Category Archives: mhm2010

The Tears Woudn't Stop – Suicide

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At the end of They Threatened To Arrest Me I was in an ICU room, hooked up to an IV, with my guard in a chair by the door..  By this point, I had been threatened with arrest, stripped searched, and made to feel as if I was a criminal.  I know I was suicidal, however, I really felt that the way I was being treated was not helping my suicidal thoughts, instead it was making them worse.

As I suspected, I had a very sleepless night in ICU.  I spent most of the night crying. There was a guard in my room all night, who  I attempted to ignore.  I was still very angry at how things turned out.  I wanted to go home, and I was miserable.  I also still had that terrified feeling about what was going to happen to me next.

When the doctor came to examine me in the morning, he was oddly silent.  Except for letting me know that I had to stay hooked up to the heart monitors to satisfy the psychiatric hospital (which I would be going to the next day), and  that I would be moving to a regular room, he said nothing to me.  Not even to answer my questions.  What I did not know at the time, is that none of the doctors or nurses would give any information to my husband either.  They did not feel compelled to,  since I had been involuntarily committed.  The hospital was considered my guardian at that point, and I was considered incapable of making my own medical decisions.  Because of this, my husband also had no right to know what was going on with me.

Shortly after the doctor examined me, I was transferred over to the regular floor, my guard following me over.  I still was not eating, for fear of a bowel movement, since all my bathroom activity had to be monitored.  The nurse I had at the time, started giving me funny looks when I kept turning down my insulin shots.  I am sure they were thinking I was trying to harm myself in another way.

That afternoon I got a new guard, who I think was trying to do his best to make me feel more at ease.  It sort of backfired.  He tried to prepare me for the transfer to the psychiatric hospital.  He let me know that I would be going in a sheriff’s deputy car, riding in the back.  In my mind I was thinking “Yet another thing to make me feel like a criminal.” Contrary to what the nurse in the emergency room said, there was a chance I could wear my own clothes to the psychiatric hospital, it depended on what the deputy who was in charge of transferring me decided.  Finally, he told me that because of sheriff department policy, I would have to be handcuffed during the transfer.  My terror became stronger.  I kept thinking about how this would not have happened if I had not called for help, and how could they keep treating me like a criminal when I voluntarily came to this hospital.  I burst into a fresh round of tears and quit talking.

That evening, when it came time for me to take my medication for my restless leg syndrome (RLS), I was  given a dose that was less than half of what I am supposed to take.  I asked the nurse who brought it where the rest of it was.  Her response was to roll her eyes and to let me know that either I took what she brought and quit complaining, or she would not give me anything for my RLS.

I got on my cell phone and called my husband and told him what was going on. The nurse left my room, taking the smaller dose of my medication with her.  I was so very angry.  She came back in and told me that the doctor’s orders were for that smaller amount and there was nothing I could do about it.  I believe it was about this time when I said very loudly “that just because I was involuntarily committed, did not mean that the doctor or anyone could make medical decisions regarding me without telling me what was going on“.  My husband was still on the phone and he told me he was going to come back to the hospital, in order to see what he could do to help me.  I over-heard the  guard tell the nurse that if this was going to be how I was going to behave, then he was going to take my cell phone away and not let me have visitors.  I guess he had forgotten all the hours that I had done nothing but cry and because I got angry about the medication situation I was now going to be considered a troublesome patient.

When my husband was just about to my room, the guard left my room to speak to him.  Apparently, the guard told my husband to calm me down so that I could still have visitors and to make their job easier.  I guess I was not supposed to be upset about anything that was going on.   Before my husband came into my room, he went to the nurses station to have my nurse get my medication bag and verify the dosage amounts. That is when he discovered that between ICU and the regular floor (which, by the way, are technically on the same floor), my medication bag was lost.  After an hour of searching, my nurse found it.

She verified that I was correct about my RLS medication dosage, and then called the doctor.  My husband spoke with the doctor, and let him know that just because I was involuntarily committed did not give anyone the right to change my medication dosage, especially without consulting me or him.  He also asked the doctor why my other medications had not been administered.  The doctor told my husband that as a general rule in that hospital, if you are admitted because you are suicidal they take away all of your medications, and only let you have them back gradually.  After much discussion, my husband was able to convince the doctor that it would be a good idea to let me have all my medications, in the dosages I was supposed to.

I still cannot comprehend the hospital’s reasoning for treating me the way they did.  Nothing was done to eliminate my terror, instead everything they did do only increased it. Nor do I understand their reasoning for not letting my  husband know what was going on with me.  Even if they thought I was not capable of making my own medical decisions, he had a right to know what was going on with his wife.  I am thankful they did finally listen to my husband when it came to my medications.

They Threatened To Arrest Me – Suicide

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When I ended Bumps In the Recovery Road I was in the emergency room of the local hospital, waiting with a front desk lady, while the psychiatrist from the Crisis Team was working with the emergency room doctor to have me involuntarily committed.  I was very angry and really wanted to leave, but I knew they would stop me.

After about fifteen minutes, the psychiatrist exited the treatment area and left the emergency room, without saying a word to me.  Almost immediately after he leaves, I am called back to the treatment area.  At first, things seem to be going along in a fairly normal manner.  I am still angry, still feeling like I have been tricked, but I thought that since I had come to the hospital willingly, that it would not be too bad.  I. WAS. WRONG.

A very young nurse enters my room, she hands me a hospital gown, and orders me to take off all of my clothing.  She then informs me that I will be going to the psychiatric hospital, dressed in nothing more than that hospital gown.  I promptly let her know that I was not removing my undergarments.  To which she responded with “We will see what the charge nurse says about that”.

After the young nurse leaves, the emergency room doctor arrives and asks me a few questions about the state of my mind, and if I have a suicide plan.  After I answer all his questions, he leaves.  About twenty minutes after my encounter with the doctor, a guard shows up.  I was not surprised or bothered about the guard, I already knew it was standard procedure for anyone that the medical staff think is suicidal.

When the  charge nurse finally enters my room, I can tell from the look on her face that things are about to get bad.  I had no idea how bad, until she lets me know that she is going to strip search me.  I go from angry to absolutely terrified very quickly.  I am rather modest and the thought of being strip searched was more than my already messed up brain could handle.  I instantly burst into tears.  The nurse told me it had to be done to be sure I was not hiding any drugs or weapons.  I do not use drugs, and I am not a violent person, except for that time when I was coming out of a coma, so I just could not understand why I needed to be stripped searched.  I felt humiliated, embarrassed, and as if I was being treated like a criminal, when I all I did was call for help.

When I told the charge nurse that I refused to be strip searched, she let me know that if I did not allow her to do it, she would have the guard outside my room arrest me!  It seems the guards they use are off duty sheriff deputies, so they have the power to arrest people.  I have no way of knowing if I really could have been arrested for refusing the strip search.  What I do know, is that I was calm, although terrified, and I had not even raised my voice when I told her no.  I also know that I felt bullied, and like I was being treated as if I had committed a crime.

When I did not agree to the strip search as quickly as the charge nurse wanted me to, she began to walk out the door, telling me she was going to have the guard come in and take me to jail.  At that point, it was a given that I would agree. She checked every place that someone could hide anything.  When she finished, I felt completely violated.  Even now, months after this, I still feel just as angry,  humiliated, and violated as when it first took place.

After the strip search, when it was time for me to put my hospital gown back on, I manged to talk the charge nurse into allowing me to wear my undergarments under my hospital gown.  I assumed once I got dressed I would immediately be taken to the psychiatric facility.  That did not happen.  Because of the ten extra beta blockers I took, the psychiatric hospital told the emergency room doctor that I had to have my heart monitored for at least twenty-four hours before they would accept me.

By this time, I had become so scared about going to the psychiatric hospital, that I did not mind having to stay in the medical hospital for an extra few days.  My thought was, if I could be violated the way I had been at this hospital, there was no telling what horrible things waited for me at the psychiatric hospital.

Once a room in the Intensive Care Unit became available, I was transferred (along with my guard) upstairs.  After I was settled into my room, I  learned that there were a few rules that I had to adhere to.  I was not allowed to leave my room.  Anything that my husband brought me would have to be examined before I could have it.  Finally (the worst rule in my opinion), I could not go to the bathroom without being supervised.

That night I learned that because I was involuntarily committed for  a suicide attempt, I would not be given any of my daily medications.  That also meant my Restless Leg Syndrome (RLS) medicine.  Since I was hooked up to monitors, I could not get up and walk around and my legs became extremely uncomfortable.  My RlS medicine is the only thing that makes my RLS symptoms tolerable.  It took some doing, but the doctor that was on duty that night did allow me to take my RLS medicine. He took the discontinue order away and said I should not have any problems the next night.

With the medication failure already allowing my emotions to be out of control, not being allowed to have any anti-anxiety medication, and feeling terrified, violated, and angry, I was a horrible person to be around. I was short tempered, at times, with certain guards. I barely tolerated most of the nurses and I was rude to the doctors.

I quit eating.  There was no way I was going to have a bowel movement while someone had to watch me in the bathroom.  When I was not sleeping, I was crying.  The terror I felt about what it was going to be like at the psychiatric hospital was and still is the most scared I have ever been.

I do not know if the treatment I received in the emergency department is the norm for anyone involuntarily committed.  However, I believe that it was highly inappropriate for the charge nurse to threaten to have me arrested. There could have been many other ways she could have gotten me to cooperate that did not involve threats, especially since I was not being violent or argumentative.

I would like to hear if anyone had similar experiences when they were involuntarily committed for psychiatric care.  I would also be interested to know if my experiences, especially with the arrest threat, are exactly how hospital staff are supposed to treat someone who has suicidal thoughts or if there was something not quite right about how I was treated.

Bumps In The Recovery Road – Mental Health Awareness

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I am sure that I am not alone when I say that my depression recovery has experienced a few bumps in the road. In fact, I hit a rather large bump last September, which ended in a brief hospital stay. Unfortunately, because I did not have any medical insurance, the hospital that was chosen for me was a State Run Psychiatric Hospital.

Finding the right depression medication for me proved to be something of a challenge. Since I am a diabetic, I could not take many of the depression medications because they can raise a person’s blood sugar. Then a whole bunch of other medications were put on the black list, because of my restless leg syndrome (RLS). It seems they affect dopamine in much the same way that RLS does so they can make it worse. After several months, we found a combination of medication that seemed to work and did not cause the usual problems.

I was feeling better, I had a better outlook on life and I had a small measure of hope. So when the bump in the road happened, I was taken by surprise. Looking back I can clearly identify certain things about my behavior that should have been signals to me that that I was not doing well.

I had become overly emotional with my anger and sadness. I picked fights with everyone I could, and I was back to crying all the time. The way I was feeling had been my “normal” for several years,so it did not dawn on me that I was in serious trouble. After feeling like this for several days, things sort of tilted to the very bad. I was taking my usual everyday handful of medicine, when I decided that I was going to add about ten extra beta blockers to my usual dose.

What I looked like during this "bump in the road"

What I looked like during this "bump in the road"

Once I fully realized what I did, I called my counselor.  She was not in.  The receptionist decided that she thought I needed to talk to someone on the Crisis Line, and immediately transferred my phone call.  I went through the whole scenario with a lady who answered the Crisis Line phone, up to the point where I took the extra medication.  After the lady on the Crisis Line heard that, she suggested that a Crisis Team come to my house and evaluate me.  Knowing that her suggestion was really more like she was telling me what was going to happen, I agreed.

The Crisis Team that showed up to my house, consisted of two men.  One was a psychiatrist and one was a Sheriff’s Deputy in plain clothes.  After asking me several questions, the psychiatrist suggested that I go to the local hospital and be checked out to make sure that the extra beta blockers I took were not going to cause me any problems.  He went on to suggest that it might be in my best interest if I went to a mental health facility for a few days, until I got through this crisis (bump in the road).

I did not want to go to either places. I knew I would end up in a state run psychiatric hospital, and I was terrified of going there. However, I also knew that if I told them no, the deputy would call for back up and I would still end up going, except I would be in handcuffs. I could not let that happen in front of my daughter.

When we got to the local hospital, the psychiatrist had me sit with the front desk lady and he went back to talk to an emergency room doctor. This is about the time that I got really angry and realized what the psychiatrist was doing. He was working with the emergency room doctor and they were going to have me 10-13nd. Where I live, that is the code for having someone involuntarily committed to a psychiatric hospital. I felt like all my rights were gone, and in essence they were.

I realize now that the crisis team probably saved my life. Since my counselor was not in her office, I probably would have taken more pills and would have tried to commit suicide again. At the time though, I was pissed. I felt as if I had been tricked into going to the local hospital, and that if I had not tried to call for help, I would not be in this mess.

I was totally refusing to see that what the psychiatrist had done was get me to the place I needed to be, with as little drama and trauma as possible. I was too busy being pissed off to admit that even if I only took ten extra beta blockers, it was still ten too many and was a strong indicator that I was heading down the path to a suicide attempt.

I have to say, I think that it is very good that the county I live in has crisis teams that will go to someone’s house to evaluate their mental state. If I ever got into serious trouble with my depression again, and I could not get a hold of my counselor or my other “safe” people, I would call the Crisis Line and get help that way.

More of my hospitalization experience in another post

Are you in crisis? Please call 1-800-273-TALK
Are you feeling desperate, alone or hopeless? Call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255), a free, 24-hour hotline available to anyone in suicidal crisis or emotional distress. Your call will be routed to the nearest crisis center to you.

* Call for yourself or someone you care about
* Free and confidential
* A network of more than 140 crisis centers nationwide
* Available 24/7

How I Manage My Depression – Mental Health Awareness

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I used to view my depression as a hideous, evil entity that had decided to make its home in my brain. I had no control over it and I believed I would never get control. I knew that I would spend the rest of my life with this thing running around in my brain.

In the beginning of my recovery, it used to make me very irritated when I  heard people say that depression was a disease, just like diabetes or heart disease.  How could something that had infested my brain and made me feel so rotten be nothing more than a disease? Surely, there had to be some other, fancier word for it, but there wasn’t.

It took several months of counseling for me to finally realize that all those people who had said that depression was a disease were right.  I finally understood and it had been my diabetes that had shown the way.

As a diabetic, every day is a maintenance day.  I have to monitor my blood sugar, give myself insulin shots, and I have to have a few people I can rely on, whose job is to let me know if I look like my blood sugar has dropped too low. There are consequences for not maintaining my diabetes properly.  If I let my blood sugar gets too high it makes me feel very bad and is very destructive to my body.  If I let it get too low then I could go into insulin shock and that is also bad for my body. It was when I was thinking about this routine, that I realized that I had set up something similar with my mental health maintenance.

There are things I have to do every single day, without exception, to successfully manage my depression. Daily, I have to remember to take three different medications, which add up to eight pills everyday just for the depression.  Making sure my mind is focused on positive things and not getting bogged down in negativity, is a very important step in my depression management.  That means not allowing anything or anyone to bring negativity in my life.  I watch my reactions to situations and people to make sure that I am not being overly emotional, and review my thinking to make sure it is logical.  I also have several people, who know me well, in addition to my counselor, who monitor my behavior.

To make sure that I always remember to take my depression medication and to take it at the same time every day, I carry it with me every where I go.  I have a special bag that goes into my purse, that bag holds all my medications.  That way if I am not at home and it is medication time, it is right there with me.  Keeping it in that bag also makes it much easier for me to keep track of my medication and its location.  After all, how hard can it be to overlook a bright purple bag with Tinkerbell on it?

I do several things to make sure my mind stays focused on the positive.  I read motivational and inspirational quotes every day.  Just having positive little sayings running around in my head is a huge help.  I also maintain a policy of always finding something positive in every situation.  There are certain types of movie and television shows that I no longer watch because they are too depressing.  Probably one of the most important things I do to keep my mind focused on the positive, is not allowing people to bring their negative behavior into my life.

I no longer worry endlessly about anything. If a worry does creep into my mind, I have a way of managing it.  I allow myself two “worry times” a day, each lasts no longer than fifteen minutes.  One is in the morning and the other is in the late afternoon.  I am not allowed to worry outside of those periods of time.  This prevents a chain reaction of negative thoughts from forming.

In addition to examining my own thoughts, making sure that they are staying logical, I have assigned several families to monitoring me as well.  They make sure that I am making sense when I speak and in how I behave.  They also look for clues in what I am saying that might indicate if my thinking is off kilter.  These people are very important in my depression management.

These are actually very simple things to do, and well worth any time they take up.  They have become part of my daily routine, just like managing my diabetes is part of my daily routine.  Now I am one of those people who say, Depression is a disease, just like Diabetes and Heart Disease.

Recovery Starts

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The first time I stepped into my counselor’s office was not “the first day of the rest of my life”, it was not where I wanted to be, and it was not the beginning of my depression recovery.  It was not a pleasant experience, it was not fun answering all of her questions, and it was not likely that I would want to go back.

I had been in the hospital for a week, as a result of my suicide attempt, and I had been forced to come to this clinic the day after I had been released.  I thought it was stupid and unfair, especially since I felt so rotten and tired.  I was furious with the world, everyone in it and myself.

I knew I could talk my husband into not forcing me to go back.  All I would have to do is tell him that I would never do something so “stupid” again and I was better now.  He would believe me, or at least attempt to believe me.  I could have done it, but I did not.  I was not being noble or responsible or even doing the right thing.  The only reason I did not, is because the person he put I charge of taking me to my appointments was my mother, and my depression did not leave me with enough energy to argue with her.

The next appointment that I had and did not want to go to was with the nurse at the clinic.  It was his job to make sure I was medically fit enough to take whatever medications the psychiatrist would want me to take, administer a drug test and find out what medications I was on.  There was something about me that day that caused the nurse to worry about me.  He became concerned enough about my well being to insist that I see the psychiatrist right then, instead of waiting a few days for my appointment.

When I walked into the psychiatrist’s office, I was unprepared for what came next.  He looked at me and told me very plainly that I had three choices.  I could take the medication he was going to prescribe me and come to my future appointments, or I could wait there for the sheriff’s car he was going to ask to come and take me to the state psychiatric hospital, or I could go to the local hospital and leave from there in the sheriff’s car to the state psychiatric hospital.  I went with choice number one.

When it was time for me to go back and see my counselor, I had a little bit of a better attitude, but not by much.  I went into her office with the idea that I would tell her the truth about everything.  It was not because I really cared about getting better, I was still mostly at that point of not caring about my life.  However, if I told her the truth about everything, at least one person would know why I died when I tried to commit suicide again.

During this session I told her about a promise I had made to my husband.  I had promised him I would never try and commit suicide when it was just me and my daughter at home.  That was an easy promise to make, because I would not do that with either one of them at home.  My counselor is one smart cookie.  She figured out very quickly that if I promised something I would follow through.  She took that opportunity to hand me a piece of paper.

That piece of paper was a contract.  If I signed the contract I would be promising for one week to not attempt suicide, even when I was alone.  I did not have to sign it, I almost did not sign it.  In the end, I did sign it.  Each week I went back, I signed another contract.

The moment I signed that first piece of paper, was the moment I began to make conscious choices to live, only one week at time, but they were still choices to live.  When I began making those choices, my depression recovery process began.

Mental Health Bloggers #2 – Mental Health Awareness

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As I have traveled around the internet, seeing other blogs, I realized that there are many people who blog for the same reasons I do. To put their own Mental Health story out there, with the hope that it can benefit someone.

For today’s Mental Health Awareness post I wanted to take the time to list another five of the blogs I have found. Each one tackles Mental Health from a different perspective, and some have a different mental illness than I have. Next week I will list five more.

A Journey This site is new to me, however, I have liked everything I have seen on it. Susan, the author has such a positive way she blogs. This is what she has to say about her blog:

“This blog and these resources are meant to be fuel that might encourage you to think, ask questions, find your own answers and hopefully support you as you walk your path and create your own best life which is in the simplest terms – the life you choose for yourself each day!”


Our Journey Through Life This is another new to me site, but it is quickly becoming one of my favorites. Her blog is written from the point of view of what it is like for a family to live with someone who has Bi-Polar Disorder. Even though I do not have Bi-Polar Disorder, her site is very helpful to me, because it gives me insight about how life is like for my family, living with my depression.

Sonya’s Word The Author of this site writes about what it is like for him and his family, living with his wife who has Major Depression with psychotic features. His blog is very touching and he writes from a very candid point of view. I highly recommend reading his blog.

Crazy-Making This blogger has made an excellent list of Blogs that have to do with Mental Health. This is a wonderful resource if you are looking for more Mental Health blogs to read.

The Thought Bubble Bubbleboo is one of my best blogging buddies. She is a wonderfully, sweet woman who blogs about what her life is like with a son who is autistic. Even if you do not have an autistic child, please take the time to read her blog. Not only have I learned a lot from it, I love her sense of humor.

Guest Post – Mental Health Awareness

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I am very excited to introduce my very first guest blogger, Kris from Our Journey Through Life. She has a great blog, where she discuss what life is like for her and her children, living with a Husband/Father who has Bi-Polar Disorder. I admire her for her willingness to stick it out, in what has to be a very difficult situation. After you read what she has written for us here, I urge you to take the time to visit her site and read her other posts.

I am still new to guest blogging. Even newer to that than I am to blogging on my own blog Our Journey Through Life. I have been trying on and off over the past few years to really get started and just over the past few months really got into the groove of things. My name is Kris and I am married to L who was diagnosed with bipolar disorder in October 2007. Before that his doctor had said that it was GAD (General Anxiety disorder) and depression. It wasn’t until a severe nervous breakdown with psychotic features presented itself that his diagnosis changed. We have been married for 5 1/2 years and have two beautiful little girls who are 3 1/2 years and 13 months old.

Melissa asked me to write about how my husband’s effects us as a family. The bigger (and more accurate) question would be how does it not. Everything we do and everything we don’t do is based on his illness at this point. We are starting to move away from that but it is a difficult road.

When he was showing more symptoms I would watch him every waking moment. I would stay up until 1am or later with him and be up at 6am the next morning with our oldest daughter who wasn’t even a year old yet at that point. I lost count of the number of times I fell asleep in her room while she was playing because I was simply exhausted. I was scared to leave him at home alone because I didn’t know what he would do. It took me a long time to start taking care of not just him and our daughter but of myself as well.

Even now, though things have improved, we are still not out of the woods. One of his biggest issues is impulse control especially when he isn’t doing well. His biggest rash decision up to this point was made in September 2008 when he HAD to move. No talking would get him out of it. It was either we move with him or he would move on his own. So, we moved. From the time he made that decision until the time we were in our new apartment it took all of three days…

The biggest effect I see though is in our interpersonal interactions. His relationship with our daughters is very strained at this point. Our oldest is too young to understand why her daddy who she loves with all her heart can change in a heartbeat from loving and joking to upset and yelling. All she knows is that there are times when her daddy gets ‘mean’. How do you explain that to a three-year old child?

Overall, I think what effects me the most is the constant vigilance (both conscious and unconscious). The smallest change in his mood or behavior can set off warning bells for me. I am overly sensitive to any changes and as much as I am trying not to I tend to be rather pessimistic about the outcome of things. It is something I am trying very hard to overcome and something that I am hoping that our girls will not pick up. Yet at the same time i am the one that is hopeful that he WILL get better and that we will get back to a point where he is in control of his illness and not the other way around. I think if I let myself believe that there was no hope then all hope WOULD be lost. So I keep trucking on for my husband, our girls and myself.

Why I Tried Suicide – Mental Health Awareness

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This time last year, the one thing I wanted more than anything else was to die. Each day I was alive was pure torture, and I wanted it to end. The only way I could see it ending was to take my own life.

I did not get to such a low point over night.  It took years of untreated depression for me to feel so bad all the time.  In fact, I probably had been dealing with depression on and off since I was a teenager.  Each depressive episode I had was worse than the one that had preceded it.  Until finally the depression became debilitating.

Starting in the Fall of 2007, several upsetting events  happened that I think pushed this current round of depression to an extreme that I had never experienced before.  At first, I did not recognize what was happening because a couple of physical illnesses I had been diagnosed with had symptoms that masked the depression.  By the time I figured out what was really going on, I found it impossible to ask for help.

In my mind, the event that seems to have started my descent towards severe depression, was when I was diagnosed with Adult Onset Asthma.  The diagnosis came after a brief hospital stay, due to breathing problems.  Up until that point, I had been a fairly healthy person and I did not know how to cope with a chronic illness.

For some reason, it was a struggle to get my asthma under control.  As a result, I spent almost a solid year on steroids. At that time,  I knew that steroids really messed with a person’s blood sugar, what I did not know is that steroids can also mess with your brain.  Steroids have been linked to depression, hostility, rages, and anxiety.

After my asthma diagnosis, I never seemed to get back to feeling how I used to. I was always tired, and needed to nap frequently. I became extremely worried that I would have an asthma attack away from home and not be able to get it under control or to a hospital in time.  This worry fed an Anxiety Disorder that I had,  encouraging it to become increasingly worse. My husband and I figured that I was so tired all the time from the asthma, and I did not tell him about the problems I was having with anxiety.

In the Spring of 2008, my son and I had a falling out and he moved out of the house under very difficult circumstances for both of us. Having my son so angry with me and leaving the way he did devastated me. It felt as if my child had died. Looking back, I can see that was an extreme emotional response to the situation. However, at the time that reaction seemed appropriate.

After my son left home, I was diagnosed with Type II Diabetes.  My blood sugar was almost five hundred at the time I was diagnosed, and the doctor said that is what had been causing my frequent need to nap and why I felt like I had not bounced back from the asthma.  I had a hard time wrapping my brain around the fact that I now had two chronic illnesses.

My anxiety became worse after I learned about my diabetes.  Not only did I now have to carry emergency supplies for an asthma attack, I had to start carrying insulin, syringes and diabetic emergency supplies. The thought of having to give myself shots in public or at other people’s houses freaked me out.  I began staying at home more and more, until the only time I left it was when I absolutely had no other choice.

As I isolated myself more and more, my depression and anxiety grew stronger and stronger.  My internal dialogue became nothing more than a recounting of everything that I had ever done wrong and should feel guilty about, what a horrible person I was, how I did not deserve love from anyone, and what a burden I had become to my family.  The emotional pain that I was experiencing, began to feel like a constant physical ache.

The ache became more painful, and I began to entertain thoughts of suicide.  I was not totally committed to going through with it, but the suicidal thoughts were in my brain, acting as a constant reminder to me of how I could get rid of my pain.  I began to research the best ways to kill myself.  My thinking was, if I ever decided to act on my suicidal thoughts then I would have a plan that I knew would work.  I was very thorough in my research and before long, I had what I thought was a rock solid suicide plan.  All I had to do was wait until I got to a point where I felt like I needed to implement it and for the right time.

One of the things I believed I had to do before I could act on my suicide plan, was to get my daughter and husband to a point where they could rely on themselves and each other.  Until the depression got so bad that I could barely function, I had been the person who cooked the meals, cleaned the clothes, ran the kids places, and did errands for my husband.  Because my anxiety was making it impossible for me to leave the house, my husband was having to do more and more of these things.  That was perfectly fine with me, because it meant he was going to have to learn what  I needed him to learn before I ended my life.

The next thing I had to do before I committed suicide was to push my family away.  My thinking was if I could distance myself from them, then it would not cause them as much pain when I died.  I treated them badly.  I raged, I yelled, I became a very nasty person to be around.  I made their lives miserable in an effort to make them not want to be around me.  It worked.

A few weeks before I decided the time was right to die, I became obsessed with my thoughts of suicide.  Day and night, that is all I could think about.  Those thoughts seemed to be alive, and they kept morphing into stronger more persuasive entities.  My feeling of hopelessness became so strong, that it felt like that was the only emotion I felt.   I cried almost non-stop because the constant ache I felt had moved into my soul, and had taken over my whole being.

Finally, the day came when my suicidal thoughts became so strong that I had no other choice but to act on them. I could no longer bear the searing emotional and physical pain that consumed my body and brain.   My soul was weary from my constant feeling of hopelessness, and I no longer feared what would happen to me after I died.  The only thing I was waiting for was the right time.

On Sunday, May 17th, 2009 everything lined up the way I needed it to.  My husband and daughter were gone for the day, they had learned how to take care of themselves, and they rarely wanted to be around me. I had already come to terms with my death.  There was nothing in my way, and I no longer had the strength or urge to fight my suicidal thoughts.  I implemented my suicide plan.

At first glance this story may seem very sad and depressing, however, I do not view it that way.  From these series of events I learned gratitude.  I am grateful that my fool proof suicide plan did not go the way I thought it would.  Out of my hopelessness, I learned to be hopeful. I have hope for my life now that I never had before.  My inability to ask for help taught me that asking for help is  a good thing.  After I tried to end my own life and entered into therapy, I asked for help.  The help I received came in various forms, including medication and treatment for my depression.  Now I know, things never have to get to that low of a point again.

My desire is that my story touches someone.  Either a person who is feeling the way I did in the months and weeks before my suicide attempt, or a family member of someone who might be exhibiting similar signs and behaviors that I described in my story.  The message I hope they take away from my story is that people do not have to feel that way.  There are very effective treatments and medications that can prevent someone from ending their own life or trying to end their own life.

No, this is not a sad or depressing story.  It is a story of hope and healing.

If you or a loved one is in imminent danger of committing suicide call 911 immediately.

National Suicide Hotlines, USA

Unites States of America

1-800-SUICIDE–1-800-784-2433 1-800-273-TALK–1-800-273-8255

1-800-799-4TTY–1-800-799-4889 (Deaf Hotline)

Why Suicide? – Mental Health Awareness

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A person who has never had suicidal thoughts, or tendencies has a hard time understanding why someone would want to commit suicide. It is difficult for them to imagine how someone could believe that death is a solution for anything. However, for the suicidal person, death is seen as the ultimate solution.  

Suicide is not a pointless or random act.  To the person committing suicide, it makes perfect sense, and is something they have given a lot of thought to.  It is a solution to an otherwise unsolvable problem.  That problem usually is unrelenting psychological pain.

Generally, when a person reaches the decision to end their own life, they are so full of pain that they want it all to just end.  Their consciousness is full of a never ending stream of distressing thoughts and feelings, with which they are preoccupied.   This stream can contain messages of self-loathing, that they are a burden to their families, guilt, a pervasive sense of hopelessness and other very negative thoughts and emotions.

Because of their skewed thinking, the suicidal person believes the messages that are flooding into their head.  If they could turn them off on their own, they would.  However, they are not able to make use of problem solving strategies, so their internal dialogue continues to be full of negative messages.  This leaves the suicidal person with no way to alleviate their extreme pain.

The only option they see to end their pain is to take their own life.  All their thoughts began to revolve around this idea.  They begin to formulate their suicide plan.  Deciding how they are going to end their life, figuring out when they are going to do it, and where it is going to take place.  It is extreme thinking, with an all or nothing mentality.

A suicidal person cannot think beyond the fact that suicide will provide them an escape from intolerable circumstances, and their pain can end instantly.  They are seeking oblivion and suicide will provide it for them.

If you or a loved one is in imminent danger of committing suicide call 911 immediately.

National Suicide Hotlines, USA

Unites States of America

1-800-SUICIDE–1-800-784-2433 1-800-273-TALK–1-800-273-8255

1-800-799-4TTY–1-800-799-4889 (Deaf Hotline)

Suicide Facts – Mental Health Awareness

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To put the societal impact of suicide into a better perspective, I researched some facts about suicide.  I have listed some of what I found here.  I have to admit, I was surprised by some of what I discovered.  My hope is, after you read what is here, you will understand the importance of eliminating the stigma that surrounds mental health issues, and suicide.  I believe one of the keys to reducing the suicide rate is to change people’s attitudes and thinking about these issues.

  • Suicide is the 8th leading cause of death in the United States, claiming about 30,000 lives each year.
  • 90% of the people who commit suicide have depression or some other treatable mental disorder.
  • Each day, 14 young people (ages between 15-24) commit suicide.  That is about 1 every 100 minutes.
  • Suicide attempts are among the leading causes of hospitalization for people under 35.
  • Men are 4 times more likely to commit suicide than women, however, women attempt to commit suicide twice as often as men do.
  • The highest suicide rates can be found in men over the age of 85.
  • There are about twice as many deaths by suicide than HIV/AIDS.
  • Suicide rates in the US are highest in the Spring.
  • 15% of the people diagnosed with Clinical Depression commit suicide.  80% of the people who seek treatment for depression are treated successfully.
  • The strongest risk factor for suicide is depression.
  • SUICIDE IS PREVENTABLE

If you or a loved one is in imminent danger of committing suicide call 911 immediately.

National Suicide Hotlines, USA

Unites States of America

1-800-SUICIDE–1-800-784-2433                           1-800-273-TALK–1-800-273-8255

1-800-799-4TTY–1-800-799-4889  (Deaf Hotline)