Being Courageous

There is a grim difference between a cold and depression. Depression can kill. Suicide is a common “escape” from depression and I find one of the reasons why it is that way today is because people take it too lightly, bottle it up, and don’t talk about it. Talking about it can worsen or better the problem and in my case it helps me cope. Actually most people don’t bother to care until someone tries to take their own life. As someone who suffers from depression and struggles to love their self I figured I would open some eyes, hearts and minds. I’m not about to share what happened to scare people or to get sympathy but to simply explain how serious of a matter it all is. Too many people today think attempting suicide is selfish and not thinking about others. I can tell you from what I was feeling I felt anyone who knew me would be better off. I honestly believed that. It’s taken me a lot of learning and growing to realize I am not defined by my illness but by my courage and strength. I’m not defined by what others think, only by Christ. I’m also far from being defined by events that have happened to me. Sometimes being courageous can save a life, perhaps your own.

I didn’t start my 2016 year off with a good start. On January 3rd of this year I took the courageous step of getting help. It was a Sunday afternoon and I was supposed to be getting ready for my normal 12 hour night shift at work when I started to not trust myself. I’m sure you can gather what I mean by that. I had let my depression get so bad and ignore my options of help for weeks. I didn’t think I could make it to work. Thoughts of leaving family and Nicholas and them being sad flashed through my head and I couldn’t bare my plans of killing myself anymore. I texted a friend and asked for help and sat with my boyfriend waiting for my parents to come to my house.

Let me just say nothing is worse than seeing the pain in the eyes of a mother and father, and to make things worse I had a crying boyfriend trying to be strong for his broken girl. In that moment I knew getting help was not what I wanted but what I needed. I was taken to the ER and placed in a room with a camera and very few things in there before I was transferred to a hospital to help with my mental health.

Being taken away from my family was one of the worst things I have ever been through. Hugging my Mom goodbye and Nick staying in the room not able to bear watching me walk away hit me hard. Having my Dad walk me out was about as comforting as it got. Like my mom sad, me getting help is better than being seen in a death bed. After an hour ambulance ride I finally made it to the hospital. When we arrived they took me in and I had to undress and wear the most ugly paper scrubs and underwear that is used for women giving birth. They treat everyone the same no mater your mental illness there. You are watched doing everything, from using the bathroom to getting undressed.

A nurse and security guard finally took me to my room which was basically like prison. The room had a bed, a desk, and a chair. The bed was bolted to the floor in the middle of the room; I had no pillow, few rough blankets, and no wall clock. If I wanted to see the time I had to walk out to the nurse’s station and ask hoping no creepy guys were watching me from their room. Yes, there were a few of those. I was thankful enough to have my own bathroom even though the toilet was the same prisons have and curtains were my only sense of privacy. It took me awhile to fall asleep that night but I made it. I was happy to wake up to some of my own clothes on the desk in my room. They had gone through it all and locked anything I couldn’t wear up, things with strings mostly. I was so happy to be able to call my parents and Nick that morning. I had never been so excited to wait in line to use a corded phone. After meeting up with my doctor we were able to talk about when I was able to leave and when that time came I was picked up. The hospital visit was far from what I wanted but what I needed. It was a fairly short stay but long enough.

Since my stay at the hospital a lot has changed. There in the beginning getting dressed and eating was a chore, smiling didn’t exist, and Nick was never out of my sight. I still have appointments to go to and I have been restricted to work part time for a month to heal and haven’t driven in weeks. I have discovered who actually cares about me, who doesn’t, and who cared just for a couple days after my release. I am slowly adjusting to new medicine and learning that sadness is just an emotion but a hard one to overcome. I am finding new interventions to help with my day to day life and getting dressed isn’t a chore but simply makes me feel good. I struggle eating and talking about what goes on in my head but one day at a time.

Cognitive therapy has been great. I have had a lot of help from my parents, as much as they can give with me not living at home anymore. My Mom has given me countless hugs, as many answers as she can give and endless love and hope. My Dad has been kind of like the sole man, figures out where I need to be and who I need to talk to. He won’t say it but Mom says he loves me the most. I believe it. Lastly, a huge shout out to Nick for being by my side at literally all times. He’s taken me to all my appointments and gone in with me to learn how to support and help me. He checks up on me while I sleep and brings me my medicine or reminds me nearly every morning. He has helped me eat even if it means junk food, helps me understand things, reminds me it takes time to heal and he is there when I have breakdowns on the kitchen floor. Thank you to anyone who has left me anonymous notes at work, checked up on me, asked if they could visit me, or just hugged me. You are all greatly appreciated and loved by me.

I do want to apologize to anyone I broke promises to about hurting myself. Know that I am trying to better myself. I’m still not okay and won’t be for a while but I am better than I was. I’m learning to trust myself again and learning to believe people love me. To anyone who is suffering with depression there is so much help out there and many ways to help you heal. If you feel like hurting yourself go be with someone who you can talk to that will be supportive and not judge you, a friend, parent, a peer. There are hotlines to call that will guide you through what to do. Sometimes talking to someone is all you need. You deserve to feel good and I promise you getting help will help you feel that way. It takes a long time for just the slightest of change but it does get better. Sounds bias for me to say as I still do not love life all the way but I am better. Depression is a part of you but it doesn’t control you. The battle is long and hard but the battle can be won. Don’t lose hope because the pain will end. To all you fighters out there, hang on, I love you. Your smile makes a difference somewhere and like a friend told me, you’re a puzzle piece to the puzzle of others.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”