September is Suicide Awareness Month. While it is not an easy topic, suicide and depression are things that we cannot avoid talking about. Almost everyone has been affected by suicide, whether it be from losing a loved one or contemplating it personally, we have all seen the ugly demon front and center in our lives. This year, "To Write Love on Her Arms'" theme is "And I Kept Living." So, here's my story about how I did that, and the things I have faced along the way.
I have struggled with my own inner demons for several years now, and while it has been a long process, I am happy to say that I am feeling better than ever. If I hadn't had such a support system, I honestly don't know if I would be here to say how well things have been.
This isn't the first time I've mentioned my own battles with depression, however, I feel more exposed sharing my story than I care to admit. I was diagnosed with clinical depression when I was 14. I saw a psychiatrist, who decided along with weekly visits that I should start an anti-depressant. Unfortunately, I reacted horribly to the anti-depressant and actually got worse. I was now suicidal. So, obviously I was taken off of this medication, but they decided to try a different one. I don't actually know if this medication would've helped or not, because I was terrified of it. I took it for a few weeks, and noticed that I had gone from feeling a constant pain and uselessness to feeling absolutely nothing. I wasn't sad, but I wasn't happy either. I felt like a robot. My mom tried to tell me that it wasn't necessarily a bad thing, because my body was adapting to the new medication.
Of course, what does a 15-year old do when they're scared of what could happen? Exactly what you're probably thinking: I stopped taking the medication. This is probably one of the worst things I could have done, because of course I didn't talk to my doctor about slowly weening off of it, I just stopped taking it. I told everyone that I was still taking it, but of course it became pretty evident that I wasn't when the medication refills were not occurring as they should. I decided that I would rather be miserable with the chance of being happy sometimes than to feel nothing at all.
Misery can only last so long before you can't handle it anymore.
This is now the part of my story that I haven't shared with anyone. I got to the point where I made a pro/con list of reasons to even continue living. I even thought about what I would say in a note. I never attempted suicide, but I very seriously thought about it.
Ultimately, a part of me understood the impacts of dying. I mostly thought about what would happen if one of my siblings or my mom found me and how horrifying that would be for them. I didn't want to cause anyone else to feel the way I did. I was afraid. It wasn't easy, but I kept going.
Flash forward to today. I'm now 19, a sophomore at college, and probably the happiest I've been since that time. Sure, it isn't always easy. I am still fighting my depression constantly, but I've decided that it's a battle worth fighting. There are so many important milestones I would have missed out on. I would have missed knowing what the light at the end of the tunnel of a terrible darkness was like. I would have missed what are going to become the best days of my life.
Suicide is extremely difficult to talk about, and you're often left feeling raw and vulnerable (which is exactly how I felt writing this). However, talking about it is the best way to PREVENT it. I am trying to overcome the shame I feel, because I know I have nothing to be ashamed of. I now have a semi-colon tattoo (cliche, I know), but I love when people ask me about it, because it is a chance for me to spread awareness for the importance of mental health.
If you're reading this, know that someone out there loves you more than you will ever realize. Know that there are people who want to help you, and won't think anything less of you because of it. Know that you are important, even when you don't feel like you exist.
