I read an article about a woman who leapt to her death from the top of a parking garage a few months back, she was depressed among other things, and she left behind a care package, on the roof, for everyone she cared about. People have many reactions when they read a story like that, sadness, horror, pity. I was jealous. I didn’t want to admit it and I massaged my feelings for several days, and I am, I am jealous. I’ve wanted to do the same thing many times, looked over my balcony, assessed how high would be high enough not to be left a quadriplegic. Looked for places out of the way so I wouldn’t scare someone coming down or make a mess. Hit someone’s car, or even hit someone period. I know all the spots on the highway that one can take their car off and over a cliff. Some people daydream and plan bucket lists, my bucket lists consists of ways to die. And its not morbid, I get frustrated that I think these things, but I also know they are part of me, I am wired for self destruction. I am jealous, because I want to get away and at the same time I have these two amazing beings that though don’t always stop me from coming close to the edge, still keep me trying and working and learning and fighting, even though I despise most days of having to do so.
I want to be selfish, every fibre in my being wants to be selfish, and get away. Get away from being invisible, for fighting to have people believe, to get away from being lonely inside even when surrounded by people. To be sad when laughing. Very empty on this island when you’re a freak that looks normal. Stigma, a word that is getting more gravitas lately, there is so much stigma and it pushes someone like me into a corner into a wall with no exit.
Do you know how much trauma it takes to make your brain want to shut itself down in protection. Try looking it up. A lot is laughable. Do you know how much it hurts after your brain does that and how bewildered, frightened and unstable you feel. Take away 12 hours of memory. And then, leave that person alone, alone to sort it out, alone to feel rejected. Bring them home from the hospital guilt ridden and confused and leave them alone because they look fine. No scars, no cuts, no bruises, no cast, nothing. Nothing’s wrong, assimilate, stop whining, you’re fine, everyone gets stressed and loses their mind.
Stigma. Did I mention stigma. Loneliness. Emptiness. No one can see you. And how do you tell them. You feel depressed and want to see a doctor you need to wait a few weeks till they can fit you in, you get hit by a truck and emergency will take you in immediately. What happens when I jump from that building, will you fit me in then?
Sometimes it takes death for the people around you to understand, to take a stand, to support and then to look backwards and realize how isolated their loved one was. But its too late, for your loved one, but maybe not for others you can then believe. People don’t want to die when they feel well, when they’re happy, when they want to live.
I came home from the hospital post mental trauma. The biggest concern was not for me but for the impression I caused by having a mental breakdown. Stigma. I caused a problem. I was the problem, I made my own problem. I put people out of their way, I somehow exaggerated myself into a nervous breakdown. Then, I was left to piece together my numerous pieces and then lectured on my ineptitude to manage my situation. Pretty much, since i happen to be walking down the street and there are cars, naturally if I get hit by a car, it’s my fault, suck it up, get up, quit your whining and look at the damage you did to the car and the poor driver. You have a concussion and can’t walk, well too bad, you asked for it. Now drag your sorry complaining ass over and apologize to the driver and pay for the damages. Not to mention the people that now have to come help you. The fact that you’re internally bleeding should not warrant any need to shirk responsibilities because that is self serving and indulgent. Other people are working just as hard under tremendous stress as well, even that poor driver who’s car you damaged so think of him before yourself because even if you were ordered to clean the streets that day, it’s still your responsibility for being at the wrong place at the wrong time and no one cares about your pain.
Stigma. Mental illness. People think we hide behind mental illness. Laughable. You think I would wish this on anybody. You want to see strength, this is strength, living with this everyday, without empathy, is beyond strength. It’s a lonely battle that you’re never sure who you’re fighting for. And when loved ones turn their backs, well that’s when those parking garages seem so appealing. Because maybe when I am dead, they will believe and they will reach out and help someone with an open and understanding heart from their guilt.
Do I feel lonely. Yes. Do I feel empty. Yes. Do I hurt. Yes. Am I alone. Yes. Do I feel stigmatized. Yes. Am I pretending to not be in pain. Yes. Why? Because that’s what expected.
Are these all the signs of suicide. Yes.
Will I find that building soon. No. When I do will I leave everyone their care package. Yes. Will they feel bad. Yes. Will I feel good. Yes. Will they believe. I hope so. Will they feel guilty. Yes. Will it be too late for me. Yes.