For someone who has never experienced this kind of depression the feelings are incomprehensible. For me, it was feeling empty, hopeless, worthless. It was wanting to die, wanting to end the psychological suffering. It was crying for no reason. It was feeling alone. It was trying to detach myself from my feelings. It was feeling like there was no point to life. It was sleeping for seventeen hours. It was contemplating suicide. It was attempting suicide. Three times.
Tightness in my chest. Feeling like I can’t breath. Feeling like someone is scraping my insides out. Feeling my stomach twist in knots. My jaw clenched so hard that my teeth hurt the next day. Choking on my own spit and tears. Depression was killing myself piece by piece.
Some weeks, I thought about killing myself every waking moment. What would I do it with? What would that feel like? Who would come to my funeral? Would they be sad? But, I didn’t want to die. I wanted the pain to stop. And that was the only way I could ensure that it did.
The methods I thought about:
The first time I tried to commit suicide I had just found out that my girlfriend had cheated on me. It seems so stupid to me now that I would allow someone to have that much power over my thoughts and emotions. But, at the time it was very devastating for me.
I cut myself with a razor. I cut deeply, just slicing. Blood ran down my legs, my arms, my chest, my wrist. It hurt all over. It stung. The dried blood was tight and pulling. I wrote all over myself. Things like, "Worthless" and "I Want To Die."
I was taken to the emergency room and released several hours later in the custody of a safe person.
That was the first attempt.
The second attempt was about one year later. I had just lost my job. It was the one year anniversary of my breakup with my ex-girlfriend and I still hadn't "snapped out of it" which was depressing to me because I felt stuck in the same place as the year before.
The second time I tried slitting my wrist again. I walked myself to the hospital. Since I had a history of self-injury, depression, and a previous suicide attempt I was hospitalized.
At the hospital, they took away all of my clothes and gave me brown scrubs and socks (no shoes allowed). I guess they want you too look, as well as feel, crazy. They put all of your personal effects in a closet in your room, but they lock the closet. Personal items were an earned right.
The room consisted of:
They allowed people to leave their rooms at any time though. There were snacks available. There was a communal TV, some Reader’s Digests crappy self-help books, and a piano. You could use the phone without asking permission. You could check out movies. You could check out an electric razor, which I thought was gross and perhaps unsanitary. They also took into consideration my vegetarian status and brought me a bland and tasteless, but meat-free meal.
My day in the ward consisted of listening to a woman play the piano for five hours. My room was right across from the piano. Who can listen to a piano for five hours? I couldn't. I spent my time watching the Discovery Channel, napping, eating snacks, and requesting things from the nurses (a comb, paper and pen, hydrogen peroxide for my cuts, my zoloft).
It wasn’t scary. People always think that it will be scary. It was very relaxed and casual. Some people in there obviously needed help. But was I one of them? Honestly, I didn't see how watching TV in pajamas all day while snacking did anything to help me. I did that at home. I was only in there from 5 a.m. until 2 p.m. the same day, but it felt like an eternity.
My third attempt: I was very depressed and I called my mom. I guess I said some alarming things and she called the police. I was yet again taken to the psychiatric unit. I was informed that I would be there for the next four days!
This time there was a strict schedule for me. I had a time to wake up, a time to eat, a time to exercise. No more sitting around, I was required to attend group therapy, physical therapy, and individual therapy. If I didn't attend, I could be kept there longer. I still didn't see how four days or therapy would do me any good once I got out. How could I learn coping skills in four days?
But once I actually started participating I enjoyed it. I liked hearing other people's stories about why they were there. I liked the arts and crafts. I liked the weightlifting class. I liked playing cards with the others. No, that experience didn't snap me out of depression, but it made me feel less alone. It distracted me.
Something happened after that. I was fed up. Three times. Three times! Too many times. And nothing good came out of any of it. I was disgusted and dissapointed with myself.
After that I believed that I could fix myself. That I needed to do it. I stopped taking medications that made me feel tired instead of better. I stopped seeing psychiatrists and therapists who assumed that my gender was the cause of my depression. I stopped seeing mental health professionals who would meet me for ten minutes and then diagnose me with Borderline Personality Disorder or Gender Identity Disorder. For a long time I did not have very positive experiences with mental health professionals and therefore did not view them as people who wanted to, or were capable of, helping me.
I felt that if I really could change it was going to happen from within me, not through a pill or through a professional. I'm not saying that pills and mental health professionals are bad (not at all, especially since I am a therapist now), they just weren't working for me at that point. And even though I wasn't seeing a therapist, I was still using coping skills and everything I had been taught through years and years of counseling.
Over time...a long, long time, I could feel myself getting better. Things that used to make me angry really didn't anymore. "I'm going to kill myself" situations occurred less and less. I slept at normal times. I cleaned my apartment regularly. I got a job and kept it. I became a regular person. I even started voting Republican (just kidding).
I still do have days, or even weeks at a time, where I am depressed. But I try to no longer letting those feelings completely overwhelm me and control me. Sometimes it happens, but I know when I need to start doing something to make sure that I don't go back to where I was five years ago.
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