Thoughts on Suicide Awareness Day

I'm no stranger to suicide.

I'm not going to tell you that one call to a hotline will solve everything, that you'll magically wake up full of joy and verve and purpose. I am 26 (almost 27) and I've struggled with depression, anxiety, and bipolar depression since I was in my early teens (and probably before that, but I've done a good job of blocking out my childhood).

The nature of my illness, something I've talked to Mage about many times, is that I forget what works. I set up support systems, make lists of Good Things, go to a counselor, go to a doctor, get on meds -- and then when I'm feeling good, I destroy all that. And yet, every time I am shocked to find myself at the bottom again, in the spaces of suicidal ideation, of anxiety attacks and midnight sobbing,  of feeling hopeless and worthless and empty. When I am there that is all my world consists of. There is no hope, no chance of escape. I think: Come on, self. You were happy and functioning and excited less than a month ago! But I cannot remember what that felt like. Until I start taking care of myself again, utilizing those resources, getting better. Then I am amazed at what lengths my mind has gone to try and kill me. I am shocked at the delusions and the desperation.

Depression and mental illnesses are different for everyone. Growing up, a close family member repeatedly attempted suicide. Struggling with mental illness, several misdiagnoses, and a world that isn't always the safest or softest place to land, he was hospitalized and eventually got help and got stable. Working to maintain that help and stability is something we have in common, though his illnesses differ in some very particular ways from mine.