It’s been months since I’ve had a truly good day, lots of okay days, thanks to my wife, but no days where I don’t think “You should end it. Today.”
Somewhere along the way, I picked up a coping method to keep myself alive: My “72 Hour” Rule. You’re going to kill yourself? Fine, but there’s a 72 hour waiting period. Do whatever. Plan it, buy supplies, make sure your affairs are in order, but you can’t kill yourself for 3 days. You’ve lived this long, what’s 3 more days? I’m not even saying you have to get out of bed – Just don’t die, that’s all I ask.
But there’s a caveat…
If at, any time, for any reason, I think I might just be able to go on for more than those 3 days, the wating period restarts.
I used to get close. I don’t anymore. Everyday, my wife reminds me life is worth living. She doesn’t even know she does it, and I don’t know how to tell her that, in the time I’ve known her, she’s saved my life nearly every day.
But I’m still afraid of myself. I’m afraid that, one day, the voice inside of me, my own traitorous inner voice, will tell me to do it, to end it all, and I won’t wait 3 days.
My family thinks I’m afraid of heights, and I encourage this. They help keep me away from situations with heights. I tell them I’m specifically afraid of unsecured heights, but I’m okay on, say, rollercoasters because it’s secure.
But I’m not afraid of heights. I’m afriad of myself, and afraid I won’t wait 72 hours.
11 comments
I think that is a pretty good rule you have. The 3 day rule. I bet if everybody would adopt that there would be a lot less suicides and suicide attempts. Because well we can all get into moments when we think there is no reason to live. But if we just hang in there for some time. It can get much much better. I have had some suicide attempts. I do feel like I waited as long as I could before I tried it. But well. Anyway I am here. Were all here. I think we all should try to live. Your wife sounds like a good woman to be helping you overcome this. I wish I had a wife that reminded me that life is good everyday. Hang in there.
Thank you.
I had a similar rule but the time span is six months.
I’m amazed that you could hold your wife in such high esteem yet consistently decieve her about how depressed you are. When you go she is going to blame herself in triplicate for not noticing any sign of your depression. It will probably destroy her. (Or am I misreading your post? She knows you’ve been a hair’s breadth away from killing yourself?)
But you say you don’t get really close lately. That’s good. Yet you fear an impulsive act. That’s bad. That’s really bad.
I notice you haven’t mentioned why you feel so compelled to seek dissolution. Perhaps something you’ve never spoken to anyone about?
yea,we are all here except for the ones who are not, wish i had a wife or a partner like that also and toooooo
gosh !!!!! smith you are so intuitive and smart to hear and see people so well, my hat is off to you
She knows I suffer from depression. I was upfront very early on in our relatronship. I told her I like to make people laugh and feel good. I told her I like to draw comics, do magic tricks, and tell jokes, because they make people happy. I told her that if I make people happy, I feel like it might be worth sticking around. The happiness I bring to others isn’t the only metric by which I measure my self-worth, but it’s defenitely one of the more important ones.
I don’t get up every morning and announce to her that I had suicidal thoughts before managing to empty my bladder, although lately that’s true more often than not. Still, almost every day she tells me I make her happy, so maybe she does know what she does for me.
I honestly wish I knew why I’ve spent more than half of my life with these on-again-off-again desires to end myself. I just know that the older I get, the fewer days I have that I don’t feel suicidal, and the more critical my self-talk is. Even on an otherwise great day, my inner voice says to kill myself, because why not go out while I feel good, better than ending miserable, right?
There’s no event or trauma that has me set on ending myself. Just a feeling that grows as the years go by that, a continuing realization that I don’t love myself, or even particularly like myself. The fact that I love people who love me somehow makes me like myself less, like I’m selfish for having tricked people into caring for me.
I suspect that has more to do with nature than nurture, as I’m at the end of 3 generations of depression diagnoses, with 4 out of 6 of my closest ancestors having sought treatment for depression or similar mental illness.
Of course, despite the indicators that my depression is an inherited trait, I have a had time believing that the genes, whether expressed directly or trigged as an epigenetic phenomenon, carrying a “self-destruct” order would have thrived through uncounted generations of my ancestry. You’d think they’d do a better job of removing themselves from the genome.
I don’t tell everyone how bad it really is all the time, but my wife, my parents, my siblings, my friends, and my boss all know I suffer from depression, and that things get pretty rocky for me sometimes. Before I was married, 24 hours of silence from me usually got me a welfare check from my loved ones. Often, it came with a home cooked meal, or a cup of coffee, or an unexpected movie night with my friends.
I’m loved, and I know it. I don’t understand why I feel like I do. Treatment hasn’t made much difference. I’ll keep on treading water, and hopefully someday I’ll like myself enough to no longer wish to seek dissolution.
(Sorry for rambling. I hope it’s maintained some semblance of coherent narrative.)
Good narrative!
Google this book, buy it, meditate upon it, and have your wife read it. Stick with it and in two years you will be cured. (If you want to.)
F*CK FEELINGS: One Shrink’s Practical Advice for Managing All Life’s Impossible Problems
How do I know this? I don’t. I’m completely pulling this one right out of my ass. I have a hunch.
If it doesn’t work after two years and you can find me on SP then I will buy the book off you.
When I was 16 I used to meditate in front of a book by Henry Hay while palming coins. Great stuff.
Just ordered it from Amazon.
You are a man of action. Good luck!
I very much look forward to hearing about how you conquered your fear if heights. 😉
Gry, I think it’s admirable that you’re fighting to stay alive for the sake of your loved ones. I’m sure your suicidal feelings will fade with time. I’m very happy for you; having a family is a wonderful thing. I can only imagine.
I have a similar rule. Mine is 24 hours.