Down from the ledge….postcards from the edge of suicide
"You either save yourself or you remain unsaved." — Alice SeboldOn the eve of my 3rd anniversary.
But not a happy one.
3 years ago today a plan was unfolding.
I stopped answering the phone.
I stopped going to work.
I penned a letter of resignation.
And a will.
And a suicide note to my family.
I picked a place to die.
I printed my mapquest directions.
Then I packed some pills and some bags and started driving.
I’d always wanted to go to Nashville, so I went there.
I checked into the downtown Hilton.
In between hysterics and crying, I walked.
I peered into the Cumberland River over the E Street Bridge.
I circled honkytonks and landmarks.
The city was empty and dead.
Everyone had left to be with their families for Thanksgiving.
Homeless men talked to me.
They were the only other ones walking the streets alone.
I know they could see it in my face.
I ate my “last meal” in a dark corner of the Wild Horse Saloon.
I tipped the waitress extra well.
Then I walked back out into the cold, misty night.
So many other things happened before, during, and after all of this. Telling this story takes more concentration than I possess at the moment. I don’t know where to start or end, what to include or omit. My brain ping pongs off a thousand details and emotions. There is the story of how I got THERE, and how I got HERE. Obviously only 99% of my plan got carried out that evening in Nashville, but the 1% that didn’t is really all that counts.
I am in a far different place than I was even last year at this time. In November of 2009 I was starting to carry out a third suicide plan. I wish I could look back at how far I’ve come since Thanksgiving of 2007, but instead I continue my fight to avoid getting down to that last 1% again. I don’t have my life back, or my career, or even a job. I can’t sustain friendships or follow through on plans. Where I could be or should be or need to be threatens to overwhelm my panic buttons at any given moment.
But I’m trying to focus on just one thing that matters, so I can feel like something I do is of benefit to another human being. Halfway through my QPR training to certifty as an online suicide intervention specialist, I clicked on their link for the video “Moments” by Emerson Drive. It’s one of those songs I’ve heard a hundred times, but never *listened* to. Déjà vu prickled the little hairs on my arms as I watched a familiar story unfold on the rain-soaked E Street Bridge in Nashville. The lyrics hit me straight in the gut:
“I stood there tryin’ to find my nerveWondered if a single soul on Earth
Would care at all
Miss me when I’m gone
That old man just kept hanging around
Lookin’ at me, lookin’ down
I think he recognized
That look in my eyes
Standing with him there I felt ashamed
I said, You know, I haven’t always been this way…”
Three years ago I roamed the streets of Nashville preparing to die, and the only people who looked me in the eye or spoke to me were homeless men. I recall that flash of recognition in each others’ eyes: That night, we were all somebody’s throwaway. I wondered what made them choose to go on living day to day in their circumstances, while my reasons for not wanting to suddenly seemed absurd in comparison. I couldn’t comprehend why they would care about me in the slightest, when people who “loved” me wouldn’t pick up the phone. I marveled at the irony of the situation, and how the wrong people almost won. The people who didn’t give a damn.
All of these moments, and the utter lonliness I felt standing on the Shelby Street Bridge, welled up as I cried my way through the video.
Part of me wants to get in the car and drive to Nashville next Thursday to give back to the people who saved my life. But I can’t exactly take off like I used to without sending off the “cuckoo for cocoa puffs” alarm bells. I haven’t been hospitalized and I don’t care to be. Maybe I will get up the courage to ask a friend to go with me so that I can have a full circle moment and finally begin to move on with my life. We’ll see. I don’t tend to stick to my plans these days, and sometimes that’s a very good thing.
“You’re only as sick as your secrets” – Ashley Judd plays the role of Helen TOO well . . .
Just a few of the dynamics at play in Helen which resonated with me:
• Rage. NO ONE will control your decisions. If nothing else, you will live and die on your own terms.
• “I want you to GO!” Pushing away the very people we, in fact, wish would never let us go. Every relationship is tested to its limits in pushing ‘unconditional love’ to the brink.
• Ambivalence. You’re always teetering on the verge, wanting death as little as you want life.
• Destruction. As Judd portrays so well, self-indulgence in the compelling urge to destroy yourself and everything around you is sometimes overpowering.
• Impulsivity. Hair trigger. Any little thing or – more importantly – *nothing in particular* could send you over the edge . . . and that is terrifying to loved ones.
• Flight risk. At any given moment you might up and leave. Because you can. You are done staying in places you don’t want to be.
There comes a point when there’s nowhere left to run or hide. Believe me, I have done both for as long as possible . . . nearly three years to be precise. The choice to “get busy living, or get busy dying” cannot be interminably dodged.
Helen can’t give us the “why” or “how” or “cure” of depression – as those answers remain elusive to researchers, psychiatrists, counselors, and sufferers alike – but its authenticity hit home enough to make me want to own my life again (as if I ever had a choice). Judd reminded me that the only thing that can save us – if anything can – is honesty. She has spent time in the grips of severe depression herself (see her interview here), and I look forward to her upcoming autobiography with great anticipation. “Her no-holds-barred portrayal brought me closer than was comfortable to feeling what it must be like to be severely depressed.” –Read Joseph Smigelski’s full review here, along with a Q & A with Judd.
Listen to “No Place to Fall” from the soundtrack:
(featuring Norah Jones of The Little Willies)
“If I had no place to fall
and I needed to
could I count on you
to lay me down…”
Related Articles
- Helen Focuses On Depression With A Tight Lens (pinkbananaworld.com)
On coming clean….“and the truth shall set you free”
It’s hard to determine the right tone for a suicide blog. Dark, melancholy, and indulgent? Uplifting, positive, and encouraging? In the end I decided to write what I would want to read: the truth. From a genuine voice. Nothing fake, nothing that shoves the topic under the rug because it’s too touchy for some. Simply the truth. And if my sarcastic brand of dark humor alienates anyone, that’s unfortunate, but fortunately alienating people is something I’m accustomed to. If you’ve lost the ability to see the humor in the dark side of life, tell Netflix to keep all the seasons of “Six Feet Under” coming.
It’s a funny thing about the truth: it really sucks sometimes. Life is painful. Some of us get a vase overflowing with dead flowers instead of a box of chocolates. Rather than, “Welcome to the world; we’re glad you’re here,” our cards read “You’re not wanted; why don’t you go back to where you came from.” Often that doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.
Sooo…what of truth? It’s something you tell. Something you face. Something you can run from but never quite escape. Believe me, I’ve been trying for the past couple of years. Denial, full-speed ahead. Keeping all the secrets that go along with suicide is a heavy task. For the first time in my life, I’ve had to keep up with all the lies I had been telling to everyone I know. No one was exempt. Not even me; after all, don’t you have to lie to yourself most of all? Pretend that it’s not going to ruin lives all around you, pretend not to know that some people will never be the same?
What OF the truth….DOES it set you free? I recently spilled my guts to my dad after Thanksgiving. Just what every father wants to hear; his daughter has been plotting her own death, down to the last letter. I left out some of the gruesome details; no mention of my research into drug combinations and dosages seemed pertinent. And is it really necessary to disclose to loved ones that you called around to price dry ice so that your body would be preserved enough for a green burial? And besides, how much truth is too much? As for me, I can’t seem to get enough of it. Others go through life pulling the wool over their own eyes. But we’ll talk more about my mom later.
As for whether the truth will set ME free, it’s too soon to tell. All I can do is report on my progress. It’s only been a month, and some days the realities of facing life again are so overwhelming that I crave the denial I so carelessly tossed aside with the truth. I threw away my coping mechanism, and life is harsh.
This, too, shall pass?
“God never gives us more than we can handle.”
“What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.”
“This, too, shall pass.”
“Just think positive; pull yourself out of it.”
“Everything happens for a reason.”
But what if there really was no good reason for us to feel this way? And the pain never truly passed, but instead infiltrated every aspect of our personalities until we couldn’t remember who we used to be back when something meant something to us? What if our bodies turned into living, breathing evidence betraying the fact that we could not, in fact, handle it? And what if, in the end, we became deadened, weakened versions of who we used to be? Finally…what if we spat those clichés back into the face of the morons spewing them out in some misguided attempt to comfort us through our dark times?!
Oops, was that harsh? Well, if you’re the type of person who is prone to remarks like “Jesus can save you,” you will find this blog mightily irreverent; please read no further. If, on the other hand, you fear you may one day smack the shit out of somebody who utters one of the aforementioned clichés, read on!
If you can relate to these sentiments, you are probably sick to death of people who are quick to offer advice and render judgment, and slow to really listen when understanding is what you truly need. It’s easy to dispense solutions when you’re not the one wanting to kill yourself every day. What’s hard is to simply be there for another human being.
I am not writing this blog because I have the answers to everyone’s problems. I can’t pull anyone else out of a place I often can’t climb out of myself. I can, however, attempt to offer this forum as a source of support for anyone who has suffered from depression or suicidal tendencies. Because the truth is, many people simply don’t understand this scary, taboo subject. Suicide is a concept most people cannot get their heads around. If life has never brought you to your knees, what could you know of suffering?
I know firsthand what it’s like to have to pretend for everyone else’s sake, to put on the happy face in order to live up to others’ expectations, to hold it all inside so that nobody has to worry about a problem they can’t solve for you. For these reasons, I need a place where I can express what I really think and feel, without the fear of judgment.
Maybe you do, too.
Join me in the attempt to “step down from the ledge,” so to speak. Let’s get through one day, one hour, one minute at a time and live to see what tomorrow brings. Even if we think we already know it’ll only be more suffering.
“Tell your truth. You never know who you’ll set free.”
Disclaimer
Disclaimer: The diagnosis and treatment of depression and other psychiatric disorders requires a trained medical professional. Information contained in this website reflects the opinions of the author, and is intended for discussion purposes only. It should NOT be used as a substitute for professional diagnosis and treatment of any medical/psychiatric disorders. Please consult a medical professional if the information here leads you to believe you or someone you know may be depressed or suicidal.
Down from the ledge....postcards from the edge of suicide 
