Earlier this week, a friend posted a link to Hyperbole and a Half's post on depression (here), and something in it struck home. Every word, every sentence, every bit of it was what I go through on a daily basis.
It is hard for most people to understand how soul-sucking depression is. Everything seems muted, dull, less shiny. What once entertained us now sits in corners collecting dust; those who we call friend drift away because we retreat into ourselves. We go through the motions of eating, sleeping, working, waiting for something to get better, but knowing it won't.
Reaching out is hard, because we do not think anyone will understand what we are going through. We fear that people will look down on us because we aren't normal or right in the head.
And you know what? Sometimes we are right.
We are constantly told everything will be okay, that everything will work out in the end. Well-meaning friends suggest finding hobbies, family members encourage us to go out and meet people.
They don't understand that none of it matters to us, the broken, the depressed, the lonely. We are trapped in a prison that has no walls, no doors, no guards. There seems to be no escape from the monotony, the apathy.
To some of us, there is no light at the end of the tunnel. Our mental walls collapse and the only way to end the pain is to end it all, because who would miss us? We don't fit in with our families, our friends don't understand us (if we have any friends left at all), and our beloved pets would be better off with people who would play with them.
So we give up.
People tell me all the time that suicide is the easy way out, that living is hard. From our point of view, living is easy because we're just existing and going through the motions. Making a conscious choice to end our lives is hard, following through is even harder. We are consumed by pain that never seems to end, and we just want to rest.
Since I tried to kill myself in March, my life has seen some improvement. I am seeing a psychiatrist on a regular basis, and a therapist weekly. Medications have helped stabilize me, balance out my mood, but I'm still far from whole and normal(ish).
I have good days where I can clean, cook delicious meals, talk and laugh with my friends, and I have bad days, where I just curl up on the couch and cry, ignoring the world. Today was a better day, but who knows what tomorrow will bring.
Showing posts with label suicide. Show all posts
Showing posts with label suicide. Show all posts
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Sad Songs and Lullabies
Sunday night, I tried to end my life.
I was overwhelmed with past decisions and felt my life was spiraling out of control. I tried to drown my sorrows and pain with a handful of pills and some tears. I then went out to the car with my favorite teddy bear and cried.
A bit later, I realized that I didn't want to die. I called the Ex-Boyfriend (previously the Boyfriend), crying, sobbing, repeating over and over, "I don't want to die, I don't want to die."
He rushed home and took me to the emergency room, where I spent 28 hours feeling like a freak show. When a person overdoses, they can either pump the stomach or give the patient activated charcoal to absorb whatever medication they took if they are unsure if it has been digested.
The ER staff went with option B for me.
After several unsuccessful attempts at drinking it (and spewing it all over the walls), a feeding tube was inserted into my nose. Three times. I fought them the first time, there was no numbing and a good deal of pain. They switched to my other nostril after realizing my nose had been cauterized at a young age. The second time, they numbed the back of my throat and nose and slid it in, only to discover they had slid it into my lungs. It finally made it into my stomach, where the activated charcoal was pumped in and left to sit.
I was then left to wait until the hospital's counselor/shrink/etc. was available to talk with me. Four hours later, the decision was made to admit me involuntary to a mental health facility, as required by North Carolina law.
I arrived at the hospital at 10:30 p.m. Sunday night and did not arrive at the facility until 2 a.m. Tuesday. I spent nearly 27 hours under watch, wearing only a paper gown.
The three days I spent at the facility was life-changing, to say the least. The nurses and staff treated me like a human being, albeit a human being under constant supervision. The other patients were there for a variety of reasons - schizophrenia, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, etc. Some handled it well, participating in therapy, etc., while others fought and demanded immediate release.
I will never forget that feeling of helplessness. Every movement monitored, recorded, observed. Staying in a small room for 12 hours a day, with four hours for therapy/group activities and eight for sleeping. Having to check out toiletries between 6 and 7 a.m., sleeping with my door open and bed checks every 15 minutes. Spending hours upon hours staring at the wall or coloring, because there was nothing to do.
It was strange going home; though I only spent three days there (four total, including the hospital), it felt like a lifetime. I was overwhelmed when I got home, being able to open doors whenever I wanted. Privacy when showering. Choosing my own food.
I will say this now: I will never attempt it again. Not just for the experience of attending a mental health facility, but how I was treated by others on the outside, including medical professionals.
I realize that working in the emergency room can be difficult, even more so if you work the third shift. I realize that you see people from all walks of life, all ages, all needing some sort of care. But what these people need most is compassion, especially those that try to end their lives. We are lost, lonely, confused. We think we are worthless and unloved. Burdens to society and to those we care about.
We come to you because we need help, whether we realize it or not.
To treat us with apathy and disdain only makes us hate ourselves more; we feel like burdens, drains, leeches. To tell us a procedure "isn't that bad" if you have never experienced it only makes us distrust you even more.*
To sit there and laugh about a mentally disturbed patient who was lying in bed drugged and handcuffed because he was a danger to himself and others is abominable. You have been entrusted with our lives, our mental well-being. How can we trust you if you mock us behind our backs?
*The young doctor who treated me Sunday night had received a feeding tube through his nose, it was standard practice at the medical school he attended. If you do not know what your patients are going through, how can you empathize?
I am aware that they deal with suffering, pain and death on a regular basis, that it drains the heart and soul. I am aware that the only thing you can do during those times is laugh, but if you must laugh about your patients, do so behind closed doors.
Additionally, if you are a nursing student visiting a mental health facility and choose to interact with the patients, please show some tact and decorum when talking with them. Do not call them "nutty" to their face, or tell them you do not want to "worsen" their condition by winning a game.
You do not know the circumstances around their arrival, or what their illness is. You do not know if they are bipolar, schizophrenic, manic or going through withdrawal. You do not know what insults they have put up with by those who do not understand their condition.
So do not insult them to their faces.
According to the CDC, an estimated 25% of adults in the U.S. reported having a mental illness in 2003 (source). As of 2010, there were 308 million people in America, 231 million adults, so nearly 60 million Americans suffer from mental illness. While some of the numbers are skewed to the elderly (you are more likely to be depressed in a nursing home), reported lifetime diagnosis of depression were 15.7% (source).
The NCHS states:
Open up Facebook. Look at all your friends. Out of the 100 people you know, 15 to 25 suffer from mental illness, either depression, bipolar disorder, etc., and you might not even know it.
They didn't ask for this, they didn't ask for their mind to betray them, to lead them down dark and twisted roads, feeling more and more isolated. They didn't ask for society to look down upon them because they see things that no one else sees, or their emotions are taking a twirl on the Ferris wheel. All they want is to be understood and loved.
Don't blame them when they want to end it all, don't walk away because you don't know how to handle it. Yes, it's hard dealing with the constant drama and emotion. It's even harder on us, because you only see a fraction of what goes on inside our heads.
Just hold us, comfort us, tell us that we are loved, that we are special and deserving of life. Talk about the happy times. Ask what you can do to help.
And above all: treat us with respect.
I was overwhelmed with past decisions and felt my life was spiraling out of control. I tried to drown my sorrows and pain with a handful of pills and some tears. I then went out to the car with my favorite teddy bear and cried.
A bit later, I realized that I didn't want to die. I called the Ex-Boyfriend (previously the Boyfriend), crying, sobbing, repeating over and over, "I don't want to die, I don't want to die."
He rushed home and took me to the emergency room, where I spent 28 hours feeling like a freak show. When a person overdoses, they can either pump the stomach or give the patient activated charcoal to absorb whatever medication they took if they are unsure if it has been digested.
The ER staff went with option B for me.
After several unsuccessful attempts at drinking it (and spewing it all over the walls), a feeding tube was inserted into my nose. Three times. I fought them the first time, there was no numbing and a good deal of pain. They switched to my other nostril after realizing my nose had been cauterized at a young age. The second time, they numbed the back of my throat and nose and slid it in, only to discover they had slid it into my lungs. It finally made it into my stomach, where the activated charcoal was pumped in and left to sit.
I was then left to wait until the hospital's counselor/shrink/etc. was available to talk with me. Four hours later, the decision was made to admit me involuntary to a mental health facility, as required by North Carolina law.
I arrived at the hospital at 10:30 p.m. Sunday night and did not arrive at the facility until 2 a.m. Tuesday. I spent nearly 27 hours under watch, wearing only a paper gown.
The three days I spent at the facility was life-changing, to say the least. The nurses and staff treated me like a human being, albeit a human being under constant supervision. The other patients were there for a variety of reasons - schizophrenia, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, etc. Some handled it well, participating in therapy, etc., while others fought and demanded immediate release.
I will never forget that feeling of helplessness. Every movement monitored, recorded, observed. Staying in a small room for 12 hours a day, with four hours for therapy/group activities and eight for sleeping. Having to check out toiletries between 6 and 7 a.m., sleeping with my door open and bed checks every 15 minutes. Spending hours upon hours staring at the wall or coloring, because there was nothing to do.
It was strange going home; though I only spent three days there (four total, including the hospital), it felt like a lifetime. I was overwhelmed when I got home, being able to open doors whenever I wanted. Privacy when showering. Choosing my own food.
I will say this now: I will never attempt it again. Not just for the experience of attending a mental health facility, but how I was treated by others on the outside, including medical professionals.
I realize that working in the emergency room can be difficult, even more so if you work the third shift. I realize that you see people from all walks of life, all ages, all needing some sort of care. But what these people need most is compassion, especially those that try to end their lives. We are lost, lonely, confused. We think we are worthless and unloved. Burdens to society and to those we care about.
We come to you because we need help, whether we realize it or not.
To treat us with apathy and disdain only makes us hate ourselves more; we feel like burdens, drains, leeches. To tell us a procedure "isn't that bad" if you have never experienced it only makes us distrust you even more.*
To sit there and laugh about a mentally disturbed patient who was lying in bed drugged and handcuffed because he was a danger to himself and others is abominable. You have been entrusted with our lives, our mental well-being. How can we trust you if you mock us behind our backs?
*The young doctor who treated me Sunday night had received a feeding tube through his nose, it was standard practice at the medical school he attended. If you do not know what your patients are going through, how can you empathize?
I am aware that they deal with suffering, pain and death on a regular basis, that it drains the heart and soul. I am aware that the only thing you can do during those times is laugh, but if you must laugh about your patients, do so behind closed doors.
Additionally, if you are a nursing student visiting a mental health facility and choose to interact with the patients, please show some tact and decorum when talking with them. Do not call them "nutty" to their face, or tell them you do not want to "worsen" their condition by winning a game.
You do not know the circumstances around their arrival, or what their illness is. You do not know if they are bipolar, schizophrenic, manic or going through withdrawal. You do not know what insults they have put up with by those who do not understand their condition.
So do not insult them to their faces.
According to the CDC, an estimated 25% of adults in the U.S. reported having a mental illness in 2003 (source). As of 2010, there were 308 million people in America, 231 million adults, so nearly 60 million Americans suffer from mental illness. While some of the numbers are skewed to the elderly (you are more likely to be depressed in a nursing home), reported lifetime diagnosis of depression were 15.7% (source).
The NCHS states:
Antidepressants were the third most common prescription drug taken by Americans of all ages in 2005-2008 and the most frequently used by persons aged 18-44 years. From 1988-1994 through 2005-2008, the rate of antidepressant use in the United States among all ages increased nearly 400%.Source.
Open up Facebook. Look at all your friends. Out of the 100 people you know, 15 to 25 suffer from mental illness, either depression, bipolar disorder, etc., and you might not even know it.
They didn't ask for this, they didn't ask for their mind to betray them, to lead them down dark and twisted roads, feeling more and more isolated. They didn't ask for society to look down upon them because they see things that no one else sees, or their emotions are taking a twirl on the Ferris wheel. All they want is to be understood and loved.
Don't blame them when they want to end it all, don't walk away because you don't know how to handle it. Yes, it's hard dealing with the constant drama and emotion. It's even harder on us, because you only see a fraction of what goes on inside our heads.
Just hold us, comfort us, tell us that we are loved, that we are special and deserving of life. Talk about the happy times. Ask what you can do to help.
And above all: treat us with respect.
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