I am a survivor of #Suicide . I live with the guilt every. damn. day. So why tell my story now? I want to feel liberated. I want to #EndTheStigma . And I want people to know why and how and when. So that maybe they can see the signs or the #triggers for someone they love who might be struggling.
This is me. This is my story. And this is me at my most vulnerable.
First, an introduction. I’m a 36-year-old, former PR pro turned #sahm and housewife. I struggle with #Depression and extreme #Anxiety . I’m #neurodivergent , you’ll quickly come to realize just how #ADHD I really am, and I’ve recently been diagnosed with #borderlinepersonality disorder.
So that's me. Definitely not a princess and I don't wear a cape. I'm still hopeful for a happily ever after, though.
And now, some context.
It's important to understand that I've felt unlovable all of my life. Growing up in a traumatic home and seeing more hate than love had its toll on me. And being emotionally abused and neglected as a child and having it continued through my adulthood continually makes me feel unworthy of love. Despite my efforts to be the best daughter I can possibly be, I get constant reminders of my selfishness. My unhelpfulness. My failures. It's just facts. I'm in therapy, don't worry.
It wasn't until I met my husband at 19 years old that I experienced unconditional love from someone other than my brother, my grandparents (RIP), and my pets. To this day, I still don't believe it or understand it. I'm hard to love and I don't grasp how someone can love all of me - with everything that comes with me. Skeletons and all. I still don't love myself. I'm in therapy, don't worry ;-)
Ok, now for the story.
TRIGGER WARNINGS: depression, suicide, self-harm, self-hate.
It was the morning of Monday, November 18, 2019. I had suffered a weeklong streak of migraines and hadn't left our bed in almost as long. I was depressed, and I was well off meds because I couldn't keep food or water down. I was exhausted and hopeless. At the time, I was diagnosed with major depressive disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, #Insomnia , and ADHD. I was in a complete state of psychosis. I had no idea and neither did my husband.
In the most loving way possible, my husband was over my sickness and depression. He'd been single parenting our 4-year-old for over a week, and he needed his wife back. We fought. About what, I can't remember. It doesn't matter but whatever it was sent me into a downward spiral I couldn't climb out of.
This is where everything gets foggy, or completely dark. My mind has blocked most if not all of the rest.
Like a zombie (or so I'm told), I got out of bed, threw on some scrubby clothes, got my son dressed and fed, and walked him over to the neighbor's house for childcare that day. I don't remember any of that part, at all. My hubby said my face was blank and my eyes were vacant.
In my brain, the wheels were already turning. This was a feeling I was intimately familiar with. My comfort blanket. How many different ways could I imagine dying this time? If only I could just disappear and not come back. It would be so easy. So simple. No one would miss me. I'm a burden to so many. They're basically living without me already.
After dropping my son off at daycare, I returned to bed. Hubby had more words with me before leaving for work. After he was gone, I googled, "How much Xanax does it take to kill yourself?" and "Can you die from too many muscle relaxers?"
Five minutes later, I swallowed my entire prescription: 30 tablets of 2mg #Xanax .
As a topper, I also poured 15 muscle relaxers down my throat, left over from my car accident in early April. Or was it from my wisdom tooth removal? So many procedures and pain meds and illicit prescriptions to choose from. I then ditched the bottles to make it harder for the EMTs to identify what I'd taken. I'd planned this meticulously in my mind for years.
I sat forward and said my goodbyes to the dogs. The longest goodbye and cries for Duke, of course. Kisses for Cooper; he couldn't understand what was happening, but Duke was completely aware. Duke jumped on the bed and put his head in my lap. I cried as I said my goodbyes out loud to my son (as if he could hear me from afar), reassuring him that his life would be full of joy and accomplishments without the burden of his overweight, depressed, mess of a mom. I'd be there in spirit, I said. Watching him succeed and rooting him on, always. I cried and wished that my husband would find new love and hope. That all his dreams and wishes would come true. That life would be good for him because he is an amazing man that deserves the world.
I drifted off.
When I awoke two days later I was hooked up to machines from my neck and both wrists. My husband was right by my side and my brother came into view.
I remember thinking, "Fuck, how the FUCK am I still here?!"
So here's what I'm told.
After hubby left for work, he ran a few errands close to home. Before getting on the freeway, however, he got a *weird feeling* in his gut and decided to backtrack home to check on me before heading into Seattle for work. Thank god he did. He saved my life and he will forever be my hero.
When my husband arrived home, he called out for me. Nothing.
He found me upstairs, unconscious and blue in the face. I was halfway fallen off the bed.
He called 911 and immediately started CPR at the operator's direction.
It was six long minutes before paramedics arrived.
They couldn't identify what I'd taken and were unsure if Narcan should be used for overdose.
My heart had stopped. I wasn't breathing.
It took nearly 8 minutes for them to get a heartbeat.
With a faint heartbeat, I was quickly transferred to the ambulance and rushed to NW Hospital in North Seattle. After life-saving measures were taken, I'm told that doctors placed me in an induced coma to allow my organs to heal and regain strength after shutting down. I was on a ventilator to support my lungs, and another machine to pump my heart. Once the doctors took me out of the coma, they slowly removed me from the heart machine as I grew stronger. The ventilator came next. I finally awoke.
What's happened next? You'll have to follow my next posts to read more.
I just… can’t .
Work . Friends. Parents . Relationship
I could lose my job.
People keep stressing me out.
I just can’t be a part of any of that anymore . I just wish I disappeared. I know I’m supposed to be a positive person in here. But I’ve hit my rock bottom. I don’t know how long I’ll honestly be able to tolerate it.
#BorderlinePersonalityDisorder #BPD #MentalHealth #borderlinepersonality
Just lost my therapist. Out of nowhere. She’s gone. Now I have a new one. Going to be difficult to adjust. This is why I hate opening up to therapists. They don’t last long and I end up feeling hurt and a little betrayed. #BPD pic.twitter.com/i6aFovoZNN
— Ann Marie (@Anne_Marie_Art) August 29, 2022
So my therapist is gone. No goodbyes, no explanations.
So I checked. Turns out, she’s not gone. It was the case manager who was changed. I got angry and thrown around in emotion mind for a misunderstanding.
I’m disappointed. I know better. I have the skills, I just did not use them. I CHOSE not to use them.
My boyfriend thinks DBT skills are akin to lying down and being a “doormat”. I don’t think so. They make my life better. And I’d rather be effective than angry at the world.
It’s not worth it.
I need to stop being so reactive to small things. Actually, I need to stop being so “reactive” in general. My old therapist was right…I DO go from 0 to 100 in situations that don’t call for it.
I spend so much time in “emotion mind” that I forget to live in the REAL world.
I’m older now. Years older. And I hate it. So many years wasted feeling sorry for myself and my condition of life. I want more; so much more.
I wanna write a book full of my own digital illustrations, I want to do a podcast (I have a good microphone and a decent laptop) about my struggles, I want to compose a song, take pictures of the night sky, and share my singing voice, get better at playing my instruments again. The list goes on and on.
I feel a podcast would be a good way to educate and get things off my chest. Maybe make a spoken word film? Just videos where I read my poems?
Tired and in pain (better with the early meds) and working on my art and writing. Finding a job is up in the air at the moment but I am still looking for remote writing jobs. Or data entry. Whatever. I want to be normal. But my old "normal" is gone. Family (ie: my mother) cries over it.
I hate it when people cry...especially over things I cannot change. All I can do is find the right combination of coping skills, meds, doctors, and therapists, to fare better in this world.
I'm a sensitive person. Less so now but it's a part of me that will always remain. Hence why I'm looking into writing jobs and posting my writing everywhere...not just on Tumblr.
It feels like I'm "always sick" and yeah I am. I'm fighting a battle...(nerd moment: like when the Autobots fought for eons against the Decepticons) but it's worth it. It's worth it to try.
Besides...I may not see the world but I have my family and my love and his family. They are MY world. They are the light in MY life. Their love gives me fuel to keep fighting.