Hold Fast

This week has been tough for people with depression. For people with anxiety. For people who have struggled with suicide. It's been tough for people like me.

I'm not going to say that I was particularly attached to either Ms. Spade or Mr. Bourdain. I don't own one of her handbags. I'm not that into fashion. I love food, but I don't think I saw more than a few of Mr. Bourdain's shows. But they were losses of life, and for that I am sad. More than that, though, seeing people lose this particular battle is a special kind of terrifying for those of us who struggle with the same issues. If these people, those with success, with money, and therefore with access better therapy, more time for self care and without all of the issues that add exponentially to their mental load couldn't bring themselves to stick it out any longer, what chance do I have? If they can't, how can I possibly? Will I be next? Will I win this next round?

In light of that, I want to reach out to anyone who has struggled with depression and anxiety, as well as those who love someone who does. I don't have the answers; I wish I did. What I do have is an insight to this sometimes hellish world, and I am hoping that some of this helps.

For those who struggle; here are some techniques that work for me;

I make a pledge to hang on for as long as I think I can. Lately, the time chunks have been larger - years, months. The pull never goes away; as terrified of death as I am - and I am - there's always that belief that someday I will lose the fight to hang on (more about this phenomenon later), but for now, I can hold fast. I can hang on until Tax Season. I can hang on until the custody hearing is over. I can hang on until the kids are married and settled in. I can hang on until my husband dies of old age. I remember some times, though, where it was the space of one breath. I was literally sitting there convincing myself that I didn't have to kill myself in the space of the next breath. I could hang on for that long. The next breath? Well, I would decide that, then. Eventually, it became a whole minute. I remember staring at the second hand as it moved, excruciatingly slowly, from 9 to 12, thinking maybe I'd stretched a bit. But then it had been a minute, and I decided I could hold on until the next. So, that's my first technique. Find a period of time, as small as you need, and decide that you will not kill yourself for that bit of time. Call someone if you need to. Distract yourself if you can. But commit. And hold fast.

The next technique I learned, in all places, from Mockingjay. You see, Peeta had been hijacked. His brain had been reprogrammed so that his memories were altered and things that once brought him joy were convoluted, terrifying. He learned to play a game called "real or not real" as a way to cope, and eventually came to understand that the memories that had been hijacked had a "shiny" quality to them. For me, it's much the same with depressive/anxiety/suicidal thoughts. They seem so real. They seem so true. Yet, if I really look at them, they are a bit, well, shiny. There's a certain feeling to them that is different from any other feeling. I don't know how to describe it except, they're shiny. Look at those thoughts you have, the coldly logical voice telling you that you are a failure, that the pain will never end, that everyone else would be better off without you, and see if they are shiny. If they are, know that you brain is lying to you. Don't listen to that lie.

Finally, I ask for those I love to tell me stories. Tell me about things that we did together that made you happy. Tell me a story about a year from now. Because, you see, I've been here before. So many times. So, there's a good chance that the story I will be told will have taken place after, or in the middle of, one of my bad times. So, it stands to reason that if there was good after that last time, there will be good again. Someday. Sometime. I need to remember that these times pass. I need to know that I've had a positive effect on someone. Stories help me remember that. I hope they will help you, too.

For those who love someone with such issues, here's what you need to know;

For many of us, suicide, not continuing to live, feels like the default. It's living that feels like taking an action, not dying. I'm not neurotypical, so I can't speak with certainty, but I don't feel like that's the default for NTs. I don't feel like, for you, there's this belief that if you relax for a second, you will die. And that's what it feels like. Not kill yourself, just. . .let your guard down and look down and discover you've done it. Kinda like picking a scab or scratching and itch and breaking the skin. Just. . whoops. It is a huge emotional burden, this. It is exhausting. And it is scary.

If we are considering suicide, we have determined that we are somehow hurting you. That's why I take issue with the belief that suicide is selfish. I mean, it is. It absolutely is. But it doesn't feel that way. It feels like we will hurt you a lot for a little while and then you will be so much better off. We are actually doing you a favor. I remember when I was in my early 20's I tried to commit suicide. And I was hanging out with one of my friends when I was doing a bit better and he was acting strange. I asked him what was wrong and he started crying and nearly screamed at me "why didn't you call ME?!" And I was genuinely confused. Why would he want me to call him? Why would he want to stop me? My family are still hurt by what I did and while I can see it NOW, at the time I remember not understanding. Didn't they see I was doing it FOR them?

Which brings me to the last thing you need to know. At least for me, my suicidal tendencies don't come in some whirlwind of emotion. They come from this voice of cruel logic. This internal voice that very clearly spells out all of the reasons this is the best decision. It is the worst kind of logic; utterly false yet it sounds utterly rational and true. That's why it's so hard to fight. The waves of illogical emotion I can deal with. That point by point logic, well, that's hard to fight. It just seems to make so much sense.

So, what can you do?

Acknowledge our illness. Listen, suicide is a choice. I get that. I believe it. But the illness that leads to it isn't. You don't ask a diabetic to suddenly produce insulin. You don't ask someone with cerebral palsy to suddenly walk. You can't ask us to magically produce brain chemicals. We would if we could, but we can't.

However, you can hold us accountable. We can shower, even if we feel we can't. We can get out of bed. We can be hugged. We can eat and drink. And we need to. But sometimes we need help.

Be patient. We will be annoying as all hell during our rough times. We want you to call, but don't want to talk. We want you to get us out of this but will fight you. We will let you down and that just makes it worse. You're having to fight our illness and those internal voices get loud. But be patient. Don't give up on us.

Reach out. A lot. In every way possible. Text, message, call. Tag us in memes and pictures. Anything to let us know we have some relevance. Sit with us. Distract us, somehow, even if you have to fight us to do it. It sucks, I know. But it helps.

To those who have lost the fight; I will miss you. I'm sorry that you made that choice. I'm sorry that it didn't feel like it was a choice. To those who are still fighting, hold fast. You are loved. You have made a difference. The world is a better place with you in it. And it will get better. Remember, you currently have a 100% track record of surviving even the worst days, and that's pretty damn amazing.