20 Years

Twenty years ago this coming weekend, I tossed myself into a pit, fought through hell, and came back out. Well…….found myself in ICU.

 

April is an interesting month for me. Spring begins and life returns. Yet, I always find myself broody and ill tempered. I pull away and am generally cranky. I eventually express my apologies to my roomie for my negative moods and that I don’t quite know the reason. Then he reminds me.

 

April 20.

Crap.

 

Right.

 

I don’t need reminding this year. It dawned on me early on since it is a monumental anniversary. Sadly, it didn’t seem to keep the negative feels away.

 

Why am I sharing this? I do not know. Maybe it is to share that we have natural cycles. That we do experience moments – some of us regularly, some of us on rare occasion. A time where we need to step away, reflect, hibernate. For me, it isn’t necessarily about being depressed, sad, etc. There is a lot of reflection. And time to assess things to both be proud of and not so proud of. I think April is my time of year to do this. Unfortunately, mine is tied with a very unfortunate memory.

 

I share because sometimes it is nice to know we are not alone. To remind friends it isn’t just you. To remind me….

 

I share because it shouldn’t be scary or weak to say we are sad. That it shouldn’t be scary to say we feel alone. Or we feel unlovable. Some of us don’t ever feel this way and I think that is awesome. Some of us learn later in our lives.

 

I share because I wish I learned at a younger age. I share because I want everyone to know to have regular talks with your kids. Have regular talks with your friends. Engage. Especially if you see them sad or struggling. There is a wall but don’t stop after one try. One try and stopping only strengthens that wall. But it is with several attempts, that wall will weaken.

 

I spent my teen and young adult years trying to hide my depression. And dealing with what I now know as my PTSD. Suffering in my own world of hell. Some created by my experiences. Much because I rooted myself strongly into it. Mostly because my coping mechanisms sucked.

 

By college, I tried my damndest to keep it to myself. Did I succeed? *shrug* Somewhat but I am sure it was obvious too. I regularly contemplated this. Was I good enough that many didn’t notice? Can I really act in such a way that no one can see how bad my depression was? Was I really successful enough to go through my whole college career without anyone noticing the scars up and down my arms? Do I pat myself on the back for not bothering anyone? Or was it that others did notice but found it easier to stay quiet?

 

I share because if you ever notice that sadness in anyone, take time. Send them a note. Talk to them. Don’t tell them to cheer up. Don’t tell them to stop. Don’t tell them it isn’t that bad. Your time and presence may actually be what reminds them someone notices. It may be what helps them to stop and think. It may save them.

 

I was lucky. Fortunate. My attempt at trying to take my own life was not successful. That night is a story in itself.  And my following week on psych literally was my own experience of Girl-Interrupted. No. Really. (for my college friends, It was a week where I learned all too well why many of us couldn’t stand a certain double reed player we used to hire for orchestra concerts).

 

My story didn’t end there. I never really talked to anyone about anything of substance. I talked the talked and it set me free. I was too self reliant by then and only me would do. I look back and am grateful for that. I only had two visitors during that time. My parents didn’t even come and see me. No friends at school asked although my public story was there was an “out of town emergency”. If the truth was ever known (which I assumed it was), no one ever talked to me about it. My professors and college were extremely supportive. They were my family then. Two professor’s friendships and chats still mean everything in the world to me today.

 

So it was 20 years ago that I rose out of the flames and started again. I found my feet and sought out ways to improve my life. It has been 18 years since I ever resorted to self-harm. I learned to understand my history and why I struggled. I learned better coping mechanisms. I learned to love. Trust….eh….a work in progress.

 

Why do I share? Because it is no longer a stigma but just a story. And that it is okay to honor the day. And it okay to set time aside each year to reflect, assess, and embrace life. And it doesn’t always have to happy….or sad…..or angry. But just an acceptance of what it was, is, and will be.