Everyone (well, almost everyone) has had their black times, even if only for a few moments, when not-being seemed like a better option than being. Some of us have gone through longer, darker times like that, kept in this world by only one thing or only a few things until we could muster again the desire to stick around and see how it all comes out.
So…what anchored you here during those times?
And yeah, I’ve been struggling with it a lot lately. Fortunately, I’m anchored here by my husband, who loves me beyond thought and reason and would be entirely devastated. He loves me that much, I need to be at least a little worthy of it by not hurting him that way.
I figure my family I never asked for, but my man and I chose each other. That makes us responsible for honouring that choice and sticking with each other.
To hijack for a second… Maggie?? Same Oni_no_Maggie I know from elsewhere ages ago? Do you remember me?
Yes, Bidding board! That’s exactly what I thought when I saw your ID - ‘Holy CRAP, small world!!!’ (Closely followed by ‘Wow, I can actually say “crap” here!’)
P.S. Just wanted to add: apologies to everyone for threadjacking, specially on my first day here, but Maggie is great and I haven’t ‘seen’ her in years so I got overexcited…
What kept me around? Lots of different things on different days. When I’m being honest, I admit it was mostly fear. The one time when I really started to “make a plan” (razorblade), I was sitting in my empty apartment, and I realized that if I tried, I would succeed, because there would be no one to find me. But I was too scared to do it. I realized then that I really didn’t want to. I sort of called my own bluff. After about 10 years of thinking about it, I realized I was bullshitting myself all along.
That was 10, 11 years ago. I haven’t really entertained the idea since then. My life is actually quite nice now, so I’m glad I stuck around.
What kept me from it? My cats. My friends. Having a father who committed suicide, so I know **exactly **what it feels like to be left behind, and I saw how his death had an incredible ripple affect on everyone around him.
Once you’re a member of the “suicide survivor club,” (it’s a large club - someone commits suicide every (warning: PDF) 16.2 minutes in the US, leaving about 6 survivors) you find out what a lasting impact suicide has on the survivors. It’s a permanent, gaping wound that never seems to heal all the way. It’s been exactly 10 years, as of Wednesday, since my father’s death, and I’m still not “over it” and I doubt I ever will be.
Ever since then, when I’ve thought about checking out, I remember the pain that my father’s death caused me, and I can’t bear to cause anyone else that kind of pain.
I made a pact with my spouse the day we agreed to get married - neither of us is allowed to commit suicide without all options, including therapy together, having been tried, and proven unsuccessful.
Seems strange, but while I would kill myself, I will NOT break my work to her.
(I also have a rule that nobody brings handguns into my house, or lets me know they are around. Ever.)
The husband, who was at that time the boyfriend. The day I almost seriously for real killed myself I was struck by the sudden image of him stumbling upon my dangling corpse, and that was such a revolting and horrifying and traumatic thought that I ran all the way to the emergency walk-in office at my counseling center. I promised him then that I would never do that to him.
Really the best way to stay alive and kicking is to think about your loved ones, always think about them and the mess they would be left with if you were to go. Imagine if one of them were going through the same thing, and how lost and horrified you would feel if they gave up and left you. Sometimes it’s just guilt that kept me alive, but whatever. I’m here to stay.
There were several things that kept me here during the 6 to 18 months in about 1996 when I yearned for the non-pain of oblivion. In no particular order: I also didn’t want my children (6, 12 and 20 at the time) to think it was their fault. I didn’t want to be remembered as a drama queen. It was a struggle, but I hung onto my faith that somehow God would see me through it all if I just took it one hour at a time. Finally I was (and remain) convinced that depression, apathy and wanting things just to be over was actually a totally appropriate response to what I was going through. If I’d been all happy and optimistic I’d have doubted my sanity. So I was able to convince myself that what I was feeling was normal. Just one of those feelings that shouldn’t be acted on.
Sometimes it’s simple funk. I don’t want to be a Goddamned tree. Most of the time I am far from the faith I was raised in, but some parts have stuck longer than others.
Sometimes, it’s anger: I’ve got a lot of blame for how things came out in my life to date. But there are still some people who helped shit on me during that trip that I think would laugh to hear I’d taken my own life. I will not give the bastards that satisfaction.
Most of the time, it’s compassion for my loved ones. I do not want to put my family through the pain such a loss would leave. Nor the guilt.
It was my family. I just couldn’t let them feel the pain that my death would cause. I hated myself, but even though I told them I hated them, I really did love them and didn’t want them to go through that.
My family. My mom and sis are my best friends and my kids are great. The new granddaughter (just turned one!) is a good anchor as well.
And then on a purely …(hmmm, logical?) note, I just have a big enough fear of pain and the unknown, that I am fairly sure I wouldn’t be able to “not be” even without them.
