This is a Really Real Mental Health Post
A year ago today I made one of my longer posts detailing my suicidal ideations.
One of the posts that shined some light into the dark space that is my depression, a post that helped put a voice to my suicidal thoughts.
I’ve shown you the deep and the dark and the ugly. I’ve shown you the up and the manic and the seemingly pretty that can quickly become uncontrollably unstable. I’ve shown you the stability in the middle where it seems like everything might be okay, like I just might have a chance.
Until the next time.
Reading my own suicidal words from a place of relative stability, so black and white, so harshly laid out, seeing the dark black hole that I was in, is hard, hard stuff.
I want to go wrap my arms around year ago me, the me that knew, maybe, I’d make it out if I just held on.
The person that wrote those words seems like a foreigner to me, I don’t speak that language right now, it’s too dark, filled with too much pain and anguish, I’m not that person and I don’t live in that world.
And I know I will again, but I think the benefit to laying this out on the screen is that I see these memories and see that I will have both. The dark doesn’t last forever, but neither does the light. I am not either, I am everything in between.
I am all of the complexities that make up human emotions, even if mine sometimes go too far in one direction or the other due to chemical imbalances. None of them are right or wrong, good or bad.
The more I learn to sit with the thoughts, feelings, and emotions, instead of identifying with, fighting against, and reacting to them, the easier it becomes to ride the waves.
Seeing where I was is a gift. A hard gift to receive, but still a gift. I can be far more grateful for the light when I recognize just how dark, dark can be. I can better recognize my growth, when I see exactly where I came from.
That post, a year ago, was the first signs of a really long period of destabilization for me. It was a mixed episode that lasted months and just didn’t want to let up.
I finished that post by writing:
“And if it all falls apart, that’s fine too, because I’ll still be alive to try again.”
It did all fall apart for awhile, and it really was fine, and here I am on the other side.