Thoughts of suicide

If you call the depression hotline, the counselor on the other end of the phone will ask you straight away if you have ever thought about killing yourself. The first time I called I said, “No, absolutely not.” The second time, through a curtain of tears, I had to say, “Yes.” 

Mental health issues run in the family. My brother, my mom, and her dad have all suffered to some degree. My dad’s cousin and a few of my cousins have suffered from addiction. At my mom’s funeral, people thought it was acceptable to inform me that mental health issues are hereditary. It was such a strange topic to tackle while also mourning her death. In the car waiting for the procession to the cemetery to roll out, my brother quickly stepped out of the car to speak to the funeral home director. I told my dad that the topic of mental health came up far more than I wanted to hear. I asked whether he thought I was at risk of falling into the eating disorder spiral or having other mental health issues like my mom had. He looked at me in a way to erase those thoughts from my mind in an instant. “You’re fine.” Nodding towards my brother standing just outside the car he said, “He’s the one we need to worry about.”

At the time she died, I usually told well wishers that my mom was in a better place and no longer suffering. After a few weeks, I started blaming my grandparents for not loving her enough or in the way she needed. She didn’t receive words of affirmation or regular affection. There was love, but it wasn’t natural and easy. She craved more. Many years later, I realized it was my mom’s responsibility to do the healing on her own. Without her willingness to do the work, she was never going to start eating again. All of the birthday cake in the world wasn’t going to be enough to get her on track unless she really wanted out of the cycle that was bringing her down.

In 2005, on a short visit home from Germany, I watched my dad’s cousin nearly die from an overdose. My dad and I were getting ready to go to breakfast when he got a call from his cousin’s husband who was on the road for work. His 13-year-old daughter Kallie called hysterical that her mom was acting weird. She was told not to call 911. We were told not to call 911. We went directly to their house, opened the door from the garage, and immediately saw pills strewn all across the floor. As we inched our way inside, we saw all sorts of pill bottles on the floor, kitchen counter, and kitchen table. Everything just seemed in disarray. My dad called out to Kallie to know where we should go and maybe get an idea of what we were about to encounter. Just from the looks of everything I couldn’t imagine not calling 911.

Kallie met us coming downstairs as we were heading upstairs. She was sobbing and shaking. She took us to her mom who was in the master bedroom sitting in the middle of the bed with her arms locked around her knees rocking slightly back and forth. She was drooling and I really couldn’t tell what was happening to her eyes. I started crying, hugged Kallie, and watched my dad take control of the situation. I had no idea how cool he was under such immense pressure. He talked calmly and asked his cousin what she had taken, when, and how much. She couldn’t speak. He looked into her eyes and held her hand. I have no idea what he was looking for. He had absolutely no medical training, although he did serve a couple of years in the Army during the Vietnam War before being discharged when he broke his back.

My dad told Kallie to go to her friend’s house and wait for one of us to call her. Her friend who had been staying the night was a close friend and neighbor who looked just as terrified as Kallie. I helped them gather their things from Kallie’s bedroom, hugged them both, tried to reassure them that everything was going to be ok, and sent them on their way.

Back in the bedroom, my dad was patting his cousin on her back and telling her not to worry. Meanwhile, I was still so scared. I had never seen anything like this before. I guess TV and some tangential stories over the years made me think that taking too many pills meant an automatic trip to the hospital to pump the poisonous contents out of the stomach. When asked why we weren’t taking more action, my dad explained that she was already coming down and that it would take several hours to get her back to normal. By his assessment the worst was behind us. I started wondering what he must have seen in his life in order to have this level of confidence and calm in the midst of such a tense situation.

We sat with his cousin for another hour or two, alternating who was comforting her. Slowly her words became clearer, but the sense of it all was still lacking. I can no longer remember what we did with the pills in the kitchen or whether we cleaned it up. Were we waiting for her husband to come home so that he could see the mess, so that he could realize the help she needed? In my head, that’s what we did, but it could also just be what I wanted us to do.

About two and a half hours after our arrival, my dad sent me home because the risk of the situation had passed and waiting for her to fully recover required the patience of time doing its job. Later that evening, my dad called and asked me to pick him up. His cousin’s husband came home and took over the duties of waiting and watching. My dad sauntered to the car, clearly exhausted from the attentiveness. He explained that the rest of the day had been uneventful within this major life event. His cousin eventually became fully alert, just before she napped for a few hours. He let me know that this was not the first time, and there was no plan to get her help. She would have to figure it out herself. And that was it. I never discussed it anymore with anyone. She never received help, her mental health continued to be unstable, and she passed away 18 years later at age 59 because her heart couldn’t take the abuse any longer.

Despite some dabbles in therapy since arriving in Atlanta and a few intense months when my marriage was falling apart, I have mostly felt mentally well and in touch with who I am and what I need. That period seven years ago, coincidentally when Fabi transitioned from my professional life into my personal life, was up to that point the saddest, lowest point I had experienced. I cried a lot, I would have panic attacks, and sleeping was impossible. Ironically, sleeplessness is what causes many out of control emotions, but the deep sadness also causes the sleeplessness. That still holds true today as I navigate the despair I am currently in.

I honestly do not know how I got to this point that made me not want to live. Heartbreak is not new to me, but this was something different. The intensity of what we had, the immensity of the loss, and the way all of my own shortcomings came to light spun me so far beyond sanity. As a consequence to the spinning was also the revelation of so many issues that were never addressed throughout my life. No one ever taught me what truly matters in a relationship. I loved hard and made excuses for my partners. No one ever taught me how to set boundaries, and how to honor them for myself once they are set. No one ever taught me how to respect the boundaries of others. I have always feared abandonment but thought it was normal, healthy. It isn't. I have an anxious attachment style. I never learned how to make friends or even how to maintain them once the friendship was established. Basically, all my lived experiences were coming to an inevitable boiling point that when Fabi entered my life and didn’t know how to love me, I could only crumble.

The initial shock that our breakup unearthed dishonesty,  betrayal, and unkindness literally took me out, sobbing on the floor, not eating, not sleeping. The sadness that she also then cut me out of her life after flipping the script for a friendly future together without a conversation was so hard to accept. It really underscored how little control over my own life I have had. Everything was decided for me and done to me. I let it be that way.

Processing so much grief at once—loss of job, loss of partner, loss of best friend, loss of my one family member, negative attachment issues, abandonment issues, new intimacy issues, and new identity issues—is more than one person can naturally handle. I started with a feeling of not wanting to live, but also not wanting to die. As the weeks passed and I recognized more and more chaotic points in my life, I felt the pain so strong that I wanted to find a way to take it all away.

Fast forward a couple of weeks as the crying continued, the exhaustion was at its peak, and my emotions were everywhere. Realizing that Fabi’s relationship was going to replace me and that Fabi could not hold space for friendship from me and romance from her, I felt devastation take over. I needed Fabi to really explain why she handled it all poorly, why she had hurt me for so many years, and how she truly felt about me. I was also now fully aware that not a single dream I had been mentally cultivating would ever materialize. I had nothing to look forward to.

The hopelessness took over once I realized that being alone is so hard, especially with such a small support system. The hopelessness lingered because I did not yet have the capacity to recognize that the pain would pass. My once optimistic mind could only see the dark and how unfair my life was. It spun into a feeling that people treat me poorly because I let them, I am too old to find love, and I will forever celebrate every holiday alone. The pain was growing. The adrenaline was spiking. The thoughts got darker. I decided I should die.

As I generally have a great memory and hold on to a lot of detail, there is something special about my brain protecting me from this particular set of memories. I threatened box cutters to my wrist.I nicked my skin to see if the blade hurt. It did. I tempted myself to walk into traffic. I needed to get out of here. I wanted to see my parents again. This was not a life to live.

Except, I just couldn't do it. Thankfully. 

I called the depression hotline a second  time. When the counselor asked me if I had thoughts of suicide, I had to confirm. I couldn't believe it. I had wanted to take my own life. I actually did want to die.

She kept me on the line and assessed my mental state. I was sad, crying, lonely, frustrated with myself. I was ashamed and full of guilt. I had scared Fabi and caused her to spiral too. She was calm, supportive, obviously experienced at her job. We discussed coping strategies like breathing exercises and ways to connect to people. We discussed support groups.

Just as the desire to end it all surprised me, so did the speed in which I snapped back to a clearer mind. What was I thinking? 

I teetered the next couple of days between improved emotional regulation and sinking back to the bottom. I called the hotline again. And again I had to confirm I had recently had thoughts of suicide. This time, although still paralyzed by grief, I felt more like I was simply checking in, reminding the counselors that I was here. Reminding myself that I was here. Letting everyone know I would fight to live.

Am I safe now? I can’t really say that. I will probably never say that because those dark thoughts came out of nowhere, and they may return unexpectedly. What I do know is that as I write this I want to live, and I want to have a full life. Of course, I am scared about how this experience has changed me and what my future will look like, but I have discovered that my small support group is strong, that Fabi knows how to quietly support me, and that I have an inner strength that I never saw before. I have often been told that I am resilient, and now I can see why.