Lj Idol Season 8, Week 2, Three Little Words, From Darkness Into Light
“Love doesn't just sit there, like a stone; it has to be made, like bread, remade all the time, made new.”
Ursula K. LeGuin
Two weeks ago I wanted to kill myself.
Do you know how hard that is to admit? That sentence is so hard to give voice to, but it’s real, honest, and raw. It’s not that I really wanted to die necessarily, but my brain kept leading me there, to that dark place, again and again. I thought of knives repeatedly, cutting and slashing. When I get depressed I obsess on knives and cutting even though I have never been a cutter. I wanted to take all the medication I have, and I have a lot of it. The psychiatrist in the hospital told me it was good I didn’t try to overdose because I certainly would have died. Those are hard words to hear, when it’s just you and the psychiatrist in a sterile office. There is nothing in the office that could be used as a weapon, except maybe one of the chairs. You feel so alone when you hear you could have died, ended it all. People could have been gathering for my funeral and it would have been my fault.
I don’t know why my brain went to the darkest of places, but I knew getting myself to the hospital was the only way out. So I packed a bag and went. I voluntarily checked myself into the psychiatric ward, and I spent six days there. I went to the therapy sessions, I got support from the other patients, I met with the psychiatrist to adjust my meds, I prayed, I meditated, I did all the things I knew to get better, and I am alive because of it.
I am alive because I love myself, just enough to keep from swallowing all the pills in my lock box, and slapping on all the pain patches I had in my possession. I am alive because others love me too, because they remind me of that on a daily basis. I never want anyone to find me dead and cold at my own hand. I think of my family, my friends, the internet community that is like one big family to me. When I considered all of these things as I packed my bag to go to the hospital I knew there was still hope for me.
I knew they would admit me on the night of Wednesday October 12, 2011. I knew they would help keep me safe when I told them I was suicidal and I had a plan to kill myself. What I didn’t know is how I had gotten to that point. In fact, I still don’t know.
What I know is love. “I love you,” the three little words spoken on the phone from friends, or relatives far away. The three powerful words spoken from a friend who came to visit me, and wrap her arms around me, in the common room while other psychiatric patients milled about or met with their families. Those three words, which no others can replace, as people posted them to my live journal and in e-mails. Three words can do a lot when your brain is trying to kill you again and again. Every waking second your brain pulls you into a terrible darkness, and those three words try to rip you away from it. It is a struggle, but it’s like getting little bits of air when you are drowning.
I don’t mean to sound overly dramatic, because this is as real as it gets. It’s not something from a book or movie, it’s my life, my story. If you’ve never been this depressed it is probably hard to understand. If you’ve never wanted to kill yourself it is hard to understand how hugs from other patients or words of encouragement can help you. It’s hard to understand how tiny gestures of kindness from psych ward staff can lift your spirits. Most of all, it might be hard to understand how three simple words can help pull back the veil that shrouds you from reality, happiness, and the real world.
I’ve been to that dark place. I tried to fight back, but I couldn’t do it on my own. I needed the hospital like an infant needs a caretaker. I needed all the people saying I love you like a plane needs a runway to get off the ground again and fly.
I stand now, from a place of appreciation and gratitude. I can thank Creator for my life when I wake in the morning and when I go to bed at night. I can thank my friends and family for their love and support. I can stop and take the time to say I love you, each and every one who prayed for me, thought of me, spent hours listening to me, talked to me, took care of my dog, brought me coffee, gave me my meds when I wasn’t safe with them, cooked my food, cleaned my room, helped do my laundry, gave me therapy, gave me hugs, and helped to let my spirit slip from the darkness it had gotten caught up in.
I can’t say I won’t end up in that dark place again, though I hope I never do. What I can say is that I hope there are as many people to love me, and remind me, and help me along the way if I should find that my brain is trying to kill me again. When I feel powerless I only need remember the power of love. Love that will embrace, heal, guide, and shed light into the most darkest of places.
Today, I love my life, and again and again, I shall make that love new, as each day is born. Let me be born with the dawn, remembering and knowing love, and giving love in return, to help shine a light for others.
Ursula K. LeGuin
Two weeks ago I wanted to kill myself.
Do you know how hard that is to admit? That sentence is so hard to give voice to, but it’s real, honest, and raw. It’s not that I really wanted to die necessarily, but my brain kept leading me there, to that dark place, again and again. I thought of knives repeatedly, cutting and slashing. When I get depressed I obsess on knives and cutting even though I have never been a cutter. I wanted to take all the medication I have, and I have a lot of it. The psychiatrist in the hospital told me it was good I didn’t try to overdose because I certainly would have died. Those are hard words to hear, when it’s just you and the psychiatrist in a sterile office. There is nothing in the office that could be used as a weapon, except maybe one of the chairs. You feel so alone when you hear you could have died, ended it all. People could have been gathering for my funeral and it would have been my fault.
I don’t know why my brain went to the darkest of places, but I knew getting myself to the hospital was the only way out. So I packed a bag and went. I voluntarily checked myself into the psychiatric ward, and I spent six days there. I went to the therapy sessions, I got support from the other patients, I met with the psychiatrist to adjust my meds, I prayed, I meditated, I did all the things I knew to get better, and I am alive because of it.
I am alive because I love myself, just enough to keep from swallowing all the pills in my lock box, and slapping on all the pain patches I had in my possession. I am alive because others love me too, because they remind me of that on a daily basis. I never want anyone to find me dead and cold at my own hand. I think of my family, my friends, the internet community that is like one big family to me. When I considered all of these things as I packed my bag to go to the hospital I knew there was still hope for me.
I knew they would admit me on the night of Wednesday October 12, 2011. I knew they would help keep me safe when I told them I was suicidal and I had a plan to kill myself. What I didn’t know is how I had gotten to that point. In fact, I still don’t know.
What I know is love. “I love you,” the three little words spoken on the phone from friends, or relatives far away. The three powerful words spoken from a friend who came to visit me, and wrap her arms around me, in the common room while other psychiatric patients milled about or met with their families. Those three words, which no others can replace, as people posted them to my live journal and in e-mails. Three words can do a lot when your brain is trying to kill you again and again. Every waking second your brain pulls you into a terrible darkness, and those three words try to rip you away from it. It is a struggle, but it’s like getting little bits of air when you are drowning.
I don’t mean to sound overly dramatic, because this is as real as it gets. It’s not something from a book or movie, it’s my life, my story. If you’ve never been this depressed it is probably hard to understand. If you’ve never wanted to kill yourself it is hard to understand how hugs from other patients or words of encouragement can help you. It’s hard to understand how tiny gestures of kindness from psych ward staff can lift your spirits. Most of all, it might be hard to understand how three simple words can help pull back the veil that shrouds you from reality, happiness, and the real world.
I’ve been to that dark place. I tried to fight back, but I couldn’t do it on my own. I needed the hospital like an infant needs a caretaker. I needed all the people saying I love you like a plane needs a runway to get off the ground again and fly.
I stand now, from a place of appreciation and gratitude. I can thank Creator for my life when I wake in the morning and when I go to bed at night. I can thank my friends and family for their love and support. I can stop and take the time to say I love you, each and every one who prayed for me, thought of me, spent hours listening to me, talked to me, took care of my dog, brought me coffee, gave me my meds when I wasn’t safe with them, cooked my food, cleaned my room, helped do my laundry, gave me therapy, gave me hugs, and helped to let my spirit slip from the darkness it had gotten caught up in.
I can’t say I won’t end up in that dark place again, though I hope I never do. What I can say is that I hope there are as many people to love me, and remind me, and help me along the way if I should find that my brain is trying to kill me again. When I feel powerless I only need remember the power of love. Love that will embrace, heal, guide, and shed light into the most darkest of places.
Today, I love my life, and again and again, I shall make that love new, as each day is born. Let me be born with the dawn, remembering and knowing love, and giving love in return, to help shine a light for others.