"Is Anybody Out There?"

"...What I want is to kill myself. I don't want to live a second longer. It's the night before Thanksgiving and all I want is to be dead.
...
"I can't picture staying in bed all day tomorrow (Thanksgiving). But the only thing that sounds good to me is dying" (excerpt from my journal on Wednesday, November 21, 2018).

In the middle of the night, I woke up to see I had received a text message. A really close friend had invited me to join her and her family for lunch at a restaurant on Thanksgiving day, the next day. They were meeting at 11am. I fell back to sleep wanting and planning to go.

Thanksgiving morning came and I planned to get up and shower and get ready in time to go to lunch. But as that time approached, I couldn't get out of bed. I couldn't get in the shower. Minutes passed. I kept thinking I could get ready quickly and be on time or even be a bit late. But I didn't move. Suicidal thoughts were back in full force. Who spends Thanksgiving day lying in bed by themselves? What is the point of living if all I do is sleep? Why keep withstanding all the misery?

Then my friend called me. (The one that had invited me to lunch.) And I didn't pick up. I never ignore her calls. Never. To my surprise, she called twice more, and I still didn't answer. It was so hard not to answer. I wanted to tell her I wasn't okay. I wanted to hear her voice. But at the same time, I didn't want to tell her I couldn't get up. I didn't want to hear her tell me to come. I didn't want to tell her I wasn't going. I didn't want to tell her that I wanted to end my life.

11am came and went. I was still in bed. Unable to get up. Unable to do anything besides think of how much I wanted everything to be over. About an hour and a half later, the doorbell rang. I got up and looked to see who it was. I wasn't going to answer the door for anyone unless it was her. And it was. I opened the door, she came in and wrapped her arms around me. We just stood there as she held me.

I was so grateful she had come, relieved even. I needed her in that moment. The suicidal thoughts subsided while I was with her, but they lingered. I still didn't want to be alive. I still wanted to end it. But she invited me to come over. Surely being with others would help. But I couldn't decide what I would do. I wanted to go, but I didn't. I wanted to be around people, but I didn't. I wanted to do something other than be in my bed, but I didn't. After some time, she left. And I went back to bed. I kept thinking I should get up, but I couldn't bring myself to actually do it.

Eventually I showered, which lately is a major accomplishment, and went to her house. Being with her and her family distracted me from the weariness I had been feeling. I stayed the night and then went to work the next morning. There wasn't much to do at work, so my thoughts returned to the dark and dense abyss they had been in. After a couple of hours, I ended up leaving in agony headed for my friend's house.

As I drove back to her place, tears streamed from my eyes. I contemplated how desperately I needed to do something. I can't keep living like this... Fighting myself to get up each day to go to my job. Battling to focus and fulfill my responsibilities once at work. Isolating myself from almost everyone to avoid having to put on a facade that I'm fine and make small talk. Sleeping more than needed to escape the distress and anguish. Watching Netflix to prevent facing reality and feeling tremendous pain. Continuing to endure just isn't cutting it. Yet the other options seem to have devastating consequences.

Once I arrived, I immediately felt like I had made a mistake. I walked into her house to find two of her girls sitting on the couch. They couldn't see me like this. But I didn't feel capable of pulling myself together. I just wanted to keep crying. I was upset and hurting. Maybe I should just go home so I can be alone. But the ever persisting thought of killing myself wouldn't go away. And I didn't feel safe being alone. I couldn't trust myself. So I hid in a bedroom downstairs until I could calm down.

After a bit, I made my way back upstairs and joined the girls. However, I wanted to sleep so badly. Being awake was just too much. Somehow I got up and started cleaning and helping around the house. That seemed to occupy my attention temporarily. But too soon they were leaving, so I had to go home. I kept trying to tell myself that I'd be fine. But as soon as I left, I knew I wasn't okay.

Upon arriving home, I was able to keep myself out of bed for a little while. I pushed past not being okay so I could be productive. However, my defenses ran out. I got in bed and fell asleep to a show. When I woke up, I resumed watching TV. Being entertained was self-medicating. It allowed me to withdraw into a fantasy world where depression and all of its allies were no longer at the forefront of my mind.

And then suddenly, the thoughts became overwhelming. I couldn't be in bed anymore. I couldn't watch another minute of some stupid series. I felt a very real pull to get up and take my life. Right away, I got up and sat at my desk. Then the tears poured down my cheeks. I thought about how I could do it. I stared at the scissors standing in my pen holder. Tears continued to stream down my face. I was so scared. How did I get here? Why does ending my life seem like the only way out? I looked up at the crisis line number hanging on my magnet board. I had never called it before, but maybe I should. I don't want to talk to some random stranger. I don't want to be in a hospital again.

My gaze returned to the scissors. I couldn't cut my perfectly unharmed wrist. I couldn't let someone find me covered in blood. My eyes reverted back to the crisis number. I couldn't call it. Then I grabbed the scissors, still weeping. How could I be in so much pain that all I want is to end it all? I just wanted all of the torment to stop. After briefly holding them, I put them back. I wanted my phone to display a text from someone acknowledging my pain and comforting me. I longed for someone to walk through the door and just hold me. I wished my phone would ring with someone saying they knew I needed company and were on their way. Was anybody out there? But I knew no matter how terribly I desired for someone to read my mind, nobody was coming to the rescue. I was alone with my dangerous ideation.

Sobbing, I tried to think of what else I could possibly do to rid my thoughts of this cruel demon. A flood of ideas entered my head. Call someone, get a blessing, drive home to San Diego, write in my journal, text someone, drive to the temple, talk to my roommate, call the crisis line, go to the ER, go for a run. Frantically sifting through my options, I felt out of control. I wanted to scream. I couldn't trust myself behind the wheel of a car. Asking for help felt futile. Getting myself to move felt impossible. I picked up my phone and scrolled through my contacts and text messages searching for someone through a blur of tears. Who could I contact? She would be busy with her kids, he would be in bed, she was out of town, etc. It was Thanksgiving weekend. Nobody would be available. I put my phone down. I kept bawling uncontrollably. I was inconsolable. Nothing could shake me from the dark void I was in.

Realizing the state of emergency I was in and out of utter desperation, I texted a good friend. He responded without hesitation. Receiving his text was like taking a breath of fresh air after being held under water against your will. But I couldn't just tell him what I had been about to do, even though I needed someone to know. I needed to be rallied, so I messaged a few others. Gradually, the tears dried, I settled down, and the fear receded. I was going to make it through the night. I would be okay for right now.

Suicidal ideation doesn't have to have a trigger. It can come without invitation. People do not want to want to take their lives. Those who struggle with thoughts of ending their life are hurting and are scared. Deep down they want to live. But sometimes they can't see that through the fog of despair or feel that through the ache of suffering. Each day that they don't give into the intense voices in their head, they prove their resiliency.

Listen, reach out, and love those around you. You never know when you will rescue someone or literally save their life.


*Title from "Carry On" by Ruelle

Sunday - A Day of Unrest

On Saturday night, I went to bed with every intention to go to church in the morning just like I normally would. However Sunday morning came, and I couldn't get myself to get out of bed much less to take a shower. My thoughts were rampant. Getting ready for the day felt like an impossible feat. Then thinking about what would happen if I could even get myself to church just added to the torment. How was I supposed to put on a facade and face the multiple people I would encounter in sacrament meeting, Sunday School, and Relief Society? I couldn't possibly handle the social setting I would be in. I would simply want to shrink and disappear. And if I couldn't even get ready for church, what's the point in going and trying to face it anyway?

Back to sleep I went. Or at least I tried. But I couldn't. I just kept thinking how it wasn't too late to go to church. I could make it in time for Sunday School or Relief Society or even my activities committee meeting. But the thought of getting ready -- showering, getting dressed, doing my hair, eating -- all sounded daunting. Plus, I didn't want to show up late. How embarrassing that would be, especially when I have church at 11am. I couldn't tell people that I was late because I couldn't get out of bed or I couldn't shower. Normal people do those things without thought. It doesn't require any effort. They just get up, shower, and get ready for the day.

I was ashamed of myself, my depression, and my anxiety. And instead of doing just one small thing that I knew would help me feel just the tiniest bit better (getting up, showering, eating, getting dressed, etc.), I continued to lay in bed. I hoped someone would ask why I wasn't at church. But at the same time, I didn't because I didn't want to respond to anyone at all. I wanted someone to show up at my door, but I didn't. Because that would require me to look presentable or okay, and I wasn't either of those. Somebody did text me after sacrament meeting, and I was grateful. But I didn't want to respond, so I didn't. I didn't want to tell them where I was or what I was doing or more like what I wasn't doing.

2 o'clock came and went. 3 o'clock. 4 o'clock. 5 o'clock. I just sank deeper and deeper in despair. I couldn't get out of bed. I felt anger, frustration, guilt, shame, depression, anxiety, and loneliness. I was mad that nobody cared. At least it felt that way to me. I was mad for being mad that nobody cared. (Because I knew that wasn't really true.) I was worried about the next day. How was I going to go to work the next day? I couldn't afford to miss work. But yet, I can afford to miss church? Nothing was making sense. My feelings and emotions were so conflicted. I wanted what I didn't want. And I couldn't seem to muster the strength to do what I needed to do.

At one point, I wanted a blessing. But that would require me to get ready and contact someone and tell them I was struggling. I didn't really want that. A blessing wasn't worth that. I didn't have it in me to even get a blessing.

So what do you do on days like Sunday? When you feel stuck and incapable of living? When your thoughts and feelings paralyze you? When you can't find the strength to meet the basic challenges of your day?

You accept it, move on, and try again. And you hope for the strength to make it through another day.

How do you support someone who is fighting a battle, like this, of mental illness? You listen, you support, you validate, you love, you comfort, you strengthen them. That's what they so desperately need.