I'm a Survivor

I'm a Survivor (Blog entry 08.12.2014)



I don't know when it started; I just remember it always being there, even in childhood.  That feeling of not belonging.  That feeling of not being good enough.  That feeling of not being normal enough.  That feeling of not being loved enough.  That feeling that made me want to hide.  That feeling that made me cry when no one else was around.  That feeling that I later learned was called Clinical Depression.



Those closest to me think my first failed suicide attempt was when I was sixteen with an overdose of generic yellow pills.  They don't know about all the times before that.  Like all the times I slid a razor blade across my wrist enough for a scratch, but not enough to fully break my skin.  They don't know about all the times I would tie different things around my neck to try and cut off my own airway, but wasn't strong enough to do it.  They don't know because I didn't tell anyone.  I didn't want them to think I was a coward for not being able to go through with it.  I didn't want them to judge me.  I didn't want them to accuse me of just trying to get attention or of being crazy.  So I kept it as my dark secret, until now.



That's how depression wins.  That's how it beats us - through our silence, through our shame.  Depression isolates us, convinces us no one wants to hear or see us cry.  It whispers in our ear, "They don't care."  And when we know better, when we know they care it tries a different lie, "They already have too much to worry about.  They don't need to worry about you.  You're fine on your own.  Don't be such a loser."  And we stay silent.  We hide our pain, and when we can't hide our pain we just hide ourselves period.  We hide in our jobs behind our computer screens and deadlines.  We hide in our homes behind cooking dinner and doing the dishes.  We hide in our Facebook pages behind posts about TV shows and traffic.  And the more we hide and try to pretend depression isn't smothering us the harder it gets for us to breathe on our own.



Depression is a sneaky son of a bitch.  It's given birth through feelings of loneliness and grows itself by tricking us into a corner of solitude.  Those who suffer from it stay quiet.  Those who know we suffer from it stay quiet.  And then its results are the CNN feature story.  Depression looks at the headlines, gives an evil grin, and reads "Victory."  But it doesn't have to be that way.



Like my friend Jaime so boldly and bravely pointed out we do not need to be quiet about this silent killer any more.  We need to speak out and reach out.  So this blog is me ignoring my fear of judgment in the hopes of convincing even one desperate soul that you are not alone.



I am a depression survivor.  I am a suicide attempt survivor.  And you can be too.



Talk to me.  I will listen.