Trials

Shared experiences of life, and the path that has led you to where you are.

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ChaosMage
Posts: 1
Joined: Thu Aug 24, 2017 4:27 am

Trials

Postby ChaosMage » Thu Aug 24, 2017 5:24 am

I'm writing this from my phone while laying in bed, while using the private tab so my history won't be saved. It doesn't really make sense that I'm doing this, because unlike a lot of people, there is no reason to my depression.

I've had depression since I was in the third grade. We'd just moved from Hawaii to Colorado, as my mom was Air Force. I didn't know that's what it was, and i wouldn't be diagnosed with it until the fifth grade. I was also suffering from some serious ADHD, which complicated matters.

I wound up writing three suicide notes in the spring of my fifth grade year. One for my teacher. One for my one and only friend. One for my mom. Sometime during that year, I'd become obsessed with wills. How are they written? How are they made? What's the wording like? After all, it was important that my stuff not be wasted.

I "chickened out" before I made it home that day. I didn't really have a plan, and who cared anyways? No one would care I'd written the notes: they'd forget before the day was over, and if they didn't, we'd all pretend it never happened. My teacher wasn't so inclined. He called my parents before I made it home. I walked in on my mom and dad hugging and my mom crying. I didn't even know why. Thinking back, I remember my dads face being stoic. Emotionless. These days, I'd call it shocked. He was still processing, but Kid me didn't know that.

The note was pretty simple. In addition to the will, it also tried to explain why I was doing it. It was logical, to Kid me, that I just disappear. After all, if no one liked me, and the people who did "like me" were just faking, then the best thing I could do to make the most people happy would be to disappear. I couldn't make myself not exist, but death was an easy alternative. In heaven, I told them, i would be happy.

Suffice to say, I was in a mental hospital that day. My dad drove me to it, and he talked with the psychiatrists and doctors while I sat numb in a chair in the hall as they discussed options. Being there, I don't think I realized what was to come, or why I was really there. It didn't make sense. They didn't care. No one actually loved me.

My dad came out of the doctors office and he tried saying something to me. Instead, for the first time in my life, I saw my dad cry. And not just cry, but sob. That was the moment everything changed for me,

I went through that hospital and came out again two weeks layer. I don't recommend it. It's not a pleasant place to be. I remember feeling more alone in that hospital than I did outside it, but there was nowhere I could go to escape it. I remember thinking that I would do or say anything to get out of there. And I did. It was never meant to be a long term stay, but Kid me didn't know that.

I saw a psychiatrist and therapist for months at that hospital. Every week on Thursday. He was... not helpful. If he understood depression in kids, or if he understood me was debateable. Still, I recognize him as being young in my memory, so I forgive him.

Instead, I began seeing another Therapist. One who understood ADHD and depression. There were a few others, but I'll be honest when I say I don't remember them. They were blips on the radar, changed about as often as I did medication.

In either case, this therapist was the real deal. I don't remember what we talked about. I don't remember any specific advice he gave me. I remember coming out of the meetings with him feeling better than I did going in. I remember being actually happy for the first time in years. I was in the eighth grade, and there I was with a smile.

It'd be nice to end the story there. On a high note. On winning. Years have passed since then. Bit by bit, that happiness castle has eroded away. Nothing's gone wrong. I've gone to college. Gotten a job. My relationship with my parents and brother have never been better. They are my support when I can't be. They actively ask me if something is wrong, talk to me, and make me feel loved without ever making it seem like it's a big deal to do so. I do the same for them.

And yet, although nothing has gone wrong, I've never been so close. Even back then. For two years, death has been on my mind, every day. The only emotions I feel are anger, frustration, and apathy. I've quit my job, and focused on writing, but it no longer brings me joy or happiness. I cook and clean the house and watch the world skate by while I struggle to survive.

Last month was nearly the end. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, one foot inching over the edge, and looking down. I didn't feel much of anything. Just "finally". And yet I waited. Foot on the edge. Nothing changed.

But the cliff moved away. All on its own. I didn't walk away. I didn't take a step back. I didn't slide my foot back an inch. And yet the cliff is two feet away instead of right there.

During that month, I hadn't been able to write at all. Not a sentence. Not a word. I barely talked, barely ate. I didn't play games. I didn't watch tv. It was all I could do to sleep, cook, and clean. I've felt hollow before. I feel hollow now. In that period. It was like the hollowness turned into an abyss in my own body. Now, I am writing again. I was able to talk to my mom about how close I got, but I wasn't able to articulate it well enough with my clumsy tongue. I'm eating again, playing again. I feel like I can keep faking it again.

But I also feel like it's a short reprieve. An interlude between a chapter and the climax. I can't afford insurance anymore. I feel like it's only a matter of time. Maybe a few months if I prolong it. Even with all the help in the world, all the support and love of my family.

I found this site because I needed to vent. To think out loud. To cry for help to an empty void, but not actually seek help. It's almost more like an open letter to no one than anything else.

I don't want to hurt anyone, and that is the thin paper of protection keeping me alive.

nightingale77
Posts: 28
Joined: Thu Aug 10, 2017 2:48 am

Re: Trials

Postby nightingale77 » Fri Aug 25, 2017 4:02 am

Thanks for sharing. It takes courage to do that. You have gone through a lot and are still going through so much. Please continue to write here. It's clear that you write very well. Sorry I don't write so well. I didn't go to college but it's a dream for me. I hope I'll be able to go to one. Are there any triggers that might cause you to feel like killing yoursself??


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