a sign of the changing times?  Clearly this woman is still alive after surviving the incident, so has that made it okay to note that she had attempted to take her own life?  Usually each time a suicide is attempted or completed on a train line, or on the bridge in the city that has seen the end of quite a few lives, the media reports that there is a "police incident" causing traffic delays.  There is no follow up story, like if someone had died in a horrible car crash.  There are no details released.  Just that the traffic will be delayed due to a police incident.  There's nothing released to say that a family is now without their son, father, brother.  Simply that those in peak hour will have their train delayed or will have to drive across an alternative bridge to get to work.  Most people know exactly what the "police incident" relates to, as everything else is stated for what it is, yet it's as though, saying it aloud, putting it in writing, makes it real, and means society would have to acknowledge it and deal with it.  It's the all too familiar, let's push this under the carpet, pretend it never happened, and never speak of it again.

The act of suicide on a train line is unfortunately a little sensitive for me.  Not only did I, in my darkest days, consider jumping in front of a train, as it would be over quickly and I wouldn't feel anything, but my cousin took his own life under similar circumstances.  When I found out about his suicide, I was in disbelief, I searched the internet for  incidents on the train line where he lived.  I needed to read something, anything that proved that he was gone.  That he'd been so depressed that he'd taken his own life.  I didn't even know he was in such a bad place.  I am pretty sure no one in the family expected it.  No one knew what was running through his mind in those final moments.  Which leaves you with those feelings of guilt.  The guilt that you should have noticed, you should have spent more time with him, you should have been able to help him see that this wasn't the only solution to his pain.  After internet searching, there was a tiny paragraph noted that there was a police incident on the train line.  That's it.  Nothing about his life being lost.  Nothing about his family dumbfounded.  Just a tiny paragraph noting a commuter delay.  And then, just like that, the trains are restored, and after the commuters complain about the delay, life goes back to normal for them.  But for the family and friends of the "cause of the train delays" life will never be the same again.

I'm deeply sorry that this woman has seen this as the only way of escaping her pain, and even worse that her already depressed mind, is now going to be worsened by the horrific injuries to her lower legs.  What if she loses them at the knees?  What if she needs a wheelchair for the rest of her life?  What was a way out for her, has made things so much more complicated.  While life was hard before, it's going to be even harder now.  Aside from this, I keep drifting my thoughts to the mention of what actually happened on the train line.  I keep drifting back to the fact that this was more than a police incident causing delays for commuters.  This made a taboo subject public.  This put suicide out in the open, for all the world to see.  After reading some comments from people on social media articles relating to this incident it is all too clear why we need to educate people on suicide.  So many people noting it as selfish.  So many saying things much worse.  I'm going to refer to my earlier post and reiterate the fact that people are scared of what they don't understand.  Unless we increase awareness so that people can understand, nothing is going to change.  The next suicide will only be a police incident.  How much more does it take for someone to do something about it?  How many more families and friends have to lose their loved ones before suicide is brought out of the darkness so we are able to prevent it?

So, as I mentioned at the beginning of this post, today is World Suicide Prevention Day, which is a great day to increase awareness, especially with the recent media focusing on the suicide of Robin Williams.  By increasing awareness, we can achieve the goal of this day, by preventing suicide.  I've said it before, and I'll say it again (heck, I'll continue to say it) unless we raise awareness and make it okay for people to reach out for help, nothing will change.  Family and friends won't reach out for the help they need, as they'll be under the false belief that their loved ones will be better off without them, and that suicide is the only solution to their problems.  I like to think that if it was socially acceptable to reach out for help, the number of suicides could be drastically reduced or in an ideal world eliminated completely.  What is so bad, so wrong with talking about suicide?  Why is the world so apprehensive?  Aren't people's lives more important than any stupid beliefs people have about it being selfish and cowardly?  Isn't talking about it, making it real, and therefore making it okay for people to ask for help, worth taking a chance on?  Shouldn't we be focusing on pro-active approaches to save lives, rather than reactive approaches to helping those left behind recover some sense of happiness and normality in their lives?  By helping the suicidal patient, essentially, you're reducing the need to help another bunch of people who will be affected greatly after their mother, daughter, sister, aunty takes their own life.  The innocent victims left behind after a suicide will never have the lives they did prior to the suicide.  There will always be the memory of what happened overbearing all the positive times shared.  Is it too expensive to raise awareness and then help those that do reach out for help?  When really, the expense of helping those left behind is far higher.  Even if the deceased person only has a small family, a Mum, a Dad, a son, a daughter, and a brother or sister, there are already five people who's lives are going to be ruined, and will need extensive therapy just to come to terms with what has happened.  The therapy won't cure them from the guilt, the pain they feel, it will merely teach them how to manage those emotions in some form of a healthy way.  I'm no mathematical genius, but isn't one person cheaper to help than the five left behind?  Essentially by helping the first person, we're sparing the pain and the need to help the remaining five.  I just don't understand why no one is doing anything.  It's not rocket science people.

I know I'm just one person in this huge world.  I know that my words are not going to change the world's perception alone.  We need to unite, wherever you come from, whatever religion, race or social status you belong to, we can all work together to save each other from pain.  In saying that, I do not plan on giving up speaking about these issues any time soon, and even if my post resonates with one person, even if I make a difference to the understanding of that person, it is worth it.  Because at the end of the day, life is precious, life is worth it, and much too short to be missing those who could have and SHOULD have been saved, if only society had allowed them to seek out the help they needed.

Reducing the stigma of suicide...

This is a post I wrote as a status on my Facebook page about a month ago.  As it was in excess of 2,000 words long, I assumed about 3 of my Facebook friends would take the time to read it.  I was overwhelmed when it was shared in excess of 250 times.  It was the driving force to starting this blog.  I want to be heard.  I want people to hear what I have to say.  I have tried the blogging thing before, but was too busy (or slack) to keep up the posts.  This time I'm committing to writing more often and letting the cyber world discover the strange, weird, and completely obscure things that run through my mind.

Please see the post below:

I was somewhat reluctant to post this.  Not because it’s something I am hesitant to share, but because a lot of other people are posting similar posts.  Then I remembered the point of my post, being about breaking the stigma so people feel comfortable asking for the help they need to save their lives.

Obviously the suicide of Robin Williams has taken the world by surprise.  How can this hilarious, wonderful human being, who has lit up our faces in lounge rooms and cinemas across the world, and made us laugh so hard that the tears have rolled down our face, have been in such a dark, depressing place that the only way out was for him to take his own life?

And that’s just it.  Depression, actually mental illness in general, affects people from all walks of life.  Mental illness does not discriminate.  Even those that seem the happiest, those that have the ability to light up the room with their enthusiasm, and those that seem to have it all can be fighting their own battles beyond their exterior facade.

Suicide is alarmingly, one of the highest causes of death in the world.  Yet, unlike cancer, heart disease, SIDS, and other common illnesses where we raise awareness and we do everything we bloody well can to help our loved ones and the population in general, suicide is swept under the carpet.

Suicide is the “unknown”.  People are scared of what they don’t understand.  It’s easier to pretend it never happened, or to note the death of a loved one as “sudden” or “unexpected”.  Because, God forbid, if you drop that “S” word into the conversation, guaranteed there’s always someone that has an opinion about it.  So, on top of the guilt you already feel for not realising that your loved one was in such a horrible place, the guilt and the “what ifs” that run through your mind CONSTANTLY, you need to pretend like your son, your brother, your mother, your sister, died some other way, because otherwise people will judge you, and they’ll judge that family member, that friend, that you loved so dearly and couldn’t save.  They’ll judge them for being weak, they’ll judge them for being selfish... And neither of these statements are true.  It takes a fuckload of courage to step off that bridge, to pull that trigger, to swallow those pills, knowing that this will be the last time you take a breath, that you’ll never see your loved ones again, that once this has been done, it can not be undone.  Once you’ve pulled that trigger it’s all over.  Your decision is final.

Suicide is selfish.  Are you fucking kidding me?  Suicide is anything BUT selfish.  Firstly, unless you’ve been in a place where you have not been able to see a way out, unless you’ve been in a place where nothing looks to ever get better, unless you’ve been in a place where you TRULY believe that your family would be less burdened if you weren’t around, then do NOT make assumptions that suicide is selfish.

How about instead of making ridiculous assumptions, we listen?  We REALLY listen.  Instead of judging people who constantly think about it, instead of judging those who’ve tried it before and failed, instead of making assumptions that these people are just screaming for attention...  JUST LISTEN.

Listen to the people that have been there before, listen to those who have lost loved ones, listen to those who right this moment, need someone to listen.  Listen to those who need someone, anyone, to tell them that life will get better.  Someone to tell them that they are worth it, and that regardless of what they believe, the world would not be the same without them in it.  Someone to hold them and tell them it is okay to NOT be okay.

And this is where the system fails.  There are a very small amount of people in your life that you’ll feel comfortable opening up to when you’re in this state of mind.  And even then, the information you give them is a lot less intense than those emotions, those thoughts that are running through your head.  Then the guilt comes.  “I’ve just burdened them with my problems.  They have their own issues to deal with and I’ve just dumped all of my garbage on them.  Maybe they’ll be better off without me.  It’s not fair that I keep burdening them over and over again.  At least if I’m gone, they won’t have to deal with the burden again and again.  Sure they’ll be upset for a small while, but once the initial grieving to deal with my death is over, they’ll go back to their normal lives, and won’t have to worry about their crazy sister, daughter, friend.  And I won’t have to feel this pain any more.”

I wish I could say that I’d never had thoughts like that.  I wish I could say that I’d never even contemplated taking my own life.  But I can’t.  I have had thoughts like that, for many years at a time.  And there was a time where it felt like suicide was my only option.  I became ridiculously close to losing my life, and on more than one occasion. 

Seeking help wasn’t always an option.  The ironic thing is that if you present at Emergency telling them that you don’t trust yourself to control your suicidal urges at the moment, they’ll shrug it off and tell you that you’re just looking for attention, and to take these sedatives, go home and sleep it off.  That courage that you worked up for the previous three hours has been crushed in a matter of seconds.  That last hope of help you managed to reach out for, has been thrown in your face.  And right then, you make that decision that if you can’t go to a health professional for help, clearly you can’t get help anywhere.  The drugs they give you to take home may assist you in sleeping off this period of inability to give in to the urges to take your own life.  But next time, and most times, there is a next time, you think about taking yourself to Emergency, you think about reaching out for help, but then you remember last time.  You remember the shame you were made to feel, those feelings of little importance, and judgment.  So instead of reaching out your hand for help, you reach out your hand for that bottle of pills, for that gun, for that rope, and you truly believe that this is your only way out of the hell that exists inside your head.

Then, after all this, if you’re lucky enough, you’ll end up in Emergency.  You’ll be faced with those same nurses and doctors who made you feel ashamed because of your thoughts and feelings.  Those who judged you and continue to judge you, those who turned you away, because your illness wasn’t real, and there were patients who NEEDED this service more than you did.  If you thought that they’d understand now and things would change, think again.  Now you’re the idiot that tried to kill herself when all the other people in Emergency are fighting for their lives.  That patient next to you has been in a car crash, and is not expected to last the night.  And here you are, distracting them from attempting to save the life of someone who doesn’t want to die.  At that moment, the moment you notice their disgust, the moment you feel the shame that has been forced upon you, you make a decision that next time, you won’t fail and you won’t end up back here.

And that is where the problem lies.  In our society, even though the stigma around depression has greatly decreased, suicide is still so much, a taboo subject.  Clearly, like any illness, there are varying levels of symptoms, and whilst telling your friends that you’ve been depressed, and haven’t been able to eat and sleep is a fine conversation to have, if you dare mention that “S” word, if you dare mention how bad it is for you and how much suicide crosses your mind in a day, prepare to be judged.  If you mention that the reason you can’t sleep at night, is because you can’t stop thinking of ending your life.  The reason you can’t eat, is because you feel physically sick from the constant suicidal thoughts running through your mind.  If you dare mention these things, you’ll be labelled as an attention seeker who is exaggerating your illness.  You’ll be made to feel shame, on top of everything else you’re already feeling.  And as such, any attempts to reach out for help, will be no more.

Sure, we can just continue to pretend that suicide doesn’t happen.  We can pretend that nobody thinks about it.  And that there’s nothing we can do to stop people anyway.  But where’s that going to get us?  Where will we be in 20, 50, 100 years’ time?  At exactly the same place we are now.  At the exact same fucking place where it is not okay to reach out for help.  At the exact same fucking place where we constantly lose loved ones to something that could have been prevented.  At the exact same fucking place.

So why don’t we do something about it?  I don’t believe human kind can all be so stupid to believe that the current way is working.  Talking about suicide doesn’t make people decide to attempt suicide, any more that talking about cancer gives people cancer.  Talking about cancer, allows people to look out for the signs, and limit the severity if they notice them.  Talking about suicide will do the exact same.  Talking about suicide will bring it out of the shadows.  Talking about suicide will mean that the person consumed with suicidal thoughts and feelings won’t feel ashamed about talking about it.  That the person in this state, won’t feel ashamed to reach out for the help they so desperately need.  Talking about suicide will mean that the stigma will be reduced, and when your mother, your child, your dad, your best friend, get to a point where they don’t think they can go on any longer, they will be able to reach out for help.  In that split second, the fact that they can reach out for help without feeling ashamed, will save their life.  In that split second, that very fact, will save you from heartache of losing someone you love so much and never understanding why.  That split second, will save you from feeling such guilt and wondering if there was something you could have done differently, wondering why you didn’t figure out how bad it was for them, wondering “if only” for the rest of your life.

I’m not going to make out it’s an easy task, let’s face it, this is huge.  This is massive.  This is going to take a tremendous amount of funding.  The Government is going to have to step it up a notch so that people can afford help.  The Government would have to ensure that help was available to those in need, as so often, too often, patients are turned away due to a lack of available beds.  But isn’t it worth a try?

Keep turning your back on suicide, and sweeping it under the carpet if you like, but what you’re really doing is turning your back on loved ones and judging, dismissing their feelings.  I’m not telling you have to change your way of thinking, all I’m saying is, at some stage in your life, you’re likely to have a close friend or family member take their life, or at least attempt it, and in that moment, I want you to remember the decision you made right now, to keep this under the carpet.  The decision you’re making, which means that your friend and family member hasn’t been able to source the help they need.