I know, what a trite title for my first blog post, right? But that's the reason I'm writing on here instead of in my journal. I had actually started to write and then stopped.. hoping I can maybe help someone if I share my journey.
Let's start, not at the beginning, but right here… Today I was watching "Girl Interrupted." I'm sure you know the one. Did you know that the movie was based off of a true story? Yes, there is a book out there with the same name, written by none other than Susanna Kaysen. I remember the first time I had seen the movie, years and years ago it seems. I was fascinated by it. I didn't know if it was the female institution, the fact that it took place in the 60s, that it dealt with suicide attempts (so very taboo), or hell, maybe it was just cuz Angelina Jolie was in it. But I loved that movie. Years later I had no idea that I would love it for completely different reasons.
I'm hoping you've found this blog because you have some experience with the sometimes long list of diagnosis' that are given out by doctors - sometimes recklessly, in my opinion. But even if you haven't, there is a reason that you are here. I apologize if I ramble or jump around but hey, that's my style. I apologize in advance.
Anyway, when I was severely depressed, probably a little over a year ago, I found the BOOK and I read it in a couple of hours. At that time I was reading all kinds of depressing memoirs. "Shoot the damn dog" (not literally a dog, but speaking of depression), Prozac Nation. The list goes on. Eat, Pray, Love was really good too (but I didn't focus on the good parts of the book - I liked to dwell on the negative - more about that another time).
Smack in the middle of this book it says (and this broke me DOWN, I tell you):
“Suicide is a form of murder— premeditated murder. It isn’t something you do the first time you think of doing it. It takes some getting used to. And you need the means, the opportunity, the motive. A successful suicide demands good organization and a cool head, both of which are usually incompatible with the suicidal state of mind. It’s important to cultivate detachment. One way to do this is to practice imagining yourself dead, or in the process of dying. If there’s a window, you must imagine your body falling out the window. If there’s a knife, you must imagine the knife piercing your skin. If there’s a train coming, you must imagine your torso flattened under its wheels. These exercises are necessary to achieving the proper distance. The debate was wearing me out. Once you've posed that question, it won't go away. I think many people kill themselves simply to stop the debate about whether they will or they won't. Anything I thought or did was immediately drawn into the debate. Made a stupid remark—why not kill myself? Missed the bus—better put an end to it all. Even the good got in there. I liked that movie—maybe I shouldn’t kill myself. In reality, it was only part of myself I wanted to kill: the part that wanted to kill herself, that dragged me into the suicide debate and made every window, kitchen implement, and subway station a rehearsal for tragedy.”
Let me tell you, I thought I had it all figured out after reading that passage. I had been sitting with the idea for months - maybe longer - and making plans and cultivating detachment. Driving over bridges and wondering if they would be tall enough to kill me if I jumped from them! The debate had been wearing me out - actually, it wasn't really the debate. I knew what I wanted to do - the "debate", if you will, was me struggling to leave my family behind. I cannot tell you how many times a small, tiny, microscopic thing would go wrong and I would tell myself: "This is it, you've got your reason." Examples? Sure: lost a ring (later found it), don't want to go back to work after a long vacation (sure, just end it now!), have a lot of work to do (maybe there's a way out…). CRAZY thoughts (to the average human) were running through my mind like a housewife mentally figuring out what she needs to buy from the store. I KNEW I was not normal. But I didn't want to be crazy… did I?
Back in high school, a friend of mine introduced me to razor blades. I recalled this in my later teens as just an experiment, but now I see it more clearly. I saw her butchered arm and instead of being concerned (like a normal friend)… I thought "I've got to try this." I later learned through some therapy that certain childhood factors (or should we say trauma) can almost predict that you will engage in this type of behavior later on. But I was young and didn't know this. So what did I do? I went home and tried it myself. It didn't last long. Thank goodness we had some normal friends who were smart enough to be concerned and tell the guidance counselors on us to get us some help. This stopped the self-mutalation for awhile, but not forever. Needless to say my parents took me to a doctor who prescribed a mild anti-depressant. At that time he just diagnosed me as having "generalized anxiety disorder." I don't see how hurting yourself has to do with anxiety, but hey, whatever. That's where my journey really started into "crazy town." The small dosage of Paxil actually made me more depressed. After awhile, he upped the dosage, then changed to a stronger one… you know how it goes. Ten years down the road I begin to engage in the same behaviors but this time it was much more serious. I needed real help. I was considering hospitalization. Instead, I tried a psychiatrist who then switched my meds about ten different times. That was horrible - some of them made my depression even worse. I became suicidal and was having lots of anxiety attacks. That's when I began reading books such as those mentioned above. I became diagnosed with one disorder after another. First, major depressive disorder. I could definitely see that. But had this all started from the original pill I was put on? Who knows… Next came insomnia (duh) and it was severely affecting my depression. Borderline personality disorder came next. I had heard the term in the movie and the book but still didn't know what it was… just another pill to take to stabilize my mood. It actually worked quite well.
Cut to present day - I was watching the movie today and one of the nurses told her that she needed to write down everything to get the disease out of her - that she was sitting with it, curling up with it, sleeping with it, if you will. And the only way to stop doing that, she said, was to get it out. That's the point of the this blog. I'm trying to get this disease out of me. It will be a process and the blog may not be followed by anyone - that doesn't matter. What matters to me is getting it out… so that everyday isn't a battle just to breathe. Some days still are - but hopefully the breathing will become easier.
Thanks for listening.
~TAlison
