The Ongoing War Against Suicide

There are so many things I wish I could tell you. Both from before you left us and from now, as they happen. Things happen all the time and my first thought is “I have to text Meg…” and then I remember. Often, I still do text you, just to make myself feel a little better, but that never works. I’ve been watching old videos and the ones I find myself rewinding over and over are those of your laughter. It was such a beautiful sound. It was something I didn’t cherish enough when you were still here. Each time you laughed represented a time that you were overcoming your battle with depression. Each time you laughed, the depression took to the back burner for a minute and you felt happiness. I took that for granted. We all did.

Anyone that knew you would say that you didn’t let your depression overcome you. We knew it was there, but you didn’t let on to the fact that it overwhelmed your thoughts constantly. You smiled the brightest of smiles, concocted the most ingenious plans, laughed the most contagious laughter. We knew you struggled but we didn’t all know how much of you it really consumed.

But that’s how it always is, isn’t it? Nobody ever sees it coming. Nobody predicts a suicide. Every single day we watch people suffer from depression and none of us are ever concerned that that person might be considering ending their lives. In fact, some people continue to bully these people despite the pain they see them dealing with. Why is that a thing? Why do we put aside our worries of suicide just because one person seems “more depressed” than another? I think we’ve all seen that some people can do a wonderful job of hiding it.

I guess my point is we should always be on high alert. It may seem tedious or unnecessary to check in on people when they make a concerning tweet or Facebook status, but it’s critical. You never know which of those “I can’t do it anymore”s are real. You never know which post will be someone’s last. Tell your friends you love and appreciate them, to the point that it annoys them. Let it be known that you are available to talk for anybody who may need a shoulder to lean on. Keep volunteering and donating and doing the absolute most that you’re capable of, and most importantly keep laughing. Meg may have lost her battle but we are still in this war. Keep fighting so that we won’t lose any more of our friends.

From the Friend of an Addict

Two weeks after my eighteenth birthday I received a call at work. An old friend, in hysterics. I could barely make out what she was trying to tell me, but I did hear one thing clear as day.

Noah’s dead.

I hung up the phone and, in shock, went back to work. I didn’t feel it right away, and I thought I’d be okay to stay but my manager insisted I go home. I told my friend I’d meet her, but on the way I guess it must have hit me. I pulled over to the side of 495 and just cried and cried. I remember not being able to breathe and starting to hyperventilate. I think I blacked out for a second.

Noah was dead.

And it was his drugs that killed him.

I remember thinking that I didn’t understand death. It wasn’t fair. People shouldn’t die from the things that make them happy. Noah was sad and his drugs made him smile again. He needed to smile again. He deserved to smile again. But now I see that it was only artificial happiness, and he didn’t deserve that. He deserved so much more. A better life, people to love him, a world away from drugs. He deserved true happiness.

Heroin terrifies me. I stay awake at night crying over the people that I’ve lost to such an awful poison. And I don’t just mean the people that have lost their lives, I mean the people I’ve lost to the drug itself. Some of the most important people in my life have chosen that path and they’ve become something that I can’t even recognize anymore. They’ve chosen their needles over me and I don’t know how to cope with that. I don’t know how to be okay with that. Addiction truly changes you into the worst possible version of yourself and that version doesn’t care who gets hurt as long as you get your fix.

It’s really painful for me to write about this. I apologize for the lack of structure and overall messiness of this post but it’s hard for me to put into words how I feel about this particular subject. It scares me. It hurts me. It absolutely shatters my heart. I recently told a friend I’d given up on her, and as much as it tortures me, I have to stick to that. It’s too painful for me to sit by idly and watch my friends tear their own lives to shreds.

Let me tell you a little bit about what it’s like to be the friend of an addict. It’s constant fear. It’s the feeling of dread you get every time your phone goes off because you’re always just waiting for that call telling you that they’re gone. It’s watching the pain of a mother just wishing her child would come back to her. It’s sticking by somebody when they steal money from you because you trust them to get better and then still seeing them deteriorate. It’s constantly hoping for them to find help and consistently being disappointed when it, once again, takes a turn for the worse. It’s endless false hope and disappointment.

That said, I still hold out some shred of hope that things can turn around. I still fully believe that if they really make the decision to get better, they can. With the right programs, the right will power, and the right support system, I firmly believe that things can get better, and when they do I’ll be right here waiting with open arms. You too deserve true happiness, not the artificial highs your needles bring you. And happiness is possible if you allow it, and I will help you find it. But for now, unfortunately, all I can do is wait and hope you find your way back to the light.

One day, out in the woods by the high school, I made a plan to write a romance novel about two of my great friends. One of you may be gone, but to the other: Please don’t let this be the end of your story.

Please find your way back to the light.

 

Dedicated to an old friend

It’s Not Always Us

An essay on mental illness

When things go wrong it’s human nature to look for someone to blame. Often people look for others to blame but for a lot of us with mental illness, it’s more likely that we’d choose the easier victim – ourselves. It makes sense. We’re the one common variable in everything bad that has ever happened to us. We’re the one thing that doesn’t change. Something I hear people say a lot is “I hate myself.” I say it too, often when I’ve done something embarrassing, but for a lot of people and even for me sometimes, it has a deeper meaning. We’re not saying it out of embarrassment but out of pure, true self-loathing. It’s because we blame ourselves for the bad things that have happened to us, and in some cases it’s true. It is our fault. We’re the idiots that got drunk and lost our wallets. We’re the hotheads who got into a fight at the bar and landed an assault charge. We’re the cowards that picked up a needle for the first time.

But it seems we often forget about another common variable, and that is our mental illness. It is never without us and we are never without it. Something so so important is the ability to recognize when it’s coming into play. It’s important to be able to recognize when it is to blame. It’s not always really us having a panic attack over a boy that didn’t text us back, but our anxiety. It’s not always us jumping from one wild decision to the next, but our bipolar. It’s not always us making the decision to pull out a blade or swallow a bottle of pills, but our depression. In order to stay sane, it’s crucial that you learn to recognize this. You’ll drive yourself mad blaming yourself for everything bad that has ever happened in your life. Sometimes it really truly just was not your fault. Your mental illness is never your fault.

I wrote before about how I’d never felt more suicidal than the day after I attempted suicide. A lot of that was due to the regret and embarrassment I felt both from failing but also for ever trying in the first place. I was embarrassed that my friends had to be practically stripped down in order to visit me in the hospital. Mainly though, I felt a bitter, almost cruel sense of guilt. I felt so guilty that my roommate had to drive me to the hospital on her first night back from vacation. I felt so guilty that my best friend was being attacked for not getting to me first. I felt so guilty that everyone had to change their everyday pattern in order to cater to me, the suicidal psychopath sitting in bed next to someone who “really deserved to be there.” What I’ve come to realize about that night is that it wasn’t me who picked up that bottle. It wasn’t me shoving pills down my throat. It was my depression, and it was trying to kill me.

This is not to say we should blame all our faults on our mental illness. As I said, sometimes it really is just our fault! Sometimes we really did mess up and in those times we should accept blame and deal with any repercussions that follow. However, sometimes our mental illness makes decisions for us that are beyond our control, and during those times we should cut ourselves some slack. It’s not our fault that we self-destruct. It’s not our fault that we’re sick.

 

Dedicated to a friend who needs to give herself a break.

An Apology To Those I’ve Let Down

Now, the only thing I’ve ever been good at has always been helping people. My friends have always come to me when they’ve needed advice or someone to listen to. Recently I told a friend I didn’t know how to help her and she said, “Just be Erica.” That’s what I’m known for – being someone that anyone can go to. Since high school people I’ve never talked to have come to me for help. I’ve always loved that. I’ve always loved being able to be there for people when they needed me. I’ve always loved being the person that anyone can go to.

It seems that lately I’ve lost that ability. I no longer know how to help anyone, or maybe I just don’t have it in me anymore. I get irritated when people text me for help. I take hours to respond to someone’s message about something that’s bothering them. I turn people away, I don’t give advice, I ignore. I don’t know what made me become this bitter shell of a person and I don’t know how to fix it. Maybe it’s just years of helping people while no one’s helped me. And it’s not like people haven’t offered or tried… it’s just that I’m beyond help. Nobody can help me and because of that, I can no longer help people.

This is my apology to those who I’ve turned away. Those to whom I’ve said “maybe you should get a therapist” or “sorry I can’t deal with this today.” This is an apology to everybody who I’ve put my own problems above. I’m sorry. Sometimes, more often than not, my life becomes too much to handle and I don’t know what to do. During those times it’s really hard for me to see anyone else’s struggles as if they’re as important as my own. It’s hard for me to recognize that other people are hurting too. So I grow a hard shell and refuse to acknowledge anybody else’s troubles.

This is my apology to all the people I didn’t help, to all the people who came to me expecting to be saved and were only disappointed, to all the people I’ve lost. And this is a thank you to all of you who have stuck with me, to those of you who understand that I’ve been in a bad place for a long time and don’t expect anything from me. This is a thank you to the people who have forgiven my mistakes.

Finally, this is a promise. This is a promise to all of you. I will get better. I will rededicate my life and myself to helping all of you and making everyone else’s lives better. Even when my own is in shambles, I will make sure to be there for anyone who may need me. So although I’ve always said this, this time I mean it in full: If you need somebody, I am here. The only way I’ll get through what I’m going through is if I help others to deal with what they are going through. The only way I’ll survive is if all of you do.

My phone is always on.

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