Hello to everyone that will read this post, or just a few lines of it!
This is my first post on this community and something about it troubles me a little.
As somebody that has lurked on this forum for a while, it goes without saying: I have contemplated suicide, and I can't say it's completely out of my mind yet.
It makes me extremely nervous to write it, even though is something I've already told somebody (my therapist) three years ago. But three years sometimes can seem like an eternity, and I thought this idea would never cross my mind again. That I "recovered". Even more: that I was wrong, that I never really thought about it.
It strikes me now as obvious: recovery exists. But, it is not an easy balance, and we who walked the line once should always keep an eye open.
There is another reason this post troubles me a little. In my weeks reading the forum I've seen pain I did not know could grow this big. I read stories and goodbye threads, and it has been heartbreaking. Many of those stories were extremely humbling: even though, outside of my depressive bouts, I go through my life saying myself I'm "strong", I think I'm nothing compared to the real strength that is showed by people that pull through some incredibly painful stories of trauma, abuse, and chronic illness.
The thing that pulled it for me, at first, was illness. This is not factually correct however, because I was coming from a story of chronical isolation and loneliness.
Thinking about it now is strange, because I've always been good looking, with a pretty good economical situation and academically gifted. However, my parents constantly withdrew me from all social situations, because "I had to study", and I somehow grew up terribly afraid of emotional and physical closeness. Around my teen years I understood something was wrong, and started "masking" it: while at school, I was able to have basic social interactions, but after school, I did not participate in any social activity.
When I was 22 I had an imporant health scare, something that required a couple of years to be taken care of.
I know many people who go through terrible illness with incredible determination. I didn't. I broke. I was sure illness robbed me of my best years and that I would be unable to overcome my loneliness - I had this completely certain sensation that my mind was so scarred that I would not be able to be the same person, and if I wasn't able to forge relationships before... who could ever like this man scarred from his pain? I also felt like my mental state had "devoured" my brain, and I could not ever think sharply as before.
Now, I won't tell you that depression lies and that you shouldn't listen to what it tells you... but in my case, this was definitely the case.
The problem is, it took me 4 years to search from help. 4 years of complete social withdrawal, living exclusively at home, abandoning the university even though I was at the top of my engineering class... at that time I didn't know of forums like this, but a little search made me discover the now infamous "exit bag" methods, and I was pretty set to it.
It's a bit cliche to say, but what helped me this time was a good physician that prescribed me Amitriptyline. It took a while. A couple months of no progress, followed by maybe another year of slow progress (I remember going to my little cousin graduation party fully intoxicated with benzos because I couldn't manage the shame of her graduating before me).
Along the road I reconnected with some guys from my school years and we became closer than ever. And I met a really sweet and stubborn girl that accepted my inability to develop relationships (I was also still a virgin, of course), and thaught me all I know about "loving", and by that I mean, "living" inside a relationship, communicating, understanding, listening...
We had our highs and lows for 5 years, and then she left me. As far as I know, she fell in love with another man, but we had our highs and lows and I have no hard feelings for her.
What I know is that, finding myself alone, my depression and suicidal ideation came back. This time I found myself contemplating a fall from a very high floor.
This was extremely scary. I thought I had recovered. I started therapy, and have been in therapy for 3 years.
There were a number of things I grew up terrified by, like driving and sports. I started engaging in these activities, and found them satisfying. I rediscovered old hobbies, like music. I was able to graduate, and find a nice job. I got a number of diagnostic labels, and I guess they are pretty obvious - and frequent, around here.
This did not happen in a matter of weeks. I was a complete mess for 7 months, trying to stay away from windows, passing all my day in my bed, neglecting my hygiene (spent way too much at the dentist for this...), even something basic as watching Netflix on my cellphone was too extenuating. But something start moving, again.
This time I thought I really was stronger, that I really worked on my issues... and a couple years ago I knew the person I thought would be the love of my life.
I won't spend too much on this, let's just say I was wrong. She was a really succesful and lovely girl that was going through a very hard separation from her previous relationship.
She started going out with me because she loved the sex and the care I had for her, but wasn't interested in a relationship. However, she really enjoyed the love and the care I had for her, so she kept coming back and hinting at our future together. We also started talking abouth the possibility of children. But, after a couple of years, when she finished medical school and got a new job, a new house and new friends, she just left me over text and never looked back.
When I found myself again broken and suicidal, there was one thing I could not tolerate: that the end of a relationship had undone everything I had done in the last 13 years to try and stay strong, and especially all the hard work I did in the last 3 years.
I believe encountering depression in my twenties has made me a more understanding and sensible person, more attuned to the suffering of others. Somehow, during my highs, I have even thought "it was for the better". However now I also know, because I've seen it happening twice, that this thick fog of desperation can come back: for me, it has been illness and romantic delusions.
For the last months I have been lurking this forum and had my mind set on a couple of methods.
Still, I know that even very long bouts of depression can come to an end. I know that "recovery" can be so good that you forget, for years even, what it meant to feel so bad. I know something that for other people can be "minor" can trigger another episode for me. That it can mean months of pain.
If there's something I'd love to give a little hope about to anyone here is that even after being suicidal for years, it can get better, to a point where you ask yourself how was it possible you had been in so much pain.
If there's something I'm afraid of, is that it can come back.
This year has been pretty harsh lately, but right now, I'm set on living. I don't expect to feel good the next couple of months. I don't expect Christmas to be easy.
Maybe, the one thing I hope is to have a nice trip the next year. I spent this entire summer on my bed, with my mind in very dark places. I hope by next summer I will feel so good I'll travel the world a bit, by myself. I don't know if I will be able to, but who knows, Sometimes years of pain can be canceled by something good. I hope I can get out again.
I'll post again in a while. Thank you!
This is my first post on this community and something about it troubles me a little.
As somebody that has lurked on this forum for a while, it goes without saying: I have contemplated suicide, and I can't say it's completely out of my mind yet.
It makes me extremely nervous to write it, even though is something I've already told somebody (my therapist) three years ago. But three years sometimes can seem like an eternity, and I thought this idea would never cross my mind again. That I "recovered". Even more: that I was wrong, that I never really thought about it.
It strikes me now as obvious: recovery exists. But, it is not an easy balance, and we who walked the line once should always keep an eye open.
There is another reason this post troubles me a little. In my weeks reading the forum I've seen pain I did not know could grow this big. I read stories and goodbye threads, and it has been heartbreaking. Many of those stories were extremely humbling: even though, outside of my depressive bouts, I go through my life saying myself I'm "strong", I think I'm nothing compared to the real strength that is showed by people that pull through some incredibly painful stories of trauma, abuse, and chronic illness.
The thing that pulled it for me, at first, was illness. This is not factually correct however, because I was coming from a story of chronical isolation and loneliness.
Thinking about it now is strange, because I've always been good looking, with a pretty good economical situation and academically gifted. However, my parents constantly withdrew me from all social situations, because "I had to study", and I somehow grew up terribly afraid of emotional and physical closeness. Around my teen years I understood something was wrong, and started "masking" it: while at school, I was able to have basic social interactions, but after school, I did not participate in any social activity.
When I was 22 I had an imporant health scare, something that required a couple of years to be taken care of.
I know many people who go through terrible illness with incredible determination. I didn't. I broke. I was sure illness robbed me of my best years and that I would be unable to overcome my loneliness - I had this completely certain sensation that my mind was so scarred that I would not be able to be the same person, and if I wasn't able to forge relationships before... who could ever like this man scarred from his pain? I also felt like my mental state had "devoured" my brain, and I could not ever think sharply as before.
Now, I won't tell you that depression lies and that you shouldn't listen to what it tells you... but in my case, this was definitely the case.
The problem is, it took me 4 years to search from help. 4 years of complete social withdrawal, living exclusively at home, abandoning the university even though I was at the top of my engineering class... at that time I didn't know of forums like this, but a little search made me discover the now infamous "exit bag" methods, and I was pretty set to it.
It's a bit cliche to say, but what helped me this time was a good physician that prescribed me Amitriptyline. It took a while. A couple months of no progress, followed by maybe another year of slow progress (I remember going to my little cousin graduation party fully intoxicated with benzos because I couldn't manage the shame of her graduating before me).
Along the road I reconnected with some guys from my school years and we became closer than ever. And I met a really sweet and stubborn girl that accepted my inability to develop relationships (I was also still a virgin, of course), and thaught me all I know about "loving", and by that I mean, "living" inside a relationship, communicating, understanding, listening...
We had our highs and lows for 5 years, and then she left me. As far as I know, she fell in love with another man, but we had our highs and lows and I have no hard feelings for her.
What I know is that, finding myself alone, my depression and suicidal ideation came back. This time I found myself contemplating a fall from a very high floor.
This was extremely scary. I thought I had recovered. I started therapy, and have been in therapy for 3 years.
There were a number of things I grew up terrified by, like driving and sports. I started engaging in these activities, and found them satisfying. I rediscovered old hobbies, like music. I was able to graduate, and find a nice job. I got a number of diagnostic labels, and I guess they are pretty obvious - and frequent, around here.
This did not happen in a matter of weeks. I was a complete mess for 7 months, trying to stay away from windows, passing all my day in my bed, neglecting my hygiene (spent way too much at the dentist for this...), even something basic as watching Netflix on my cellphone was too extenuating. But something start moving, again.
This time I thought I really was stronger, that I really worked on my issues... and a couple years ago I knew the person I thought would be the love of my life.
I won't spend too much on this, let's just say I was wrong. She was a really succesful and lovely girl that was going through a very hard separation from her previous relationship.
She started going out with me because she loved the sex and the care I had for her, but wasn't interested in a relationship. However, she really enjoyed the love and the care I had for her, so she kept coming back and hinting at our future together. We also started talking abouth the possibility of children. But, after a couple of years, when she finished medical school and got a new job, a new house and new friends, she just left me over text and never looked back.
When I found myself again broken and suicidal, there was one thing I could not tolerate: that the end of a relationship had undone everything I had done in the last 13 years to try and stay strong, and especially all the hard work I did in the last 3 years.
I believe encountering depression in my twenties has made me a more understanding and sensible person, more attuned to the suffering of others. Somehow, during my highs, I have even thought "it was for the better". However now I also know, because I've seen it happening twice, that this thick fog of desperation can come back: for me, it has been illness and romantic delusions.
For the last months I have been lurking this forum and had my mind set on a couple of methods.
Still, I know that even very long bouts of depression can come to an end. I know that "recovery" can be so good that you forget, for years even, what it meant to feel so bad. I know something that for other people can be "minor" can trigger another episode for me. That it can mean months of pain.
If there's something I'd love to give a little hope about to anyone here is that even after being suicidal for years, it can get better, to a point where you ask yourself how was it possible you had been in so much pain.
If there's something I'm afraid of, is that it can come back.
This year has been pretty harsh lately, but right now, I'm set on living. I don't expect to feel good the next couple of months. I don't expect Christmas to be easy.
Maybe, the one thing I hope is to have a nice trip the next year. I spent this entire summer on my bed, with my mind in very dark places. I hope by next summer I will feel so good I'll travel the world a bit, by myself. I don't know if I will be able to, but who knows, Sometimes years of pain can be canceled by something good. I hope I can get out again.
I'll post again in a while. Thank you!
