TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE
The meds stave off the spiraling thoughts:
Void, this part of me,
(that languid fluidity) of
“I will die by my own hand”—
if not today, someday.
But also the intensity, that fetid lustre
of that which glimmers ever brighter
because it will soon be lost...
I feel its absence intuitively, like
the way I know I’ve forgotten my keys
My heart managed to grow around
That fester, but now, I’m left a cavity—
I hope life may flood this atrophy.
If not today, someday.
Part the materialization of this sinking feeling i get sometimes, part a necessary release after Kate ***** and Anthony Bourdain's deaths by suicide. This morning, one of my teachers started a discussion about what we can do so that such tragedies can be prevented(they are preventable). I'll have been on Lexapro for 19 months on the twenty-fifth. I was put on this lifesaving medication after my suicide attempt the day after Thanksgiving. I had entered a toxic relationship with a man four years my senior, and I was pressured into dating, then having *** with him. I had been binge drinking every night for weeks, and once the alcohol ran out, I decided it that was time to end my life before it had the chance to even begin. I was saved, and I was able to recover more, and I have reached the point I am now.
The point is, I'm not here to spew worthless platitudes about "how precious life is", how "selfish you'd be", how "every person is beautiful". I know firsthand how seemingly meaningless and empty that **** is. I cannot tell you that "life is perfect", "I'm happy all the time", that I've "bought a house" or "have a job" or any of the conventional markers that have been sold to us that supposedly measure "success" and "happiness". But I can tell you that 19 months later, I have none of the garbage friends or the abuser which I had then. I haven't drank in months. I have not considered suicide in months. I find myself truly feeling joy, of laughing without abandon, of the most profound sense of love when I look into the eyes of my friends. At times, I feel unconditionally accepted.
Clinical depression has a way of deceiving you, telling you "I have only gotten worse and I will only get worse". That is the most terrible thing about the disease, that complete dearth of hope. But behavioral therapy, psychiatric medication and an ever-growing web of support have helped me in ways that I could not possibly describe, given a thousand years and an infinite number of stanzas. But, if you experience suicidal ideation, it is impossible to get better until you reach out for help. A doctor, a teacher, a trusted friend. Once you let someone know that you need outside resources, you can begin the long and arduous path to fulfillment. If anybody wants to message me with any questions or need someone to talk with, PLEASE send me a message. The social stigma around this topic needs to be obliterated, or we will lose more treasured, inimitable lives.
I'm begging you, please reach out if you are considering taking your own life. I am astonished by how far I've come, looking back. You deserve the same.