Ten Years On

Going public with my own suicide attempt, issues with depression, and stigma ten years after my first attempt at ending my life.

Recently I came across an article in the NY Times regarding survivors of ones own suicide attempt. Their were several points I took from the article. First, there is a lack of support for those who have attempted suicide, even when it comes to the traditional mental health groups. There are support groups for the various conditions but not for those who attempted suicide. Second is that there is a significant amount of stigma placed on those that have attempted to take their own life from both outside and within mental health circles. I would go as far to say more so than those just suffering from a mental illness. Lastly is the idea that attempt survivors should consider being more open about their attempt and what lead them up to it, not only as a way to help themselves but possibly help others that are going through a crisis in which they are considering suicide.

So why should I take up such an interest in suicide attempts. Because I am a survivor of my own attempt. For many years, more than likely stretching back into childhood, I have dealt with the scourge known as depression. And for many of those years I dealt with suicidal ideation. An ideation that as I got older would only grow i guess one could say louder in my mind and become more of a fixture in my life when times would become stressful or emotionally taxing for me. For the most part I was always able to “laugh it off” or think it was stupid to think in that way, coming to the conclusion that I would in no way ever do something like that. On April 26th, 2004, I couldn’t laugh it off anymore. That night I attempted to take my own life. It’s a decision I can’t say I am particularly proud about and it’s one that for me still carries a fair amount of personal shame.

I wanted to die. This wasn't one of those trying to seek attention or trying to reach out for help things. If I was seeking attention, it didn’t work, nor did I expect it to either. I was already in the throes of a depressive episode, probably going on for 6 months by that point, and had already been seeking treatment that wasn’t working to effectively. In those six months prior to my attempt I had abruptly quit my job (for what reason, now that I can look back at it, I really don’t know), was finding it difficult to find a new job, and had became estranged with the person whom I thought I was going to spent the rest of my life with. I just could not figure things out. And for someone that likes to figure things out that can be hard to take. I was lost inside the recesses of my mind and in pain. And it’s a pain that can’t really be described. There was nothing that I found that I could do that would take it away, and don’t think that I didn’t try. With what I was perceiving at the time as all avenues exhausted, I took the last option that I though was available to me. I preceded to take a handful of extra strength Tylenol and down them. I fully knew what could happen, I had done my research. Tylenol in massive doses destroys your liver. Usually takes about 3 days and from what I understand it’s pretty painful. If by 48 hours you haven’t started treatment to counteract the toxic effects, you typically will at the minimum end up with significant liver damage, to the point that a transplant would be needed. If you receive treatment within 12 hours, then for the most part you will be fine. With that being said I hope that none of you reading this take this as a blueprint as to what to do and I sincerely hope that you continue reading.

So then why am I not deceased? A friend, who I have had since a falling out with, chatted with me often online. He knew I was having significant problems. For some reason that night he picked up on something that was different. Exactly what that was or entailed, I don’t know, nor have i ever asked. I can’t even be sure if ever came out then with telling him what I had done (I would later). Needless to say his concern was raised enough to call 911 from Pennsylvania, where he was living at the time, myself living in Maryland. Medics and police promptly arrived at my house. I was transported to the closest hospital. Placed in one of the resuscitation rooms in the ER (not exactly sure why as opposed to a standard). Got to drink mint flavored charcoal (and yes I had a choice of flavors, it’s like drinking a gritty milkshake), and a big cup of fruit punch mixed with Acetylcysteine (the antidote for a Tylenol overdose which smells like rotten eggs and tastes just as bad).

Later I would be told that I took a potentially lethal dosage (normal ranges in the blood for Tylenol taking at normal dosing is around 10-20 mg/ml, mine was 81). After several hours and several more blood tests, I was cleared medically, then sent to psych, which was an experience in itself that i’ll perhaps write about some other time. Somehow I convinced them that I was well enough that inpatient treatment would be not be needed, though looking back I probably should have signed myself in anyway, was referred to an outpatient psych clinic, and was discharged. I should say that my whole experience in the ER lasted about 2 days, most of which was waiting for the psych consult.

Now you hope the story would end there. But by that July 4th weekend things had yet to improve. For various reasons I had yet to get an appointment at the outpatient clinic. And I perceived things as continuing to fall apart. I wasn’t doing well at all, and would even say i was worse then when i attempted. It got to the point that I could not put any trust in myself not to do something to harm myself and I knew I needed serious help. With the help of my parents, and unfortunately the authorities, I checked myself in for a nice week in the psych ward of a different local hospital. To absolutely be honest, my experience is nothing like what you hear the psych wards to be, at least in a general hospital, so yeah it was a nice week, sort of week at camp.

After seven days being cooped up on the unit I was discharged and referred to a different outpatient clinic. For about 6 months I did the meds things, did the therapy thing. Went weekly to therapy, took the meds daily, went to my psychiatrist monthly, took the blood test that went with the medication I was taking at the time, so on and so forth. And then I stopped. Why? I don’t know, perhaps I wasn’t ready to face my issues (or I didn’t like the diagnosis which for reasons beyond me has bounced between Major Depression and Bipolar NOS depending on the doctor over the years). But I wasn’t really particularly feeling any better. Stable yes, better no. Not knowing what else to do; for the next three years I did nothing, and I pretty much do mean nothing. I did do a fair amount of genealogy work and editing on Wikipedia. But that was the extent of any activity I did. I rarely left my room, let alone my house. I was just eking out an existence. I watched the world go by without being an active participant in it. Even saying that I was passive participant in life would have been a stretch. That was my life for three years.

Eventually I got to the point where I decided to rejoin, as I call it, the land of the living. To be honest, I was bored. With the help of friends, including the one that saved my life, i was able to step out of my cave and back into society. I learned how to drive (I’m a late bloomer in that among other things), reestablished friendships, made new friends, eventually started dating again (which I had vowed to never do again), and finished my degree (A BS in Geography and Environmental Planning from Towson University). So you could say I recovered, progress was made. Right?

Ten years on, things would return right back to square one. In 2012 right after New Years, right after getting my diploma in the mail, that darkness started to creep back in. I wasn’t able to find a job. I was getting interviews, I just could not seem to land anything. I found myself stressing over minor things. Was becoming irritable and pessimistic about everything. Things however seemed to turn the corner when after talking to my former university advisor I landed an internship. I had my internship, was hanging with friends, having a good time, on top of everything I unexpectedly started seeing someone. And for many that would have been the culmination of a pretty good spring and summer, and to be honest it wasn’t that bad. But as the summer went on cracks in the facade began to show and the anxiety came in with a vengeance. And with the anxiety came the depression in full force. Recognizing the signs and symptoms and seeing how they were beginning to trip me up, I made an attempt to stave it off. Knowing my past, I knew I just could not fight it on my own. I went to the doctors, got some meds, and started seeing a therapist. I thought things were getting better. Even those whom I told I was having problems stated to me that they thought that I was improving as opposed to several weeks earlier. And even I had started to believe that I had got control over it. And then Columbus Day weekend happened, a weekend that should have been fantastic for various reasons, ended up being a disaster.

Several weeks prior to that weekend I found myself researching ways to die by suffocation or asphyxiation. Why I was I really don’t know, it was like a compulsion of some sorts. And I was looking at it with the intention of actually going through with it. No i am not going to tell you what i had worked out, but i had worked out something, and put a lot of thought into a plan. I told not a single person that I was researching or thinking of this. That weekend, Columbus Day weekend, however things started to get out of hand and get out of hand rather quickly. I rather not get into specifics for various reasons, but I started to see things in my life falling apart in quick succession, and in a similar way to 10 years prior. All i want to do was “fix” things to get everything back on track and I just could not figure out how to fix anything. Think of it like putting together a jigsaw puzzle, all of a sudden none of the pieces start to fit, and you can’t figure out why. No matter which way you try nothing fits together, and you're getting frustrated. But instead of taking a break to try to regroup and coming at it later, you just pour a bunch of gasoline on the table, and then progressively burn down your house. I got to the point where I wanted to “burn down my house” and I knew what I had to do, either follow through with it or go to the hospital, I went to the hospital. Ten days this time. An experience similar to my last one 10 years ago. I would be discharged to a clinic, which, with the exception of a couple month break when I was changing clinics (a break which almost put me back into the hospital again) I have been doing since.

I’ll be honest, even though for many years I knew something was wrong, it’s took me a long time to come to terms with the idea that I, like 14.8 million other Americans, have Depression (officially Major Depressive Disorder — recurrent). Depression is one of those things that has been with me for a very significant portion of my life. Looking back now I can recall having issues back when I was in middle school (if not sooner), i wrote this i was 35. But at the time I would have chalked it up to hormones, or just how I didn’t like school, or was bullied, or it was just part of growing up, things along that line. Not realizing until now that it was probably depression. For me, along with the depression comes the suicide ideation. And as much as I hate to admit it, that’s been with me for as long as the depression has. And that’s a scary thing to admit to. Really, who among us want’s to think about killing ourselves, let alone attempting the deed. And yet I have on both counts. Situations have appeared in my life that would become emotionally taxing for some reason or another and my mind would drift off to ways to eliminate myself. For the most part I would pass them off as just some sort of irregular thought, nothing I would never do. Then I went off to college and several times during the course of my college life I seriously considered suicide. I never told anyone. A couple of people wondered if I was having problems, and I would always brush them off. I thought that if my “situation” improved then my mental health would improve. I was wrong. To be honest I should have said something then, I should have done something then, and tried to have got myself some help, but hindsight is 20/20.

I could never admit that it was something I needed to get “fixed.” I didn’t come from a broken or abusive household, didn’t do hardcore drugs, I’m not an alcoholic, don’t hear voices, nor do I usually (I say in jest) want to hurt others. For some reason I didn’t think my issues were that serious, just minor stuff that over time could be fixed by me or changes in my “situation.” I wasn’t like the people you would see on the streets talking to themselves, so i thought my problems weren't that bad, not worth tying up time in the system that could be used for someone that has serious problems. I would often think that if things “just sort of worked in my favor” (get the job, get the degree, get the girl, get to live in a great place, all of which I would have at one time or another) I would just be ok and all of this would pass and go away and I’d never have to deal with it again. But that has never happened. And because of this line of thinking, I allowed depression to chip away at significant portions of my life. One of the worse parts is that since my attempt, there have been times that I have wished that I had succeeded.

Do I have regrets in not having done something sooner. In a way yes. Had I done something when I first knew that I had a problem, good chance that my life would have ended up different than what it is today. Now i can’t say how different or what the changes would have been. Could have been minor and I would have been doing the same things on the same time frame i am doing now, just with a significantly less of the depression to deal with. Or it could have been major changes in my life and i could easily be a doctor right now like had originally set out to be when i went to college. But do I really regret not doing anything? Honestly, I can’t answer that, because I can’t say what would have happened. However what I do regret is the effect that depression has had on my life. I’ve lost good friendships because of it. Had great people that were in my life either walk out of my life or I’ve actively pushed them out of my life. I regret that i’ve had people in my life that weren’t willing to deal with or try to understand me, and some of them have had their own issues. Many are caught in the typical societal view of depression, the pull yourself up by the bootstraps and take a walk it will get better mentality. Trust me, if it were that easy, I’d have done it already. I’ve had opportunities lost, that I’ll never have the chance to get back. Depression, it takes away from people. And when you have it on a chronic recurring level like myself, it does it often, and it seems like you just become a pawn to it’s whims. Yeah so there's a lot of regret that I harbor, and getting past it isn’t that easy of a thing. It lingers, it lingers for a long time. And just when you feel like things are going back on track, it makes a come back, and puts it’s red hot poker straight into your eye. But that’s depression for ya.

There will be those of you who will think I am being exceptionally candid and open about such a personal thing. For many, suicide, let alone depression, isn’t something you air out in the open. Even today there is a tendency to look upon both depression and suicide as shameful things that should just not be discussed but that should be forgot about. To me, that’s just irresponsible (though I am sure some will think what I did was irresponsible as well). This line of thinking all too often prevents people, like myself, from getting treatment or even being active participants in their treatment. It’s all part of the greater stigma that our society puts on mental illness.

And yes, being this candid, open, and public about these issues, such personal issues to many, does take require me to take on a significant amount of personal risk. I am easily opening up myself to a lot of ridicule and criticism for what I have done. There is a chance I could lose friends and colleagues because of my coming out. Perhaps they don’t want to be associated with someone that has had or is going through issues, which is something I have dealt with during the times I have had depressive episodes. I could also be throwing away potential job opportunities, because places might not want to hire someone that has had issues in the past, is dealing with issues in the present, or that could face issues in the future, though none can legally admit to that. But once again that’s the stigma that goes along with having a mental illness.

Let’s be honest, there is still today a significant amount stigma directed at those that have a mental illness, and even more so with those that have attempted suicide. I’ve seen and dealt with it myself. To often I’ve seen those going through issues with mental health as being labeled as being weak, lacking faith, unreliable, can’t be trusted, dangerous, have to be handled with kid gloves. I’ve seen others question what one has to be depressed about and tell them that they should just get over things and move on, or that they just need to pull themselves up by their bootstraps. It’s easy to write off someone who is going through an episode as being difficult, unable or unwilling to do what they need to do to get better, to say that they brought the problem on themselves or are continuing to do so even while they are trying to recover. Instead of trying to reach out and help people who are having a difficult time it’s easier to just criticize them and just see the bad in them during what could be a short term crisis in which they are dealing with. That even still today, with the things we know and are learning about mental illness, these ideas persist is a sad statement of our society. And I’ll be the first to admit, that even with my own issues I’ve done that to others, and that disappoints me.

Many of us have dealt with issues and problems in our lives. How serious these issues and problems are and how they are handled varies by person. None of us can say how we ultimately will react to the situations that happen in our lives. The sad reality is that some of us have thought of and even chosen to take or attempt to take their own lives as a solution to these issues and problems, I count myself as one that has. In 2010, according to the CDC, suicide was the 10th leading cause of death in the United States. In Maryland, my home state, for the same year it was the 11th, two spots higher than homicide, an issue that we constantly put the spotlight on. That’s 502 people in Maryland that died by their own hands in 2010. The National Institute on Mental Health estimates that for every “successful” attempt there are approximately 11 non-fatal suicide attempts, that’s 5522 attempts in Maryland alone. Other organizations believe that these numbers are far higher and that many incidences are unreported, possibly due to stigma. Personally, I find these numbers unacceptable. Why people feel the need to attempt suicide is always going to difficult for the vast majority of people to understand. And that is assuming that people are going to be willing to try to understand. Even today I find it difficult to explain the reasons for my attempt. Even in this article I don’t full explain the why, and yeah that part is a difficult and confusing thing for me to discuss.

My Depression and suicide attempt are just parts that make up who I am, in much the same way that incidences in your lives make up who you are. But I try not to let them become the defining factors of me, though at times it may have seem like it to myself and to others. I can’t just write them out of my life either or just put them under the carpet. These are always going to be parts of my life experience for as long as I living. But they will only define who I am as a human being if allow them to. If you ever met me in person or had the chance to chat with me online and didn’t know before hand that I had these incidences in my life, would you know that I had? I doubt it. I have no outward physical scars; I don’t wear a Scarlet letter, I don’t have horns coming out of my head. I’m a person, a human, just like anyone else, just like you. I have my likes and dislikes, my passions, my opinions. And just like everyone else I’ve had a series of unique experiences in my life. Maybe more unique than most people. While I would like to say that these things are things in my past and will never play another role in my life, I can’t. Depression can be a funny thing in that aspect, and I have to be realistic as well. It may never rear it’s ugly head again in my life, or 10 years down the road I could by fighting with another bout of it, I can’t say. However with the effective treatment that I am now getting, I can hopefully significantly decrease the chances that a relapse would happen, and if one were to I hopefully will have the skills and the ability to use them to be able to more effectively deal with the situations causing and surrounding my depression. I can’t say what the future will hold, but I am hopeful that in the end things will work out.

Am I where I was prior to this episode or just where I am want to be in my life? Well at the time of writing this, not yet. Having a depressive episode is like having a stroke, you have it, you go to the hospital, you get discharged, and then you have months of rehab ahead of you. During that time your not that person you were before, it takes time to get back to that point, if you get to that point at all. Things get to me a bit more than they normally would, I can be a bit more reactive, a bit more moody, far less confident, more anxious. I still have problems doing some of the stuff I have done in the past, I don’t go out like I used to, I am not as social as I used to be, there are places I used to frequent that I don’t go to anymore for various (and more than likely not so great) reasons. I’ve become withdrawn from a significant amount of my friends and colleagues. It’s not been easy, or much fun the past number of months. But I’m improving, getting better, a far cry from where I was after I was discharged from the hospital (I should say that when I went into the hospital i wasn’t at my lowest yet, that would sort of come a couple of months later). It will take time get things where I want to be or just where I used to be, but it’s a place where I want to be, and it doesn't seem to far off.

So why come out publicly about my depression and suicide attempt. I have to look back at the article for inspiration. I’ve never felt particularly comfortable about discussing these issues publicly before, even though i have in several sort of roundabout ways. But in the same vein, I’ve never been thrilled to have to hide them away either. I’ve seen other friends go through depression. And unfortunately I’ve also known people that have taken their lives. My hope is that by coming out in such a way, it will help with adding to the removal of stigma from those that are not only suffering from mental illnesses but that have attempted suicide. Maybe it will make people think more about reaching out to those who are in emotional pain, like my friend did, and possibly help save someone's life. And maybe it help those who are in emotional pain to see that others have been through similar experiences, and that while it is tough, and many times you want to give up, their might be more to live for, even if you can’t see it right now.

If you know someone that is or think is suicidal or suffering from depression, don’t push him or her aside. Try to help them. Talk to them; listen to them, be a friend to them. Don’t criticize them, blame them, or try to discount what they are feeling. You may not understand what they are going through, why they feel the way they feel, or understand why they are thinking they way they do, and that’s ok. For someone that’s never been in these situations themselves it’s difficult to understand. As someone who has been through them, I can’t say I even totally understand what was going on with myself. And yeah it can be really hard to be their for someone with depression as well. I’ll admit, just from my own personal experiences, that when one is depressed they can be a ripe bastard, but that’s part of the depression. A lot of the things I did and said to others when depressed, aren’t things that I am particularly proud of. And yeah it bothers me still today. But there are resources out on the Internet and other places that they or you could call or go to get them the help that they need. For those that are and those that aren't depressed, just remember depression is only temporary, suicide however can be permanent, but it can be prevented.