My episodic depression began when I was 12, and now I am 51. There have been more episodes than I care to remember, several of them leading to suicide attempts. Did I want to give up life? No, not really. I just wanted a life different from the one I had. It didn't occur to me until the 13th year of abusive marriage that I could move my life in a different direction. So I got a divorce, thinking everything would instantly improve. Nope. I tried to kill myself 3 times over the next 2 years. I also had lost down to 93 lbs., so by that time, I was a physical as well as mental mess. I moved in with my parents and ended up staying there 12 years. I asked them to remove all guns from the house (there were many) and my parents complied, although my dad complained about it.
I think I got suicidal when I simply did not know what to do next. I had never been taught how to make a decision, so I felt I was in a crucible with decisions feeding the fire. It was a true meltdown. But I wanted to get better after several years of this. I started discerning what I really wanted as opposed to what others expected of me. It was slow going, yes, because I am a people-pleaser.
Courage is what it has taken. Courage to take the prescribed medications, even though the side effects were rotten, courage to try independent living 3 times before I succeeded, courage to take disability retirement from my job and obtain Social Security Disability Income. And that is what I am living on now, in my own apartment for the 13th month. Some people (siblings) don't see this as courage, they see it as deciding I don't want to work. And letting the gov't support me. But that isn't true -- I would like to work. I just know I can't without relapsing. I have been hospitalized 18 times and don't intend to ever go back, so I do what I must to keep myself well.
So, you ask, when did I learn to begin trusting myself? By giving myself time and not expecting to get well and stay well overnight. I also realized my focus had been on myself for a long, long time, and I began to focus on others. I did volunteer work at a food and clothing bank and saw many poor and desperate people come in. Like no shoes for them or their baby in the middle of the winter. And they walked a ways to get there, barefooted. They didn't have coats, either, any of them. Then there was the little man who wanted a suit and tie each time he came. And we usually gave it to him. No one else wanted a suit and tie -- they wanted shoes and coats and a week's worth of food and maybe a pair of jeans. It was a realy eye-opener. I had never gone hungry a day in my life, except when I was anorexic, and that was self-inflicted.
Anyway, (it is too late to make a long story short) I can say I am substantially recovered now from both schizophrenia and depression. Often, I remind myself that this is my life, not my mother's or my sister's. I have to make my own decisions. And I'm still learning how. Being on my own has helped. And I don't feel guilty about not returning calls and not rearranging my schedule for someone else. I feel FREE!
That's enough for now. More later.
Donnoa
Wow, Donna,
With each new message you're becoming more of a role model and hero to me.
I have been beating myself up about not "pulling my weight" or "getting back on my feet." I've exhausted myself trying to meet expectations and always do one better. The courage you've cultivated has taken time, trials, new experiences and forgiveness. I will feel stronger knowing we've shared some experiences and that you're progressing from surviving to thriving. I will take your message to heart (and continue to marvel at your power of expression...."in a crucible with decisions feeding the fire. It was a true meltdown." Wow.)
Still Here
http://stillhere2172010.blogspot.com/