Hello my fellow survivors of deepression 🙂
If you were a superhero, or super sexy not so villain villain, who’s one purpose was to combat suicide and depression
What would be your super power and how would you use it?
I think of going to the hospital for help. Facing that humiliating moment when you tell them that you’re there not because you want to save your life but because you want to die. I think of the uncomfortable hours I will wait before the very busy nurse comes to talk to me. I know that when she does talk to me, we will be interrupted by several people for several reasons. Paperwork, room needs restocking, garbage needs emptying. Time is up. All of the things that harbor a good honest conversation. Yes these things will bother me, but if I say anything I will be documented as a “difficult” patient. This label will severely effect my treatment.
No matter though. I know that talking about this isn’t going to help. They won’t believe me. They will insist that I will feel better once I tell them my story. It’s a belittling approach from the start. Still, because I want help, because they are the professionals, I jump through the hoops that I am directed through. I tell them my story, cutting it into point form so that I can get it out in the half hour I am allotted. In that half hour I am to cover stories of multiple child molestations, child abandonment, rape, domestic abuse and 14 years of pain accompanied by 19 operations. Needless to say I’ll have to talk very fast to get even a fraction of the story out in 30 minutes. When they have listened for a half an hour the usual treatments that didn’t work before will be applied if not forced through ultimatum. “If you don’t take this medication, we can’t help you”. The adverse side effects I had last time I tried the medications will be ignored. I’ll fall through the cracks in the system. Again.
It’s not that they don’t try to help me, they really do. It’s the reality that there is no help. There is nothing more that can be done. They cannot tell me this. They cannot confirm my sense of hopelessness so they refer me, medicate me in ineffective ways. They do what they can to provide the illusion that change is coming soon. After 14 years of pain, their illusions don’t work anymore. I see through them and although I see their good intentions and good hearts, it pains me to say that despite all of their efforts, they have failed me. Leaves me thinking that some people just can’t be saved.
The experts say accept your pain. That I have not accepted mine. For me there is little difference between acceptance and defeat. What exactly does acceptance look like and how am I doing things wrong? No one can tell me this, they can only tell me that I have not accepted it. Somehow and somewhere I am doing things wrong, making it harder on myself. I have searched a million times over for that thing that will make this life a little more tolerable. No luck yet.
The struggle is there every day. Waking in extreme pain (the kind that makes you pass out) working hard to fight the depression and find the gift that pain brings. I modify my life around the pain, not pushing, not aggravating, accommodating always. I accept the damage to my body letting go of my dreams, setting aside many of my own standards. As I modify, so much life disappears.
I get proactive! I put the work in and redefine my identity and rebuild my life with different values. I’ve done this three times now. Each time watching my successes taken by another operation or poor turn in health. Stay chipper – rebuild. Find happiness again based on different values. Rinse and repeat. True this is ultimately the nature of life for anyone healthy or sick. But I have reached my limit. What is required of me is “not reasonable in any way.” My doctors words, not mine.
I’m tired now. I’m not sure if anything else really matters anymore. I’m tired. Such a simple phrase. One that most people will take lightly and dismiss.
Believe me! I am searching yet find nothing strong enough to hold me here. I worry so much for him. How it will effect him. We’ve been together for only three of the 14 years of pain. Not wanting to hurt him has kept me here for a long time. Even that is breaking now. How brutally unfair of me to use someone else as a reason to stay. No pressure on him right? For the most part I stay silent and don’t drag him into the depths of the abyss. He has no idea that right now he is the only thing I am clinging to. After all of these years dealing with pain I am a master of illusion.I present the life I want to live and not the one i am stuck in. Act as if – right. He knows that my pain gets the better of me, he does know I’m suicidal. I do communicate! Bless his healthy happy heart, he really just doesn’t understand what that means. He has zero experience with depression or suicide in his life or family. This suicide stuff might as well be a foreign language.
He loves me so much he won’t leave. He gets stuck between what is right and what is fair. The love he has for me makes him compensate for where the world failed me, where my parents failed me. He can see how much effort I put in, he respects it. He also sees that I am fighting some crazy odds and unusual circumstances. He tries to help.
There is no way he can succeed. The trap has been set. He’s caught in a game he can never win. He’s too loving to quit. As the years go by I see him get weaker. I see the callous scars building in the places where he was once strong. I see how my pain and my responses are destroying him. I think deep down we both know this can’t work. We want it to and so neither of us will let go. If I really love this man, I will set him free of me.
I’ve done my research and have the equipment now. People say it’s an easy way to go but I know that’s total crap. The body has a thousand fail safes to keep it alive. All of those fail safes trigger pain. There is no easy pain free way to die. I’m in for a rough few minutes but those minutes are the gateway to the end. I’ve been through more pain than most. I can take just a few minutes more if it guarantees a complete end. It can’t be worse than being awake for abdomen surgery. It can’t be. I’ve never done anything like it. With no tolerance to it, or anything else, it won’t take much. The part of my brain that regulates my breathing will go to sleep and so will I. I’ll never wake up again. Yes! This makes me sad but I am not afraid. The concept of death comforts me. The act of living in pain is what terrifies me. I have done this long enough. No one gets to say I didn’t give this life of pain an extremely good shot 🙂
It’s obvious that I don’t want to die, I certainly wouldn’t be here talking about everything if I did. I would really love some help. The problem lies in the lack of help. I have exhausted the resources. I’ve knocked on every door twice. I’ve rebuilt three times, each rebuild bringing a slightly less satisfying existence. This sin’t just a case of me being in a weak moment. This is a legitimate case of “what can be done?”
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