i am, by all accounts, a survivor, an old school member of this place, and it gets better it gets so much better that i drink, just co i can fall asleep, that my writing talent, the book im going to write, is used up here and on members via email. my way out is a book i can never write, but hay, it gets better,it always gets better…
it gets better
Yesterday I woke up sad and crying. Two hours later my period started. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, where my period coincides with a drastic turn in mood. Maybe birth control would help?
I spent so much of yesterday crying, just hurting so much. And today’s been pretty much the same, except I’m alone in the house. I tried to do the things that are supposed to help; I meditated (have been somewhat regularly), I did some exercise, I’ve tried to distract myself, forced myself to do some chores and some homework. But it doesn’t go away or lessen. It hurts so much.
It hurts to be depressed.
It hurts to have lost experiences, opportunities, to lose the general ability to function due to a decade of depression (and anxiety).
It hurts to have lost the best thing to ever happen to me, my fiance.
It hurts that my fiance no longer wants me, and that after only four months she’s doing “okay.”
It hurts to lose my dreams of a family and now not knowing if I’ll ever have that, if I’ll ever be able to have kids.
It hurts to cry alone, when there used to be someone who always cared.
It hurts to have the person who always cared, to suddenly being someone who probably just pities me, who thinks I need hospital treatment.
It hurts to exist.
Everyone keeps saying it gets better. But that’s what I was told ten years ago. Six years ago, four years, now… saying it gets better without a timeline is meaningless. If I’m not going to be happy until my 97th birthday, why bother? A decade is long enough, I don’t know how much more I can take.
The date is January 19th, 2016. I scroll through my email folders looking for old emails to delete and I come across a strange message saved in the bottom of a website folder.
[the suicide project]
Memories flooded back to me instantly. I log on and see that I’m an enigma. Just one draft from November 26th, 2013.
“Just don’t worry.”11/26/2013
I can’t help it. My brain is defective.
My name is Ashley. At the time of joining this website I was 18 years old and suffering through the worst depression that I had ever endured. The DEPO birth control shot was to blame, of course, but that just made it worse. I still have depression and bad anxiety, but I’m alive. I may relapse once or twice every new months, but I’m alive. I’m still alive, and I’m thankful for every moment.
If anything, I hope that this tiny message gives someone the push they need to carry on. I rolled my eyes when people said “It gets better.” Please listen to them, it does get better. If you live, no matter who you are, I will be happy. Know that when you think no one loves you, people do. Tell someone, tell someone. Because the people we least expect to be suicidal are the ones that die the next day. You are not a mistake, you are not broken, you will survive this and everything will get better each day. You will have your good days and your bad, but you will never know that unless you survive.
i just need someone to hug me and tell me it gets better.. please.. this hell is killing me
the bravest thing I’ve done thus far in my life was choosing to stay. to stay, and to keep fighting! life is messy, and it is damn hard, but you know what I also found out a rather hard way? it is REALLY worth it. so don’t give up just yet! waiting around to see if it’d get better was the best decision I’ve ever made. because believe me when I say; it gets better.
and when I say that it gets better, I’m not trying to sugercoat anything. I don’t believe you’ll wake up one day, and your sadness will magically have vanished forever. I’m saying that there will be a time where your sadness is not so constant. there will be a time when your sadness doesn’t feel quite so heavy. goodness, there will be a time where you don’t feel sad at all, if you just stick around to wait for it. sure, there will be days where the world feels grey and dark and hopeless. but when I say it gets better, I mean that some day, there will be an awful lot less of them than there are now!
so just remember;
breathe. you’re going to be okay. breathe and remember that you’ve been in this place before. you’ve been this sad and anxious and scared, and you’ve survived. breathe and know that you can survive this too. these feelings can’t break you. they’re painful and debilitating, but you can sit with them and eventually, they will pass. maybe not immediately, but sometime soon, they are going to fade and when they do, you’ll look back at this moment and laugh for having doubted your resilience. I know it feels unbearable right now, but keep breathing, again and again. this will pass. I promise it will pass. ?
I’m a teenage drop out, nobody cares about me. I feel horrible and trapped and I’ve been here before, it gets better for awhile, but will always get worse. I’m sick of it, I just rather not exist.
My seasonal job will open soon, I’ll get my money for my method, and I will be good to go.
All my life I’ve struggled against the pain. I’ve wondered what was wrong with me. I’ve carried the demon around for so long I almost forget that other people don’t. I first felt truly suicidal when I was 8 years old. I hated life so much. I don’t think I realized people liked and loved me because I felt so worthless on the inside. We moved when I was 10, and I thought geography would cure me. The pain only got worse with puberty. I even wrote a story about committing suicide, but the school never addressed it.
In 9th grade, a friend died in a car wreck. My emotions were confusing: the jealousy trumped the despair, I am ashamed to admit. I overdosed later that year. Accidental, but I came out of my coma three days later furious. How could I survive? Yet my parents refused to get me psychiatric help. As always, suck it up and deal with it! So I did, but I never forgot how freeing that brief reprieve from life was. I never will.
Fast forward 6 years. High school and college were a nightmare. To cope with the pain, shame, and worthlessness, I picked up an addiction to alcohol and diet pills as well as anorexia. I slapped on a smile and was the best little girl in the world. I didn’t know what was wrong, but I knew I was a time bomb, complete with alcohol poisoning, mixed drug intoxication, and malnutrition. And other bad habits.
After college, I took my self-destruction to a new level. I had my first mixed episode and started getting panic attacks. I became so anorexic I had a stroke and nearly a heart attack. I went into the hospital for the first time for suicidality, alcoholism, and anorexia. While there I learned to cut. A year and three hospitalizations a later, I was sober and nourished but in so much pain I could barely function.
I embraced my underlying death wish, and I renewed my subscription to Crazy Land by going back to anorexia, alcohol, cutting, and pills. I had two incidents of mixed drug intoxication overdoses, and both times cursed myself for surviving. I ended up in the ER a different time for heart arrhythmia, and again cursed myself. I got so depressed, I couldn’t get any lower without dying and finally realized something. If strokes, alcohol poisoning, overdoses, and starvation weren’t enough to kill me, death wasn’t meant to be.
So, I settled for life. And I got a degree to teach children with emotional and behavioral disorders. Why? Because if anyone understands pain and insanity, I do. If something I do helps a teen who is fighting to stay afloat, my purpose is served. I have a purpose. It keeps me alive today. It brings me joy.
But the pain lingers. The shame, guilt, failure, angst…it lingers on. I am 34, married, professionally successful, well-medicated, sober, and abstinent from eating disorders, but I still hurt. I still panic. I still cut; it is my secret coping mechanism. I teach high school, and I see the teenaged girls with cuts on their arms. I tell them it gets better. I am a huge hypocrite. I laugh about being weird and crazy. People don’t realize I’m not exaggerating. It’s not really that funny.
I read another story where someone said they always knew they will someday die of suicide. I suspect this to be true for me. Right now? Today? No. The bipolar monster is laying low. I have a purpose that I feel strongly about: working with the younger versions of me. But I know that someday the pain will finally get the best of me… But for now I am ok.
Last time I posted on here I was 16 now I’m 19. I still struggle with depression and anxiety I have been diagnosed with major depressive disorder and panic disorder. I have been to a psych ward and everything. I have overcome my self harm. And now I have a wonderful fiance. I guess I just had to wait for things to come to me. No I’m not 100% okay but I’m not on the same state of mind I used to be. I still have the scars from my 16 year old self to remind myself what it was like before. It is better now. Just wanted to give an update
I cannot believe it but I’m at the point where I’m just willing to accept my death. if it comes tomorrow, day after, in the next 5 years even better!Some people say it gets better. for me it never has and now that i’m tired of hoping and trying to work so it does. I am willing to accept that death will be better than this existence. i dont know about afterlife, rebirth and shit. what happens then is another chapter but for now.. Death! i welcome you!
I can’t stop cutting myself. I honestly am sitting on my bed with a knife in my hand cutting away at myself like it’s nothing, but I’m used to it. And I’m so sorry, but I have to admit, I like the way it feels. I love the way I feel the shearing pain of blade against skin as the voices that overtake me slowly fade into a whispering echo in the back of my mind. I feel the stickiness of the blood. I can’t stop. I don’t know why I try. No one can help me and I know that. Don’t tell me it gets better, because that’s crap. It doesn’t. Just tell me the truth. Please. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore…
The past 2 years have been hell for me, I cut myself, purged, and binged. The more I did it, the more I realized what I did to myself only made my problems worse. I hit rock bottom when I tried to kill myself… but a song saved me. I realized how stupid I was being and went back to writing music– something I’ve done as long as I can remember. As of today, I have dozens of songs written down and I have 12 about those 2 years that I’m actually going to record and put on an album someday. It really does get better; You just have to find your escape from reality–whether it be singing, writing stories, painting, playing sports or what not–it WILL help you heal.
It would take hundreds of pages to try and explain everything leading up to what happened at about 10PM, November 7th, 2010 so I think I’ll try to summarize what had been going on in my life.
Ok, so I’m technically a College freshman since, even though I’ve done the whole college thing through Running Start and am considered Junior status, I still have never lived hundreds of miles away from home at a school.
Anyway, for the past year and I half I’ve been off and on dating this amazing, wonderful guy. Then, at the end of the very first week of classes, Friday (and more likely really early Saturday morning), August 27th, he breaks up with me once more claiming that he doesn’t want to hold me back and that I need to find someone better than him, that I deserve someone better than him. I don’t understand. I cry and cry and he holds me for hours until I stop crying and he eventually gets me to smile and laugh. Little does he know that all I’m hoping and wishing and dreaming is that things happen like they usually do. We break up and are apart for awhile, then we hang out for a while and he realizes how much he missed me and wants me back.
Flash forward a couple weeks. We’re hanging out again and he’s hugging on me and flirting with me, tickling me and I’m hoping and wishing for the moment to happen when he says he wants to get back together but it doesn’t happen. This step repeats itself a couple times.
Next it’s about 8:30 or 9PM on October 18th, I’m not feeling all that great as I walk over to his room after spending a couple hours watching some movies with another friend in a dorm very close to his. Once I get to his room and he asks how I’m doing, I lean against his wall and admit I’m feeling sick. He checks my temperature with the back of his hand and deems me feverish then makes up a place for me on the floor, then he snuggles with me while I try and sleep. I pretend to be asleep and he leaves my side so he can go back to studying for an upcoming test but I hear him mutter “damn you Katie and your perfect butt”. This kinda makes me smile a bit and then I do fall asleep for awhile. Then I wake up with a true fever so I throw off the covers and he asks, you ok? And I admit that I’m feeling quite hot and so he comes down from his bed (which is lofted quite high) to get me some more water and feel my forehead again and he’s like “wow, you are burning up!” so he comes and snuggles again, asking first if it was Ok he didn’t have his shirt on and I was like, I don’t really care. I was basically in a feverish haze so I would have agreed to almost anything in that moment. I’m thankful I didn’t lose my ability to say no though because he teased me quite a bit sexually but I still was not going to break on the insistance that we be boyfriend and girlfriend if we ever do that again.
-I should probably also mention that although he is not the only one I have been sexual with, he is the only person I’ve ever had sex with and I’d promised long ago never to have sex before I was married and I didn’t decide until a year after dating him to do it. He never pressured me into making the decision. Every time we ever got close to doing it, he would ask me if I would be ok with this decision even if we weren’t together in a couple months, not as a warning that he was planing on breaking up with me but just reminding me of the maybe factor. And every time he said that I would cry and I would thank him for being such a rational guy and he would hug me and comfort me. He even asked the night we did it. I said I wouldn’t mind. How wrong I was.-
So we snuggled a bit more before I pretended to be asleep again and he went to bed, I think cursing under his breath again but this time I actually was almost asleep when he left my side. Then in the morning, he got me some more water and insisted I took his bed while he got ready to go to work but after he got dressed he came up and snuggled with me a bit more and tried to kiss me but this I would not let him do because I didn’t want him getting sick in case what I had was contagious. (Sorry I go into so much detail… I’ll try to get to the point).
Then a week later I’m feeling better but he sends me a text at 1am on the 26th of October about making sure he’s not dead in the morning, and I didn’t wake up until 10 that morning and I left my phone off to save batteries that night. As soon as I turned on my phone I started freaking out and worrying but then I check facebook to see if he’s posted anything recently but all I see is that he had posted that he was really drunk the night before. I rush over to his room and he gets up and lets me in and I ask him if he’s ok and then I start to cry and he asks why and realize he couldn’t remember texting me so I make him check his text messages. Then he hugs me and we snuggle for a bit and I get him some water and he kinda talks about the night before. I start crying again and he assumes there’s another reason. He’s right but I didn’t want to admit that so I just told him that I was really worried about him. Then we snuggle some more and he tickles me a bit to get me laughing and smiling again then I realize I have to go to class but I come right back afterward because he asked me to come back and make him go to his class. Then he teases me sexually a lot and I cry again and he hugs me and then contemplates us having sex and I just stare into his eyes then he says, no we can’t. I get him up and he feels like crap and we make it to the building his class is in and he just looks really weak and tired and sick. I go buy him a sprite from the vending machines since they’re out of water and then about 15 minutes pass before I suggest he go throw up to try and feel better. We were sitting almost right outside the bathroom door so when he goes in there I can hear it. Usually when I hear people throw up, I feel bad for them but I also giggle a bit, simply because the sound is kinda funny. This was not funny, it was sad and just one more piece of evidence that I truly love this man.
Anyway, after that he feels better and he decides that Econ is a no go but he needs to talk to the TA from his Geology lab so he can get the study guide for the upcoming test. On the way to that building he talks about how lucky he is to have me, he had been saying that ever since we’d left his room as I was packing his backpack for him because he was just moving so slowly and he felt so horrible. He also told me he was not fair to me and I didn’t deserve to be treated the way he treated me. I just stayed silent.
Now we’re up to a couple nights ago. At about 6:10 PM on the 7th of November, after we hung out and watched “The Thing”, he says “we need to talk” and this only proves that nothing good ever happens after someone says those four words. He tells me he’s kinda seeing someone else and he wanted to tell me in person before I saw it on facebook or something and I nodded, trying with all my might not to scream or cry right then and there. I just simply got up and said, I should go now and I left the room, also trying not to slam the door I fail at shutting it making it even harder to get away because I don’t want him getting up and saying any more so I make sure to close his door then I sob and stomp my way down half a flight of stairs before I collapse and start crying, half hoping he will come out of his room to comfort me. -I also should note that I’d been having dark thoughts and kind of tried cutting myself within the month after our break up but I never could cut deep enough with my scissors and I’m very intolerant of pain so I would just cry and cry and cry and wish I could slit my wrists but I didn’t have any single blades that would do the job. – Anyway, after sitting there crying for a couple minutes I decide that this is it. I was just worrying about what I would do if he told me that and being optimistic thinking I’d be able to still hope that maybe things with this new girl will blow over and he’d want me back. I also wasn’t thinking that he’d have a new girl for a while. But when that reality hit me I decided it was the final straw. Then he texted I’m sorry and I replied to that with a, “don’t be sorry, you shouldn’t have to be alone because I can’t move on. I’m the one who’s sorry”. Then I texted facebook to say sorry and pretty much goodbye. Totally forgetting my mom was on facebook. Then she called me and I ignored her many calls. Randall (this is the man I am so freaking in love with) kept texting me about stuff and I replied vaguely and he asked what my facebook status meant and I wouldn’t tell him.
Then mom got ahold of the RA and she came by and asked what was going on and told me to contact my mom because she was freaking out. At this time I was looking up ways to kill myself that would be least painful and didn’t involve a car. I finally decided on pills but I didn’t know which ones would kill me with the least painful side effects and least likelyhood of me surviving from them so I hadn’t really done anything except decide that I was going to do it and writing a suicide note and some other important things on some sticky notes for whoever found me. When she knocked I told her I was ok and then I texted my mom and promised her I wouldn’t scare her like that again. Randall had been texting me and trying to talk me out of it and it was starting to work. My RA came back later like she said she would, at about 9:15 to check up on me again and she asked what was wrong and I couldn’t tell her I just started crying and she hugged me and asked if I wanted to come to her room or if I wanted her to come in and I was like, no I think I’ll just sleep it off. I was about to go to bed anyway. And I was… until I laid there and my brain just imagined what “kinda seeing someone” meant and how much he’d already done with her (this thought still makes me cringe) and that’s when I lost it. I looked up the one medicine that I had that I hadn’t looked at OD symptoms for then noticed that the whole bottle contained over the amount of the highest does someone had ever been recovered from so I chugged the bottle in about 4 or 5 minutes. I can’t quite remember what happened immediately after I took them but I know either 5 to 10 minutes later I changed my mind and decided I didn’t really want to follow this through. I don’t know what changed my mind but all of a sudden I had a huge urge to want to live so I went to the bathroom and made myself puke up as many of the pills as I could.
Then I went back to my room and told Randall what I had done and he started freaking out then told me to call the hospital and ask them what I should do and I was like, they’re going to tell me to come back in, I think I puked up half of them or more so I should be able to survive this…Â but probably not on my own… I’m gonna go try puking up some more so I did that and came back and told him and he said he was going to call for an ambulance and I was like I can’t afford an ambulance! So he said ok well then maybe I can take you when I get off work (it was 10:20 or so at this point and the drug was taking effect on my body and he wouldn’t be off work til 2AM) And I was like ok. Then I told him about what I was feeling, the effects of the drug and he called me and made me tell him the RA on duty’s number. I was too weak to stand so when they knocked on my door I just had her open it since it was already unlocked and she called the ambulance and that was the most terrifying hour of my life. The police and paramedics came and so did Randall, he asked to get off work and he helped tell the police what I took because I couldn’t help look for the bottle and it wasn’t in plain sight on my desk. It was good to know exactly what to expect but at the same time I was so scared about whether or not it was too late, if I had puked enough of them up, and if my parents would find out.
So, now we are at today and I am getting help. They did not stick me in a loony bin, they just insisted that I see a counselor and I did not object to this because I know I need one. And I hope that this helps inspire you guys out there to please, if you’re thinking about suicide, there are people to talk to! There really is still something to live for. Even if you don’t know what it is right now, your brain is in a very thick fog called depression. I’m still stuck in it, as I was saying earlier about the thought that makes me cringe, it also kinda makes me wish I hadn’t puked up those pills but at the same time I’m glad I did because I know that my mother is not going to have a nervous break down and my best friends do not have to cry at my funeral and wish for answers I couldn’t give them. If you don’t feel like you are worth living for, think of someone who is that is close to you. This could even be the person who is the source of a lot of your depression like mine, but please just live for them and get help. Talk to a therapist or a school counselor or call the 1-800-273-8255 National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. They are not going to judge you or call you crazy. You are not the only one who feels like this, everyone on here should already know that by reading every one’s posts.
I’m going to leave you all with a quote I saw on my tumblr this morning. It’s given me some hope and inspiration. “Be strong now, because things will get better. It may be stormy now, but it can’t rain forever.” This rain will end eventually, before you drown, I promise. Someone’s waiting with a hand outstretched to grab yours, all you have to do is reach out and take it. (I’m sorry for the lameness of some of those sentences but I really can’t say any of it in a less corny way)