I lived with an intense suicidal depression for almost four years. Everyday I battled against
irrationality,
selfishness and
pain.
Depression consumed my life, it took all the joy and happiness away. I always thought I could win the battle becasue just as depression hit new extremes of irrationality I would grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Wake up! What are you thinking? And depression would look at me, tell me he loved me, and that he knew I was right, things weren't really that bad. I fought depression, I told him that he was being selfish, refusing to even think of the possibilities. Depression told me he was tired. He couldn't think of any of the good things. Depression wanted to end it all. Just when I thought I would lose everything, when things were at their very worst, a thought would come to me that would save the day. But only the day, because tommorrow was a whole new battle.
Where did all the joy and happiness go? Depression took it. He didn't mean to, he just did. How could depression be so strong and so weak at the same time? And
how could something so terrifying make me stronger? As depression took over my life I fought harder and harder against it, growing stronger and stronger with every battle, yet as I grew stronger so did my depression. One step forward, two steps back. I held depression's hand. I planted my feet in the ground and vowed that somehow we would make it, somehow. I became obsessed with depression. I took him in my arms and hugged him. I studied him. I knew him inside and out. I read books, I watched TV shows and movies. I started seeing a doctor, I wanted to find out how to deal with depression. There were no answers for me.
You can try to tell me that I cannot truly understand suicidal feelings without experiencing them myself. But I did live with depression, his name was
Marty. I listened to his thoughts, I tried to argue against them, but I couldn't. The overbearing presence of his depression crushed me. I started to believe he was right. I suddenly couldn't find the good in anything, I saw negative everywhere I went. For about a year and a half after he died I still thought the same things, still had the same views on life. But I did talk myself out of them. When Marty was at his worst stage of the depression he woudl ask me several times a day,
what make life worth living? He still cared enough to search for the answer. He didn't want to die. And I believe most people who think about killing themselves don't really want to die. They just can't seem to find another answer. And that's why they need to talk to people. They need to tell people how they are feeling and what they are thinking. Too often Marty would hide his thoughts from people because he didn't want them to know the real Marty. He thought they wouldn't like him. And that's what makes me angry. If he could have let go of his pride and revealed his feelings and thoughts we could have helped him. When I say I am angry with him for being selfish, that is exactly what makes me think it.
Suicide is NOT a solution. And if there is something inside of you that you are worried about telling people, for God's Sakes! tell someone! Don't let things eat you up inside, just tell someone! If you are looking for a solution, there it is! Freedom from your haunting thoughts and feelings. Freedom! Life only tastes sweet to those who can enjoy it, that's the secret of life. So let go of all the crap that is inside you, let the thoughts free, let the memories go, let it all go. What have you got to lose?