Welcome! I know some of you just received a post from me not too long ago, but I wanted to share with you my very first podcast/post, so if you’re receiving this again, my apologies. I hope to get much better at this! It’s essentially the same as the post I’ve just written, but I’ve added a read-through (which is how you’ll receive these posts in the future). You’ll also be able to find it on Spotify soon. I’d love to hear your very kind and constructive feedback! Thanks for stopping by. Sharing my posts gives me strength, so thank you for your support.
Warning: This story contains content about mental illness and suicide. If you are in crisis, experiencing emotional distress, or worried about someone you know, call, text, or chat 988. https://988lifeline.org/
As it is commonplace for me, I am struggling again. Last night, while I was having difficulty with images and voices urging me to end my life, I became willful, meaning I was so angry that I had to deal with this once again, that I refused to be skillful, to ask for help, to think dialectically. I cursed at the heavens, at hell, at my lot in life. I said, “Give it your best shot, I’m tired of trying! I don’t care anymore! I don’t want your help!”
Maybe I just had to let out my frustration because after that, I asked for coaching from my therapist, and she was so incredibly effective despite my willfulness. She said, “See if you can take your night meds and get some rest. The day is almost over, and hopefully you can sleep soon.” I hemmed and hawed to myself, but eventually I got ready for bed, took my night meds, and fell asleep.
The next day, I woke up early, and the urge came right back. I followed up with my therapist, saying, “Today, I'm focusing on what I can manage, including going for a walk outside and connecting with at least two people. I’m trying to be skillful and not spiral. I’m trying to remind myself that I have much to live for and that these bad feelings will pass.” This was my intention, my way of saying, “The only thing that is helping me be willing instead of willful is that I don’t want to go back to the psych ED (sometimes it’s necessary, I know). I don’t want to have another crisis, have my life interrupted, have my son worry and miss me, and can’t see me for weeks on end.” Yesterday I told him I wasn’t feeling well and he asked me, “Why aren’t you feeling well? Are you sick?” I told him, “No, I’m just not feeling my usual self, and I think I need to go to bed early.” I think that helped quell his insecurity, but eventually I have to tell him what’s going on, because today I felt so bad that I didn’t know if I could make it.
To push forward genuinely and authentically, I had to realize that how I was seeing my struggle was not working. I have been running around in circles, doing the same thing, expecting different results. And so, today, I stopped. I had the wherewithal to reflect on my behavior and reactions, how I’ve been feeling, and what my body is trying to tell me. I’ve been fighting myself and my body, wrestling with whether I should live or die, and I even temporarily gave up. There was a sense of urgency to solving this pain, and I knew that for me to survive, I had to stop fighting. I typed into Google, “radical acceptance of suicidal urges.”
Radical acceptance, a term I learned from Marsha Linehan’s dialectical behavior therapy, is:
Accepting the facts of a situation as they are, without judgment or resistance.
Letting go of the need to change or control the situation.
Embracing the present moment, including both the positive and negative aspects.
Only yesterday, radical acceptance of suicide urges would have scared the hell out of me, and I wouldn’t have allowed it in my vocabulary. To think, I would have to embody these things when dealing with suicide? It would be as if I were on the edge of a cliff and I started to lose my balance.
I was desperate for change, however, and this was the most significant change I thought I could make. I found an article that talked about this exact thing, and I learned that maybe the pain of suicide, of wanting to die, is paradoxically because we want to live. It wants me to flourish and find freedom. It wants me to be the most alive I’ve ever been, and when it gets stuck in these states, it thinks that the only choice is death. I’ve been blind to what these feelings are actually saying to me:
Listen, I know this storm is hard, that you feel this is the most difficult thing you’ve ever experienced, but you’ve got to remember who you are. You grew up with spunk, creativity, a vivid imagination, and a zest for life. You were a ham, wanting to perform in front of imaginary audiences, whether it was being a rock star, a stand-up comedian, or a baseball player. You’re that alive. Remember?
And so I think, what if this pain is reminding me of what I live for? I know this struggle of mine might never go away. I know it hurts, and I can’t think of anything except getting rid of the pain by dying, but what if this was my way to live life to the fullest?
I thought I did everything to help myself. I’ve done all that I thought was asked of me, I’ve listened to all the doctors and therapists, and taken all their directives. Yes, I’ve made some progress, but here I stand, wanting to die all over again. This is not change, because if I had changed, I would no longer suffer. That’s my roundabout, nascent, logical, rational-mind way of thinking:
If I worked hard enough, I would no longer suffer.
But that’s not the answer. That’s not where freedom comes from. I don’t know if I’ll ever be free of mental illness. But maybe my life becomes meaningful by the way I’ve approached my mental illness—how I live out my pain. For someone who cannot escape pain, even as I write this now, there is a way to live out my life not only despite my pain, but maybe because of my pain. I don’t know what it is yet. I’m still feeling my way through the dark, but I know I’m onto something.
When I was 15, I read Viktor Frankl’s “Man's Search for Meaning” for school. In that life-changing book, there was a quote by Friedrich Nietzsche:
“He who has a why to live, can bear with almost any how.”
Ever since then, I have been determined to find my why. I rode a bike from San Francisco to LA, competed in the Golden Gloves as an amateur boxer, and spoke on big stages and in small, intimate groups, all because my pain was unbearable, I needed to be able to bear with any how.
And maybe it’s not by pursuing all those things. Yes, they have a time and place, but for someone who cannot escape the struggle towards death, Viktor Frankl talks about something else: keeping one’s dignity, or a positive stance towards unavoidable suffering. We can choose our outlook, regardless of how bleak it may seem. I know I can do that. I know that’s how I survive this. That’s how I’ve made meaning from my current situation.
Today, I'm ready to live with the dignity that only I can give myself, and I’m committed to making that happen.
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