It's Not What You Think

In light of the suicide of Robin Williams, there's so much chatter and "professional" opinions flying around about depression, anxiety, mental illness, and substance abuse.

Well, here's my experience...

Have you ever been lied to, found out the truth, tried to forgive, only to realize that the relationship will never be the same?

That's what happens in my head. My depression and anxiety lie to me about my abilities to cope and function.

Has anyone ever stood in your face for hours on end and relentlessly called you names and told you how unworthy you are and reminded you of every mistake you've ever made... but instead of little mistakes, they make them all out to be catastrophic? And no matter how much you cry and beg them to stop saying those things, and no matter how much you defend yourself and can logically throw proof at the accusations, you just can't stop hearing the bad stuff?

That's also what happens in my head. I build myself up, but can tear myself down in an instant.

Have you ever had an idea that you were positive would work, but everyone had a million reasons why it was a bad idea. And their reasons only seemed to serve them and doesn't solve or remedy your situation? Guilt, that's what you're left with, which only tailspins you into feeling more defeated.

That's what it's like to think about suicide.

I'm currently in therapy 3 times a week trying to reconcile everything in my head. I'm at a very severe point in my depression. My anxiety is keeping me from functioning properly. I've tried to "suck it up". I realize "everyone has problems". I'm not "weak". I'm not a "coward". I understand that "people love me" and I know I "would leave a mess". If everyone saying all those things about this disease could only comprehend how much we've swirled all those things around in our minds. I can physically feel the pain and agony my thoughts are causing. I'm consumed with trying to dig myself out of one of the darkest holes I've ever been in. I cry trying to get myself out of bed in the morning. My chest hurts constantly. My heart races. It's hard to breathe. My hair falls out. And I'm fighting to stay alive. There's nothing cowardly about this fight. And there's nothing weak about giving in and ending it all. I will acknowledge that it's a choice to end one's life, which indicates that there's another option. But to a depressed person, suicide becomes the lesser of two evils, the choice that will make the noise in one's head shut down. You have no idea how loud and chaotic it is in here.

I'm doing what I can for myself and my family right now. I've lost my way a little but I don't plan on giving up until I find the right road for us.

Stop judging. Stop voicing your harsh words. Be a friend instead. You can't stop someone who's determined to hurt themselves, but don't let the last words someone hears from you be harsh and unforgiving.