Is this what a doctor feels like when they "did everything they could" to save someone's life and ultimately lose them? But what more could I have done, really? What more can anyone do when someone sees death as the only solution to a life of pain? We can’t control someone else’s actions. We can’t “fix” anyone else, no matter how hard we might try. I know that I did everything in my power to support her. But I still feel like a helpless six-year-old fatherless child all over again.
But 2 weeks after discharge, I attempted something more serious. I tried to jump under a train. The police helped me down but all in all I attempted suicide 7 times and I am here now 18 months later very happy and very confident.
This, I think, is the great gift of coming through a depression. Learning that life is much bigger than your perception is a gift. It can lead to being a little more humble, a little more hopeful, and little more open to learning about someone else’s perspective…it could make up for a blind spot in your own.
I understand that we all carry a weight on our shoulders, of responsibilities, of judgment, of being a particular way but how are we ever going to deal with it until we set this bag down and peek into it.
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So when I’m down and looking for a way out, I think of what I’m looking forward to, what I’d miss were I gone. And it helps every time. All you need is one thing, whether it be a baby sibling, a book, a class next semester, a new song, or the next episode of The Vampire Diaries.
This is my journey through IBD and depression (the black curtain). So many people suffer in silence. This is so very sad. My hope is that more people will openly talk about their illnesses and get the support and help they need to move through the black curtain.
That’s why when somebody tells a good joke at a funeral, you laugh even with tears streaked across your face, when you feel like you shouldn’t be laughing so you laugh harder. When it’s over, for a moment, everything is okay.
My childhood memories are of me and my sisters visiting my mother at the mental hospitals every now and then. While kids made wishes of toys they wanted on their birthdays, my wish was always the same - for my mother to be well again.
I remember the realization of light striking me as I sat on a lumpy chair in a mental hospital for trying to take my own life for the second time. I remember looking among the teenagers around me and thinking, 'They are just like me. We are all the same.'
But there’s no greater community than discovering your own home. Maybe it’s not a building. Maybe it’s not even a place. But “home,” as defined by Merriam Webster, could simply mean a group of people who make you feel welcome or comfortable or loved.