Tag Archives: Suicide

Today In History – May 17th -Mental Health Month

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In 1792, the New York Stock Exchange was born.

In 1973, the Senate Watergate Committee opens hearings.

In 2009, I tried to take my own life.

Wow! I cannot believe it has been two years! So much has changed since then. I think I need to hear myself say that again… IT HAS BEEN TWO YEARS SINCE I TRIED TO KILL MYSELF!!

I was so sick. So very sick. I get a shiver up my spine just thinking about how bad I felt back then. I never want to go back to feeling that bad, and being that sick. It was an existence of never ending pain, overwhelming sadness, mental and physical exhaustion, and constant extreme anxiety.

Oh, and hate. I hated myself so much. I cannot even put into words how much I hated myself.

By the time May 17 of 2009 rolled around the only solution I could see to ending my pain, and sheer misery was death. The only way I could picture myself dying was if I took my own life. I had no hope.

But that was then…

As I said before, so much has changed.

I KNOW I will never get that sick again.

I have learned how to manage my depression symptoms so they do not overwhelm me. I know how to ask for help when I think I need it. I have learned to set a healthy boundaries. I have connected with other people, and have created a wonderful support network. Most importantly…

I HAVE HOPE!

Getting mentally healthier did not just happen. I had worked for it. I still have to work for it. Daily. Some days, I struggle to remember everything I have learned, and manage my depression symptoms. Other days, are easier to get through, because everything falls into place -my brain is working good, and my depression symptoms are more manageable.

WHAT ABOUT YOU?

Do you have hope? Or do you feel lost, alone, full of pain, and hopeless? Do you want to die?

I want you to know, I have been where you are, and I know how you feel. You are not alone. I promise you, things can get better. You can feel better.

All you need to do is reach out for help. Tell a friend. Tell a family member. Tell a co-worker. Tell a doctor. Tell anyone!

Or call…

suicide prevention

Tell them you need help. Tell them you want to die. The worst thing you can do is to keep your suicidal thoughts yourself.

Why I Talk About Suicide

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In the last few months, one of the things I have become passionate about is suicide prevention.  As a result, I have become more vocal about my own suicide attempts and what brought me to the point where I felt that suicide was my only option.  I have come to believe that the more light that is shed on this difficult to discuss subject, the more aware people will be about the growing epidemic of suicide.

I remember how much pain I was in before I tried to take my own life.  It was a physical and mental pain that was more than I could bear.  The thought of how many people are out there who are in that kind of pain hurts my heart.  I want to let them know that they can move past that pain, and make it to a place where they are happier and healthier.  I want them to know that having hope is possible.

Silence keeps the subject of suicide clouded in mystery.  However, many suicide attempt survivors find it difficult to impossible to talk about it.  There is a great deal of shame associated with having attempted to take your own life.  People make judgments about the type of person your are.  There is an awful lot of pressure to ” perform better” in the future. Not everyone who has survived a suicide attempt is emotionally strong enough to break their silence.  They may never be strong enough. However, since I am strong enough, I feel it is my duty and privilege to attempt to educate people about suicide, and suicide prevention.

Each year the amount of people who die by suicide goes up.  My hope is that if enough people take on the challenge of educating others about suicide and suicide prevention we will one day see the suicide rate go down.  It may be an unrealistic hope, but unrealistic does not mean impossible.

If you are interested in joining an online community for people who have survived their suicide attempt, please take some time to look at Suicide Attempt Survivors

Suicide In My Face

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On Sunday morning my mother called me.  She wanted to tell me about a relative of ours who had died by suicide on Friday.  She asked me if I would go to the viewing with her later on in the day.  She thought it would be beneficial for me to go and speak to the family, if the time and situation was right, and assure them that there was nothing they could have done to stop their son from taking his own life.  As she and I both said on the phone, it is one thing to be a mental health activist sitting behind a computer, where I can stay some what disengaged.  It is something completely different to do that work in person.

Even though this person was a relative of mine, I really did not know him.  My extended family is rather large and most of the time we only see each other once a year at the family reunions.  Because of that, not many of my extended family know about my suicide attempt. The opportunity has not presented itself to share something like that.  Which meant telling anyone at the funeral home about my suicide attempt was completely new territory for me.  It made me a little anxious.

As we entered the funeral home, I was introduced to one of my mother’s cousins, who also was the aunt of the person who died.  She was holding it together pretty good under the circumstances.  The mother was not.  She was crying uncontrollably for most of the time that we were there.  The wife was sitting in a chair beside the coffin, and there were pictures of the deceased’s children all over the room.  It was difficult for me to be there.  Seeing how devastated everyone was made me think about my own attempt and how close I had been to causing this much pain to my own family.

After we had said hello to a few people, I went and sat next to one of my mother’s aunts.  She really is a nice person, she has always treated me well, however, she is also like most people, uneducated about how mental health issues can affect people.  She sat there giving me the gossip about the whole situation, part of it involved the marital problems between the deceased and his wife.  Basically, the long and short of it is that the wife is being held responsible for her husband’s death by suicide by some of the members of the family.

That made me angry.  It made me angry because it was NO ONE’S FAULT! Not even the young man who took his own life was at fault.  He was sick.  If his head was full of similar thoughts to my own when I attempted suicide, then he was very sick.  For the first time since my diagnosis, the misunderstanding that people have about mental illness was right in my face, and I did not like it.

My mother and I did have an opportunity to speak to both to both parents.  The father seems to be doing really well under the circumstances.  He really loves God and has placed himself and the situation into the Lord’s hands.  He is not angry, and is not blaming anyone.  When we spoke to him he held my hand and had his other hand on his back the whole time.  It was as if he was giving me comfort in his own time of grief.

The mother was not doing as well.  I shared with her that some parts of my story, tried to help her understand  that her son had been sick, and that there was nothing anyone could have done to prevent what had happened. I think she was too immersed in her grief to really understand what I was trying to say.  The few things she did say, indicated that she was also very angry and blaming the wife.  I wish what I had said could have made more of an impact with her than it did.

As difficult as it was for me to be there,  I think it was good that I went.  It was my first real life exposure to suicide, outside of my attempt, and it gave me an idea of the types of judgments that people form about someone who has taken their own life. I also learned that being an activist in the “real world” is something I can do, I just need some more practice at it.

Suicide Attempt Survivors Community

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Even in the Mental Health Community, suicide and suicide attempts are something that is not often talked about.  It is a sensitive subject that does make many people uncomfortable when discussing it.  There are many suicide survivor groups out there, however, the majority of them are for friends and family who have had a loved one die from suicide.

I have been participating in a group on Facebook for people who survived their suicide attempt/s.  It has been a great group and it inspired me to create a network on Ning.  I wanted to make something available to a wider range of people that would be a safe and healthy place for suicide attempt survivors.  In just the few days since I created it, the membership has grown very quickly.

I have applied for sponsorship from WEGO Health.  I am hoping to hear from them in the next few days, letting me know if we have been approved or not.  If we are approved, the Suicide Attempt Survivors Community will receive sponsorship on Ning for one year, giving the network more options and making it easier to reach out to more people who are looking for support.

The community can be found here:  Suicide Attempt Survivors

My Daughter Speaks Out…

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I love my daughter.  She is funny, intelligent, warm and caring.  She sparkles when she smiles.  Every morning when she wakes up, she kisses me.  My daughter impresses me with her strength and self confidence. She is a blessing to me.

I have not always been the mother she has needed and wanted.  She had to spend a great deal of time raising herself and worrying about me during the time that my depression was so bad.  She deserved better than what I gave her. I have been more afraid of what she thought about me and that time in our lives than any other person in my family.

When I brought up the idea of her answering some questions for my blog, I figured she would be resistant.  To my surprise, she not only agreed to answer my questions, she really seemed to want to.  Her answers were honest, forthright, and for me, brutal.

What did you think when you found out that I had tried to commit suicide?

I was scared. I honestly didn’t know what to think. Anger went through me when I found out you were in the hospital again! Then when dad and I showed up at the hospital I got really sad, ’cause I didn’t know what was going to happen. You kept getting worse and a nurse said “Why dont you take your kid somewhere else? She doesn’t need to see her mother like this.”  Right then and there I knew everything wouldnt be fine. I knew something awful was going to happen. I was sad and mad

What was it like to be around me before I started getting help for my depression?

It was awful. I didn’t know when you would have a good day. The littlest things would set you off and you would yell. or you would just stay in bed all day under the covers and not come out. The rare times you would come out would be to get something to eat or drink, other than that I hardly saw you.. or you would be angry.

Are you ever embarrassed to have a mom who has a mental illness?

I’m not embarrassed to have a mother with a metal illness. I’m glad you are still here. I could have it really bad, and not have you here today.  Soo I’m thankful I have a mother, even if you have a mental illness. We all have our problems, and we just have to learn to move on and live with them…

Knowing that mental health issues are in our family, what are you going to do to keep your mind healthy as you grow up and when you are an adult?

I know there is a very high chance of me getting everything you have right now. However, considering I have seen it first hand with you, I will have a good idea on how to catch it and make sure it doesn’t get as far as yours did.

How will I keep my mind healthy? I will think right and do the right things. I will see a person who knows if I could get it every so often just to make sure I won’t get mental health issues or if needed, to catch it in time before its get to the really bad stage…

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Provided by website-hit-counters.com site.

My Mother's Point Of View…

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Last week, I asked my mother some questions that had to do with my suicide attempt and depression. Despite any pain answering these questions might have caused her, she took the time to answer them.  Two things jumped out to me when I read what she wrote, 1. my mother has a deep love for God (something I admire) and 2. my mother loves me bunches.

What were your initial thoughts and feelings when you learned that I had attempted suicide?

Sadness.  Confusion.  Knew you were not happy but had no idea the depression was so deep.  Sorrow that you felt so unworthy and unloved.  It grieves me that any human being would feel so alone.

It bothered me that you would be in such a fog that it wouldn’t register that the God who created you, who knows the number of hairs on your head, who has your name written on the palms of his hand, who knit you together in your mother’s womb would NEVER leave you nor forsake you.  He said so.

Did you have any idea that I was depressed before the suicide attempt?

No.  Our past history had left a a wide chasm between us and I really wasn’t close enough to you to know about your state of mind.  I did believe that you were a very unhappy person.

What did you think about my Psychiatric Hospitalization?

Hopeful that you were in a place where you could get some real help and not harm yourself.

Do you believe that you have ever had any depressive episodes?

Definitely.  As a young wife away from family and friends, and pregnancy made it worse.

What changes have you noticed in me since I began therapy and my mental health medication?

You seem happy and interested in other people.  You seem to be enjoying life and handling all the ups and downs it throws at you.  You seem confident and you are fun to be around.  You have a lot interesting things to say and yet you are a good listener.  It’s clear that family is important to you and you treat us with respect and honor and love.

In the last few years I have noticed many positive changes in you.  What propelled you to make those changes in yourself?

A firm belief in Jesus Christ as my Lord and Master, and my desire to please and emulate Him in spite of the fact that we are born into this world as wicked sinners.  He is my guidepost, my standard.  Although, I disappoint Him in many ways, I try to remember to honor and glorify Him in all I do and say…..To have someone recognize that there is a difference in my life makes me feel really good but best of all it is a testimony to the goodness of our God.

What do you think is my best quality?

I thought long and hard about this one – perseverance – some might call it stubbornness – something the women in our family have a full helping of – it does serve to help us overcome a great many difficulties.  I think you have “harnessed” that stubborn spirit in a positive manner and use it to your advantage.

Any thoughts you want to share that were not covered by my questions?

I have wanted to see you happy and enjoying life for a long time.  It makes me happy beyond words to see you participating in life and sharing with us the wonderful person that God made you to be.

I never want you to be afraid that we would not love you nor forgive you or that you ever have to go through a trial alone.

Depression, Suicide, and Family

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It has been a year and a half since my suicide attempt.  My outlook on life has radically changed during that time.  I have gone from knowing that death was my only option, to having the life I have always wanted.  I have really had to work hard to change so much in a relatively short amount of time and I have had to spend a great deal of time concentrating on myself.

At first, the amount of time I spent working on helping my mind heal left me with very little emotional reserve to be able to handle my family’s emotional reactions and thoughts about my depression and suicide attempt.  Later on, I made a conscious decision to carefully skirt around those topics.  I was afraid to hear what they would say.

Although, I believe the time has come to finally hear my family’s thoughts, I am still afraid.  It is one thing to deal with your own pain, it is quite another to find out how your self-destructive actions impacted those you love.  At this time, both my mother and daughter have shared their thoughts with me, and they have generously given me permission to post what they said on my blog.  I will be posting what they said this week.

I would like to encourage everyone to take the time to read what they each have written.  I know it was not easy for either one of them to think about that time and I admire their courage in answering the questions I asked them.

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.

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.

An Ending And A Beginning

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May 17th, 2009 will be a date that I will always remember. It is the day I attempted to end my own life. My suicide attempt had been preceded by several years of severe depression and anxiety. I had experienced months and months of obsessive suicidal thoughts, and I had absolutely no hope. There is no one thing that caused me to attempt to kill myself, yet at the same time there was one thing that was the final straw.

My depression and anxiety had gotten to a point where I was barely functioning. Day in and day out, my thoughts revolved around the same things, how sad I was, that I was worthless, and my own death. I cried everyday, and I wanted to be alone all the time. I was miserable, and I wanted that miserable feeling to end.

Life got worse. My husband lost his job, and we lost our health insurance. I would no longer be able to afford the many medications I was already taking for diabetes, asthma, and restless leg syndrome. I went to a local, free clinic to find out if they could help me. The clinic was able to give me most of my medications, but they did not have the one I needed for restless leg syndrome. I knew what was going to be in store for me. Months and months of barely any sleep, horrible feelings in my legs, and never being able to be comfortable. As far as I was concerned, this was intolerable, and was the final thing that pushed me to the point of no return.

I did not want to commit suicide with my husband or daughter home. It seemed wrong to me. I did not have to wait long until the right opportunity presented itself. On that day, when everything was in place, I implemented the suicide plan that I had created months before.

The first thing I did was give myself a massive dose of insulin. My reason for doing this was quite simple. When you go into insulin shock, there is a period of time when you feel drunk, eventually you sort of go to sleep or pass out. I figured that if I was in that state or even unconscious then I would not feel the effects of the other medications I was going to take.

After the insulin injection, I started taking my other medications, just a few at a time. I did not want to take all of them at once, in one big dose. I was afraid I would vomit them all up if I did. So with a menu of about ten different medications in front of me, I would take three or four from a bottle and then move on to the next one. I kept repeating this process until my brain was too fuzzy to remember what I was doing. At that point, I just started taking whatever I could, not paying attention to how much I was swallowing down

Whenever I have heard suicide talked about or watched something about it on television, the only thing that was brought up was the person’s thoughts and behavior before the suicide attempt and the results of it. No one seems to want to discuss the middle part, the part when you are dying. I was mentally unprepared for that part. It was painful, confusing and messy.

Despite my best efforts, I began to feel nauseous. My body attempted to vomit a few times, but nothing came up. I could barely walk, and think. I lost control of my bowels. I was agitated. I could not sit down, but I could not walk. It was nothing like I had imagined it would be. Instead of peacefully going to sleep, I was feeling everything that my various overdoses were doing to my body.

Some tiny part of me must have wanted to live, because it was that tiny part that propelled me to call for help. My memory starts getting fuzzy at this point, because I was going in and out of consciousness. From what I was told, when the paramedics arrived at my house, they found me face down on the porch. I have a vague memory of waking up in the ambulance once or twice, and when I arrived at the emergency room. Other than that, I have no memory of anything until the next day.

When I woke up, I felt as if I had cobwebs in my head. I was exhausted and wanted to go back to sleep. It was then that I realized that I was tethered to the bed and there was a guard in my room. My nurse removed the tethers and I went back to sleep and slept for most of the day. It was not until late that afternoon and over the next few days that I found out what had happened while I had been unconscious.

Shortly after the paramedics had gotten me to the hospital, I went into a coma. It was caused by the huge overdose of insulin. During that time, the nurses and doctors worked to bring my blood sugar up and to bring me out of the coma. They also did numerous tests to try and determine what all I had taken. Things were touch and go for a while and I was almost successful in my suicide attempt.

They were able to bring me out of my coma. Unfortunately, I was not in my right mind and became violent. That is why I had been tethered to the bed. I was give several injections of anti-psychotics in hopes that I would calm down. Eventually, they took effect.

The on call psychiatrist came to see me during my time in the intensive care unit. He barely listened to me, nor did he do a proper psychiatric work up. He diagnosed me with Situational Depression and told me that I was to go to a local psychiatric clinic for counseling. Even I knew that what I had was not Situational Depression.

The hospital made an appointment for me at the psychiatric clinic. An intake appointment is what it was called. It was to take place the day after I got out of the hospital. My plan was to not go. Fortunately, my family had other plans and they made me go to the appointment.

I did not want to be there, even though I really needed to be. As the psychologist asked me question after question, it became more and more evident how badly I needed help. It was during this initial visit that the counselor gave me the diagnosis of Clinical Depression. When I left her office that day, the psychologist did not expect me to be back.

I did go back. That tiny part of me that wanted to live, knew that I needed to be there. This was the beginning of my recovery process.