As We Close Mental Health Awareness Month
On the last day of May, which is Mental Health Awareness Month, I wanted to do a write-up on my own mental health struggles. I was uncomfortable doing a Twitter thread on it, but because I don’t want to suffer in silence and ensure that anyone who goes through the same thing doesn’t feel like they’re alone, writing my thoughts out via blog post is the best outlet for me.
Just yesterday, I stumbled across a shared article in The Outline published a few years ago called “I am not always very attached to being alive.” A write-up on the experience of living with suicidal ideations. Thoughts where you don’t make any plans to commit suicide but have chronic feelings of not wanting to be alive. As writer Anna Borges says, there is a difference between those who have fleeting suicidal thoughts and those who make attempts. But the statistics for those who fall under the former aren’t as well-known as the numbers for those who make suicidal attempts. In that same article, Borges creates a very accurate analogy for what living with suicidal ideations is like. It’s like treading through the ocean. You’re always staying afloat with the days where you feel like you can’t or won’t make it feeling like you’re swimming through a fierce tropical storm.
As someone who struggles with such ideations, I feel the article captures that feeling perfectly. There are mundane days where nothing eventful happens, but ones where I feel like I’m at least floating above the surface and that’s enough. But on my bad days, I feel like I am swimming through a tropical storm and there’s no way of reaching the surface. Ones where I could be having an awful work day, have writer’s block, or deal with memories of past professional failures that suddenly start flooding through my mind.
On those days, I can hear the “Sacrifice” tune that plays in the Season Five finale of Buffy the Vampire Slayer when Buffy falls into a multi-dimensional portal to save the world from the apocalypse and sacrifices her life. In fact, when this pandemic started, I felt like Buffy in the beginning of Season Six when she was pulled out of Heaven. I was torn out of my own happy place once movie theaters started closing and my trips to New York City became less frequent. Even though I had left my old soul-crushing day job and got a new one right as quarantine began, I could still feel my soul being crushed.
It also doesn’t help that when I’m having a thunderous storm day at my workplace, I sometimes break down publicly and feel like an animal trapped in a cage. People probably give a quick glance, but just keep walking. That’s why whenever I’m being asked “How are you?” while I’m on the job, I think to myself they shouldn’t bother asking because I feel like they really don’t care how I am.
It’s an issue that I’ve had as long as I can remember. My junior year of high school was when I could start to feel my thoughts of inadequacy. Because of the happier faces shown by other students as they walked down the halls, I felt as if everyone else was having an easier time skating through life. Then when I began pursuing my Bachelor’s, my ideations reached a tipping point as I was consumed by a fear of failure. Both me failing my studies and letting down my family. My fears hit me to the point where I would poke my hand with a pencil as punishment for flunking so much as an online homework assignment. I was drowning but thankfully, there was someone who pulled me up to the surface as she advised me to seek the help that I got. My disability services counselor suggested that I see a school therapist and even if I only sought help during my first few semesters at that college, the sessions of therapy I had were able to allow me to swim through and get the Bachelor’s I worked for.
In retrospect, that experience is a reminder that the suicide ideations I still struggle with are fleeting. They don’t leave me entirely even I’ve never made an attempt at taking my own life. But like a brutal thunderstorm, they do pass and thankfully, I have my own pieces of driftwood to keep me above the surface when I’m forcing my way through those harsh storms.
Whether it’s watching episodes of Schitt’s Creek, finally writing out words after drawing blanks when working on a project, messaging a friend, or going for a walk to get a cup of frozen yogurt, I can always find small things that keep me afloat. Plus, after being plucked from my happy place once I was unable to go on my NYC trips during the pandemic, the belief that I would be able to hop on another Metro-North train and meet up with friends again was enough to keep me going.
I don’t know how I’ve had these troublesome thoughts since my teenage years. I even was uneasy writing about this simply because it involves the word “suicide” and I don’t want anyone to think I have active plans at taking my own life. But I wrote it anyhow as a form of catharsis and as a reminder that, as the aforementioned article shows, everyone experiences depression differently.
Hopefully, I got this across in the best way that I could and I hope that anyone who goes through the same thing that I do feels like they’re not alone. I hope that you’re able to find your own pieces of driftwood you can hold onto when you’re experiencing an awful tropical storm.
If you’re having thoughts about suicide or know someone else who might be, you can call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (1–800–273–8255)
