i think suicidal people are just angels that want to go home.
hi as an actually suicidal person can you please shove this romanticized bullshit back up your ass? Thanks.
As someone who has been suicidal and lost friends to suicide:
I know how it feels for the days to become hollow and meaningless, to lie in bed and do nothing for weeks on end, to have no interest in food or water or basic hygiene. I know intimately the suffering and the hopelessness of that process.
And if no one is there to catch you when you stumble, to drag you out of bed kicking and screaming at times, to feed you and make you seek professional help, the mere prospect of getting up seems so insurmountable that “getting help” never enters your mind. It wasn’t a sharp drop into this pit, after all, but a slow, downward trudge to misery, and now you’re staring up a sheer cliff face and wondering how things got this bad.
When you’re in this situation, it feels like there are only two options - continuing on as you have been, empty as that life is, unfulfilling and dull and painful as each day is (and, often, as certain as you are that you are a burden and a disappointment to everyone you know and the whole world would be better off without you in it)…or just stopping.
Ceasing to be. Ending it all. I can’t tell you how many times I thought it would so neatly solve my problems - I would no longer have the daily struggle of drawing breath and my family wouldn’t have the financial burden of my tuition and cost of living, and my roommate wouldn’t have to deal with my slovenliness and my friends wouldn’t hear my whining anymore, wouldn’t need to worry (did they worry? Were they really my friends? Would anyone really notice if I wasn’t there?)
Of course there’s a third option, but recovery is the sheer cliff face. It’s hard enough when someone throws down a rope. Imagine climbing it by yourself, no equipment and no assistance. No one to even know if you dash yourself across the rocks below, no one to wonder what happened or to send for a doctor (though it’s probably too late for that).
I can’t fault anyone for the choice they make, under the influence of depression and its myriad insidious lies, because getting better is difficult and painful and even four years later I’m not 100% yet, I’m still seeing psychiatrists and changing meds and sometimes I’m down and sometimes I’m up but mostly I’m at a happier medium than I’ve known in a long time, and that’s worth a lot. I can get out of bed and feed myself and even go to work, take care of my dog and myself and do chores.
And these are fucking phenomenal accomplishments because I came from a place where I would spend hours trying to motivate myself to leave the bed to eat, or to go to the toilet.
I can’t blame the people who didn’t believe in the possibility of recovery. I can’t be angry at them, no matter how many people tried to help, no matter what they did or didn’t try. Depression is different for everyone, but it’s never easy.
What I can do, what I will do, is offer my help to anyone, absolutely anyone who I can see is suffering. I never could have made it this far without my friends and family, and if I can provide that same support to guide someone on the path to improved health, I will do it in a heartbeat.