Being that wanting to die is a normal thing for me, I’ve found some things that have helped get me through and keep myself alive. Sharing these feelings with the world is a very raw thing, but I believe that what I have to say will help someone with suicidal thoughts or they will help a family member or friend of someone who is suicidal.
“Boing, boing, boing!” rings the alarm on my phone. “Mom, it’s time to take your meds!” my four-year-old exclaims. That specific ringtone chosen as my medication reminder has forever ingrained in our minds the utter importance of my taking my medication. On time. Because we all know what happens if I don’t.
I hope that if you are reading this and think you can’t handle just one more ounce of suffering that you will find comfort in that I know what that’s like.
The pressure on my chest from the stress was physically painful. The medication my psychiatrist prescribed had me living in a fog. I could barely keep my eyes open.
You can’t just wish it away. Wherever “away” is, it will follow you. When you wake up in the morning it is there pinning you to your bed. When you get ready for the day, you fight with every ounce of your strength to do mundane things, like brushing your teeth or pulling up your pants. When someone is talking to you and you have a smile on your face to mask the fact that you aren’t alright, all you want to do is find a dark hole to curl up in so that you don’t have to act like a functioning human being.
My manic-depressive cycles spread my moods all over like a strong wind blows sand in patterned deposits next to a turbulent sea. Except I haven’t figured out the pattern so that I can flow with it, embrace it, and control it. I’m seeking recovery, but the journey is long, arduous, and leaves me parched, longing for stability in soft ever drifting sand.