Two days into my stay at the “hospital” (and I use that term loosely), I wanted to check myself out – which was my right. I was not being treated appropriately (or at all) and even in my deep depression, I knew this to be true.
The staff not only blocked my efforts, but I later found out that they were dishonest with me as well. It was no surprise that the hospital closed not long after that.
So, I wish I could report to you that I had a good experience – but truthfully, it was pretty terrible.
The Gift was in the outcome.
Before I was even out of the parking lot, I was on my “bag phone” (yes, I’m old…think cell phone with a huge antennae) calling my Dad, and God bless him, was yelling the entire 20 or so minutes back home. He certainly did not get even a half of a word in edgewise.
After I walked in the door to my apartment, I hit the wall with my hand so hard that I left a dent. I was two laps past angry. My freedom and control had just been unnecessarily taken away from me and it was a living nightmare but it was clearly the (non gentle) push I needed into healing.
Wrap that puppy up and slap a bow on it because I’m here to tell ya – if I could find those jerks, I’d give them one hell of a smooch!
After a shower, I was hungry. I was HUNGRY! I made a scrambled egg, watched a Sunday morning news program and talked to my brother on the phone who helped me plan the murders of my ex-boyfriend and my close girlfriend with whom he cheated and had a child with. I was trapped in an episode of General Hospital or One Life To Live.
I also recall that I noticed the sunshine. What was veiled in grey before, I saw more clearly that morning. If you have depression, you understand.
I did not heal over that one Sunday morning.
But the healing began. The anger that came from somewhere inside of me was so empowering. SO healing.
My personal experience is unique, as is everyone’s.
I do not hold some sort of secret or magic key to the act of stopping suicidal thoughts or idealizations but I can tell you, with one thousand percent certainty, that there is life beyond moments spent on closet floors.
The shame and stigma that surround suicide is simply tragic. There is so much for all of us to learn.
What I learned as a survivor of someone who did successfully take their own life is that there is not much, if anything, one can do if someone is intent on ending their life to stop it. I have actually come to peace with my Mom’s suicide. I believe she saved me.
I thank her, the “Clinicians” at the hospital, my family and God that I had the .0004 ounces of strength to push through the feelings and recognize something was not OK with my thinking. I silenced the talk in my head and got myself up and out to seek help that day.
I admit that this piece has not been easy to write. It brings back YUCK and I’m also exposing a part of me that isn’t often revealed by people. I choose to because it is critical that you know:
There is truly another side to suicide. I’ve no regrets. I’m just glad I get it, and who knows, could possibly help just one person understand, from both sides now, what lies beyond the pain.
This post currently has
You can read the comments or leave your own thoughts.
Last reviewed: 5 Jun 2012