August 2021

When I was 29-years-old, in July 2019, I was in bad a state as I’d ever been. I had just returned from my best friend’s bachelorette party in Key West where my depression seeped into every aspect of the trip. I was fighting with my ex, James, on a daily basis and generally felt like I didn’t belong with this group of girls (and guys since the bachelor party was there, too). But I didn’t feel that I belonged anywhere.

I think one of the things that we don’t always talk about with depression is the feeling of being lost. I don’t belong at home, I don’t belong with friends, I don’t belong anywhere. It’s like floating in space and your tethering chord has become detached. Your spacesuit has enough biostats to keep you going for a while, but you’re watching them slowly wean down, frantically trying to find a solution to get you out of this predicament. You try self-care, you try sleeping it off, you try socializing and nothing seems to help.

While depression doesn’t *always* feel so out of control, this was what I had been cycling between for over a year (along with intense mania/mixed episodes). I’d really had enough. Two weeks went by. I had formulated a plan to kill myself, though I’d managed to avoid buying all the tools I’d need to implement it. But I had several back-up plans.

When talking to someone dealing with suicidal ideation, it’s not uncommon to have that person come up with a list of “why” they should stay and “who” would they want to avoid hurting. Basically, the motivation to keep trying. My why/who has always included my sisters and currently involves by dog, Beau, and cat, Moji. When I was a teenager, my logic was that I didn’t want my baby sisters to feel responsible like they could have done something to stop me. But, as I’ve gotten older, that logic no longer works – they’re adults, they know the drill, they might still struggle with it to an extent but not the way they would have when we were kids.

So, by July 2019 my why/who was pretty much reduced to Beau and Moji. I love them with all my heart, and I knew they’d be confused, but I also was confident my family would take care of them. I’ve never lost anyone to suicide, but from what I’ve observed, the most common reactions are “How did I miss this?” “What could I have done differently?” and even “How could they be so selfish?” As someone who has been in the state of mind to plan and attempt suicide, I can share that my thought process was that if others expected me to stay for their sakes, then they were the selfish ones. How could they want me to continue on in so much pain?

Two weeks after the bachelorette party, I was barely hanging on. James and I got into a huge fight and he told me we were done. I lost it. I no longer had anything keeping me tethered to the ground, and my biostats were depleted. I announced that I would be driving my car off a bridge, saying my final goodbye. This wasn’t even one of my plans, it was completely impulsive. I got into my car and started driving unsure where the nearest bridge was. James called back and I answered; he told me he wouldn’t break up with me if I just called my counselor and got some help. I agreed and had an appointment by the afternoon. I told her what was going on and she declared that if I did not go to the hospital voluntarily, she would have the police take me.

I was able to convince her to let me go in the morning so I could get my affairs in order and pack a bag. The arrangement was that James would supervise and monitor me throughout the evening then drive me first thing in the morning. I was terrified; I dreaded going to the hospital and never saw it as a viable option, but it ended up being the best experience of my life. See my next post for my time in the hospital.