Tag: depression

Daunting

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Trigger warning: suicidal thoughts

From where I stand, the future looks nothing but daunting. It’s hard to remember the good at the end of such a terrible year. Each disappointment and struggle seems like a heavy stone in the backpack of life that I insist on carrying around.

The weight has pulled me off the podium I stood on at the start of the year and dragged me to where I teeter on the edge. Will I be just one more casualty of this year? It seems more appropriate to close my eyes for good when it’s still a terrible year, instead of souring a new one.

People are looking toward 2021 with hope, so much hope. All I feel is dread. Once the new year starts, my life has nothing left for me to do but to be tugged along with the passing of time. I have a degree, a license, a job, a life, and a home. I’ve lived so much life in these years, I don’t feel accomplished, I just feel old.

My friends are all moving on. They have their own lives. They have relationships, pets, children, homes, and triumphs. They look forward to adventures, to new beginnings, and to a future. Joy and love fill their lives with so much colour. I’m glad for them and envious at the same time.

I can’t feel the colour in my life anymore. I’ve learned how to avoid disappointment by avoiding expectations and hope. Each day is a consistent defeat in itself, why add to it? Food is bland, tea is lukewarm, sleep is fitful, and warm is never warm enough.

A bleak winter’s day with thin sun and glaring brightness is my reality. Nothing has colour and everything is too bright to be enjoyed. The trees are bare and the wind whistles enough to chill my bones. It is silent except for my trudging foot steps. I pass houses with warm light shining from festively decked windows and see smoke from what I imagine to be a warm fire inside. These houses are not for me. I have never been inside one, nor will I ever know the love and joy bottled within them.

My chest aches with the cold, the emptiness, and the loneliness. It is as familiar to me as my breath and the beat of my heart.

Despair.

Sorrow.

Hopelessness.

I used to long and now I find myself longing no more. I don’t want to find the energy to enjoy life. I’d rather fade away into this bleak winter’s day and never trouble the sunniness of a new year.

Maybe in another lifetime I’ll see colour again and find the warmth. That, too, seems daunting but it’s the only hope I cling to, the hope that lies in death. Hope that death will be kind to me as this life hasn’t been.

I’d like to fade away in sleep, though rest is something I never find at night. Perhaps that is the secret to the kindness of death. Dying instead of sleeping doesn’t feel so daunting after all.

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.

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Hope this finds you well,

-L

If you or someone you know needs support right now, there is help available.

http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

Lonely or Alone?

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Holidays and family are supposed to bring joy, love, and hope. They are known for gatherings and good company. This year, people are going to extraordinary lengths to connect with loved ones from a distance to maintain any sense of normalcy.

Here I sit, surrounded by my little family, and I’m feeling more alone than maybe ever before.

Oh, the scorn I would feel if people knew how I was taking being able to gather for granted.

There’s so much pressure when you come back to family; pressure to assume the same roles and to put on the same shoes, to live behind the same façade, to do the same pretending.

“I’m happy.”

“Everything is fine.”

“I’m glad to be here.”

“I love the holidays.”

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

When you celebrate with the same family in your broken childhood home, it feels different as you get older. Everyone pretends they’re the same and that we can’t see all the cracks.

I’ve never felt so lonely- pretending I’m the me they know, when I’m the me that I know. I don’t feel comfortable around them. I don’t feel comfortable with myself. I am not happy. I’d rather be with people who love me for being me, who would love me if they really knew me.

I want to die but here I am celebrating trivial things and faking a smile.

My heart aches and my chest hurts from pure loneliness.

The forced joy of the season makes this feeling so much worse. Don’t get me wrong, this is nothing new to me. The global circumstances just make the guilt bigger too. How dare I feel this way when I’m so fortunate?

I’ve come full circle to where it’s truly a pain to live again. I’ve been here before. It’s almost as if all the work I’ve done to leave this place never happened. I’m stuck going in circles; the struggle is perpetual.

Am I lonely or am I alone?

Lonely. Always lonely.

Hope this finds you well,

-L

If you or someone you know needs support right now, there is help available.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Crisis Services Canada

These Lines

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Trigger warning: self-harm

When do I take really good care of myself?

When do I make sure I’ve showered? When do I tuck myself in to bed? When do I give myself grace? When do I feed myself and drink hot cups of green tea? When do I brush my teeth? When do I wash my face and apply moisturizer? When do I lotion my body and feel okay in my own skin? When do I take deep breaths and breathe in peace? When do I put on clean, safe clothes?

When I look down and see these lines. These lines I put on my own body. These thin, neat, red lines. These lines drawn across my thigh by my own hand.

Only then can I find it within me to take good care of myself. Someone has to.

Hope this finds you well,

-L

If you or someone you know needs support right now, there is help available.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Crisis Services Canada

The Me I Know- pt. 2

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There’s the me I try to be; the good friend, the kind daughter, the responsible sibling, the honest citizen.

Then there’s the me I know.

There’s the me inside my head. The me who doesn’t always want to live. The me who flakes on her friends. The me who drinks to escape. Bisexual me. The depressed me. The anxious me. The suicidal me. The introverted me. The self-harming me. The me who needs to be in control. The me who lives in the past. The incomplete me. The me who lies.

I live a different life than the me inside my head does. I see me when I can’t get out of bed, when I can’t make myself shower for a week; the me who can’t bear to wash the dishes. I see me when I pull away from my friends and avoid making plans. I see me when I isolate myself from people who care about me because I feel unworthy. I see me when I reach out to people because I feel like I’ll fade away without the attention. I see me when I skip meals and when I binge eat. I see me when I’m having a panic attack. I see me failing. I see me fading away. I see myself judging others. I see myself drowning.

I see the child me who just wanted to be loved. I see the kid me trying to compromise with divorced parents. I see the young me who raised her siblings. I see the teenage me who just wanted to fit in. I see the adult me who kept trying to die. I see the naïve me who was raped at 19. I see student me who failed classes because I couldn’t get out of bed. I see me now, still trying to referee my family and putting myself in the middle. I see the me who can’t fit into any of my clothes anymore.

I see the me who desperately wants to connect with others but who spends my life hiding from others.

The me who just wants somebody to see me, while hoping nobody actually sees me.

Nobody else sees the me that I know.

Hope this finds you well,

-L

Versions of Me- pt. 1

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How many versions of me are there out in the world? Clichés tell me that there’s a different version of me in the minds of everyone I’ve ever met.

There’s the daughter me; the one who’s broke and the perpetual student. The one with the worst luck and the need to over-schedule family events.

There’s the sister me; the oldest, the bossiest, the unluckiest. The one who has it together. the one who lives in organized chaos.

There’s the Christian me; the one who’s a good example, a mindful person, and a cheerful soul. The one who loves to sing and uplift others.

There’s the student me; the one who can’t study, the one who hands things in at 11:59, the one who lives on coffee. The one who takes charge of group projects. The student advocate. The national board of directors’ member.

There’s work me; the one who collaborates and compromises. The one that’s always on time. The attentive and helpful one. The one who works well with everyone.

There’s friend me; the one who texts back quickly and is always available. The one who is up late. The one who stress bakes. The one who carries others. The single one.

There’s social media me; the one who posts irregularly. The social advocate. The liberal. The one who wants more orange in politics, the pro-choice and pro-pharmacare one. The healthcare advocate. The family-centred one.

Then there’s the me I know.

Hope this finds you well,

-L

Where We Find Ourselves Now

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I grew up reading dystopian fiction. It did nothing to prepare me to be living in one. I loved it because it was escapism but relatable enough to my reality.

Like many Harry Potter fans, the epilogue broke my heart. I knew that this was not how wars turned out. This is not how life wears on people. There isn’t just a clear cut ending with everybody living in peace.

Trauma, war, and dystopia connect to the same feelings and circumstances: grief, depression, addiction, PTSD, anger, disassociation, loneliness, abandonment, irregular attachment, mental illness, loss, despair, and resilience.

I’ve read of kingdoms falling, of citizens dissolved into sides and divided into factions, of heartbreak and loss, of revolution, and of despair.

I’ve spent most of my life dreaming of dying and a few years trying. Battling to survive while trying to die is nothing new to me. The despair, loneliness, and isolation have been my constant companions.

This year has slowly evolved from the best I’ve ever felt, to accepting a new normal, to leaving me more than two steps backward. I worked hard to prepare for my future and to plan one after so many years of not wanting one.

The end of this year truly feels like the lowest and the most barren.

How did we find ourselves here?

How do we make sure we can leave again?

Hope this finds you well,

-L

Lately

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Lately I’ve been feeling discontented, disengaged, and discouraged. I’m impatient but lazy, tired but never sleepy, and calm but overwhelmed. My mind is a mind of conundrums and paradoxes. I feel so detached from everything, like I’m watching myself live my own life.

I feel cold all the time, disinterested, and detached. I feel as though there is nothing connecting me to anything or to anyone.

I know they said freedom would come after finishing a degree but I’m not sure that this is what they meant.

Every night I go to bed because I’ve spent all day trying to feel more awake. I struggle to fall asleep, I lay awake for hours, I sleep fitfully and dream vividly, and wake up just as tired as I was when I went to sleep. The saga continues night after night.

During the days, I search for comfort and connection; I pet kittens and drink warm tea, I listen to good music and spend time creating.

It’s like I’m feeling everything at once but nothing at all. I’ve spent so much of my life wishing I was dead, but now I’m wishing I was alive.

Lately, I’ve been feeling lifeless while living.

Hope this find you well,

-L

What Self-Harm Was To Me

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*trigger warnings: self-harm, blood, graphic-ish description, depression, anxiety

 

 

I have come to the conclusion that it doesn’t matter if I can never comfortably wear bikini bottoms or short shorts ever again. My right thigh is crisscrossed in thin white lines, yes, the cliché term applies to me. Some are pink and are quite prominent but most are fine and white; some have even almost disappeared but the more you look, the more you see.

I started self-harming when I started university and began my journey towards my nursing degree. It felt like my anxiety and depression were overwhelming me; like someone was sitting on my chest all the time. I was thinking of 60 thoughts per second but couldn’t hold onto one long enough to finish thinking it or to process it; much like I imagine a swarm of bees trapped in my head would feel like- just as busy and chaotic, and as loud.

I have been on Tumblr for a long time and have seen post after post of self-harm and cutting and all of which that entails. So I used my tweezers to take apart a disposable razor. Since I was in nursing school, I took alcohol swabs and cleaned the blade, washed my hands, and cleaned my leg as well. I put on some music that fit my mood, psyched myself up, and made the first cut.

The first slice was like taking a deep breath of fresh air. Finally. All my swirling thoughts went quiet and my focus narrowed down to just the task at hand. The cut was timid and shallow and ironically, I knew I could do better. I continued to make thin, precise, red lines in columns down my thigh.

The preparation and organization, the neat and clean end result, and the endorphins are what drew me to this to settle my mind. It felt like I had been searching for something to bring me calm and I finally found it, here, in my bedroom with bloody kleenexes and sad music. It provided me with a feeling of clarity like I had never felt before.

The subsequent days, when the marks were fresh, I did not have to make more because just pressing on them was enough to keep the buzz and the noise of my own thoughts at bay.

The feeling of being in complete control was intoxicating. I have had many instances of not being in control in my life and this felt like I could reclaim pieces of myself and like I could be an overcomer instead. Nothing else in the world mattered outside of these lines, my steady hand, clarity, and control.

I never self-harmed to try and end my life, those were different actions entirely. This was all about control for me. It was all about chasing the feeling of finally being able to breathe again. I was never angry, it was never an action of self-hatred, and I never went deeper than what would cause a small scar: one thin, inch-long mark at a time.

Some people drink, others use substances, some use sex, others use therapy, some can use avoidance. I used self-harm to cope. When I was restless or overwhelmed or stressed or any similar feeling, I knew I could find a moment all to myself and it would lead me to peace… as peaceful as deliberately cutting into your own skin for endorphins can be.

I suffered from insomnia and nightmares almost every night and rarely slept for more than 3-4 hours, usually from 3 or 4am to 7am; once I knew that dawn was coming soon and there was a chance for me to be safe when I woke up. The nights after self-harming I was also able to sleep, to truly rest. It was an escape in more ways than one.

The morning after self-harming, I always did it at night, I did feel guilty and shameful. Obviously, as a healthcare provider and as an adult, I knew better. I knew all about alternate coping methods. I knew behaviours that could replace self-harm. I could tell you all about self-care and harm reduction. The guilt and shame and the knowledge were never strong enough to outweigh the freedom and peace I was finding.

Gradually, it went from days between each column, then to weeks, soon to months. Now it has been close to a year since I last made any cuts. I went to therapy every week for months, and then every other week. It has been one year and five months since I started going to free counselling offered at my university. I found a family doctor I trusted and a medication that works for me. I have a best friend who will do anything for me and I for her. For the first time that I can remember I feel in control of my own life, my own choices, and my own thoughts. My mental health has actually done a complete 180 degree turn and has stayed that way. There are consistently more good days than bad days. It has been more than a year since I last attempted suicide. It gets better. I never thought I’d be able to say those words and I find myself planning for a future that I never planned on having.

It gets better.

 

If you or someone you know needs support right now, there is help available.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Crisis Services Canada

 

Hope this finds you well,

-L

 

The Future I’ve Never Wanted

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Trigger warning: suicide, depression, self-harm, suicidal ideation

 

 

It’s hard walking the journey of life while suicidal. I generally refer to myself as being “passively suicidal” so as not to worry the ones I love but the thoughts are always there. I can be smiling at you or laughing at the story you’re telling me but still be thinking about the poem I want to be read at my funeral or which day of the week I’d like to die.

I had my first suicidal thought when I was 15 and have had them off and on ever since. I have many thoughts swirling around in my head at all times and one or more is always about my death. When will it be? Who will miss me the most? Where did I put my funeral planner? Did I remember to write down the latest version of my passwords? Is my house clean enough for people to come and pack up my things? What if I just walked in front of that car? Should I just jump off this overpass? Who do I want to connect with one last time before I go? These thoughts are there all the time. I dream about them, I wake up with them, I contemplate them through the day, and I fall asleep to them.

Nothing quiets my mind like planning my funeral. I have a planner filled with names of who I want to be contacted specifically and invited to my funeral. I have written my eulogy. I have the playlist I want to be played while people are coming in and leaving. I have the name of the funeral home and their contact information. I have my cremation plans and suggestions for my headstone. I have a letter written that I would like to have read at my funeral. I have suggestions for catering and for location. I have all of my banking information together, my student loan paperwork, and copies of my driver’s license and health card and etc. I don’t want to feel like a burden, even in death, and these choices can be overwhelming for others to make in the midst of grief.

I would love for people to be able to gather, to spend time missing me while being able to grieve in a safe space surrounded by people who are all feeling the same. I hope that my funeral is able to be streamed as I have far-away friends and for many, attending a funeral gives closure, which can be hard to come by in deaths by suicide. I hope that they can find the time to laugh and to reminisce while together, near or far. I hope they tell stories of me. I struggle with feeling loved and imagining my funeral makes me feel like I’d be loved and missed and that is why I cling to the planning.

The general assumption is that as kids grow into teenagers and teenagers mature into young adults, they will have imagined a future. In this future, they have an idea of their ideal career, ideal home, ideal partner, and ideal lifestyle. The classic “house with a white picket fence” dream. I have never planned a future for myself. I have spent my entire life hoping that I wouldn’t have one.

 

If you or someone you know needs support right now, there is help available.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Crisis Services Canada

 

Hope this finds you well,

-L

 

Note: I wrote this months ago. Since then my mental health has taken almost a complete 180 turn for the better. I have more good days than bad days. I can now say that it truly does get better.