Suicide is static noise
We don’t understand mental illness.
I was 17 when I was introduced to my first psychiatrist and he reassured my parents that he would fix me. My first therapist parroted the same thing. I was fixable. The right treatment and the right amount of compliance would make me better. So I tried to do what I was supposed to but my bipolar disorder wasn’t fixed. I realized that I was the reason I couldn’t get better. I broke myself. I was inherently cracked in half. I was worthless.
For years I lived under the toxic decree that someone with a mental illness can “get better for good,” a falsehood that framed experiencing symptoms as the fault of the individual. Believe me, I do what I’m supposed to — psychiatry appointments, meds, therapy, the works — but my mental illness, a chronic illness, will continue to exist as long as I do. It’s not my fault that it lurks inside my mind. I’ll never be able to evict it. I just need to try to keep it from killing me. I am worthwhile — but I am also sick.
I was inspired to write this after a conversation with a dear friend of mine regarding the existence of another dangerous psychiatric commandment: that suicide is all or nothing. The common belief is that suicide is one-dimensional, a mindset that is mutually exclusive. You either want to kill yourself or you’re all better and the thought has completely vanished from your mind. And while that story may feel good to share, as it seemingly inspires hope and it predicts that happy ending we all want, for many people with mental illness, myself included, that isn’t our story. Honestly the fact that this narrative is so frequently regurgitated and imposed on people living with mental illness is harmful. Even fatal. When mentally ill people are told that if we do what we’re supposed to we won’t want to kill ourselves, and then we do all of those things but the urges, cognitions, and feelings around suicide still linger, then it is easy to feel like we truly are the broken ones. The worthless. The impossible to save.
But, after having this conversation with my friend, the more I think of it, it’s true — I can’t really be saved. I can’t be saved from my illness. My bipolar won’t go away. No matter how hard I wish, beg, and plead it just won’t. That’s the nature of chronic illnesses. You alleviate the flare ups and keep moving as best you can. Salvation isn’t an option.
I have attempted suicide before. Having suicidal thoughts is a symptom of bipolar disorder. I will always have a relationship with suicide; no one can come in and wipe my mind clean. Suicide is an inescapable part of my life. Every day — on some level — I think about suicide. Suicide is static noise. It is always buzzing in my brain. For a lot of people I know who struggle with mental illness, suicide is a constant buzz. But it is a buzz that we suppress, something societal stigma tells us must stay hidden. And framing suicide as an all or nothing experience makes it hard for people to talk about living with an illness that is inextricably linked to suicide. It is a part of our daily struggle and it needs to be talked about. Without a language to discuss all aspects of mental illness, more and more people will struggle to ask for help, understand their illnesses, and manage their conditions safely.
I am lucky. For me, suicide is mostly static. Something I think about but don’t act on. Something I think about but don’t often share with others. And while I completely understand that discussing suicide makes the majority of us feel uncomfortable, from my perspective, the fact that I’m talking about my life with suicidal ideation is actually where my hope comes from.
My story doesn’t come with a standard “happy ending” in which my suicidal thoughts are suddenly erased, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have hope. I am hopeful when I can talk about mental illness and people try their best to understand. I am hopeful because I just turned 32 years old. My hope is renewed every day that I treat myself kindly.
I don’t deserve to be mentally ill. I’m not inherently worthless. I am hopeful. I do the best I can to save myself from the static. I raise my own voice even louder.
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