I just read some blog posts condemning RFK jr for ignoring his estranged wife when she was threatening suicide. He apparently said he didn't want to help her because she wasn't helping herself. She also had a well documented problem with alcohol.
Ok. I don't know these people so I can neither condemn nor support the decision or choices they made. Here is what I do know and have experienced. Alcoholism and drug addictions are one long slow suicide. Alcoholics and drug addicts have been known to threaten suicide in order to control the people around them. My father did this to my family for years. We wanted him to stop drinking and taking drugs, and he didn't want to stop. His addictions had passively been the center of our family life, but when I was 12, they became the active center of our family. My house became a war zone. What drove me as a teenager was to get out of my house and as far away as possible. The suicide threats started when I left for college. At first it was a successful strategy - we were all totally focused on him. Eventually though I heard a recovering alcoholic speak and realized that my father was 1) already committing suicide by drinking and taking drugs, and 2) had no intention of committing suicide more actively. I disengaged from him and he eventually stopped drinking.
More recently, a (former) friend of mine made suicide threats to his daughters. He is an active alcoholic who has been in a long, downward spiral. For a few years he was presenting himself as helpless so that his daughters would feel like they had to visit him to make sure he was taking care of himself. When that stopped being an effective method of control he began to imply that he would kill himself. I had a long talk with the girls and shared my experiences with my father. The points I made were that 1) their father was committing suicide by drinking, 2) he likely had no intention of making an active suicide attempt, and 3) even if he did commit suicide they were not responsible for his actions. I have no idea if I had any lasting impact on the girls.
Like I said, I don't know the Kennedys. I'm sure there is plenty of blame to go around. One thing I do know is that no external force could convince me to kill myself or not. I made the choice to attempt suicide despite that fact that I know many people love me and would have been traumatized by my death. When my first attempt failed, I chose not to make another one because I wasn't ready. I have since made a choice to treat my depression because I have come to realize that the desire to commit suicide is a symptom of a disease. I think it's possible that Mary Kennedy had threatened suicide before and her husband was tired of the manipulation. Or maybe not. I do know that if at some point in the future I stop treating my depression and kill myself - it will be no one's responsibility but mine.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
the trouble with meds
I believe in medications. I take a combination of antidepressants, which keep me functional and happy. When I finally reached the right combination and dosage, I felt like I had been returned to myself - a weight had been lifted, a fog had cleared, I had been released from prison.
The process of getting to the right combination and dosage was painful, and in a lot of ways, worse than the pain of being depressed. When I started taking a low dosage of antidepressants I could suddenly feel how miserable I was. The protective numbness was ripped away, but the pain had not been alleviated. I was horribly unhappy, in physical pain, angry, and without hope. Sometimes I felt like the depression was an electrical current jerking through my body. And I had promised I wouldn't make another suicide attempt, so I just had to grit my teeth and get through it. As I acclimated to the meds, the pain and anger began to subside, but I still felt unhappy and hopeless.
One of the unfortunate symptoms of clinical depression is a reluctance to get better. So I fought my therapist on upping the dosage, or adding other medications. But she kept insisting it wasn't good enough, that I wasn't happy enough, so I would concede - just to show her it wasn't going to get better. She was always right and I was always wrong. It kept getting better, and then it plateued. Which is when I fianlly gave in and talked to my psychiatrist about adding a complimentary med. The first one we tried was a complete disaster and led to the worst month of my life.
When I added the second medication I began sleeping 14 - 16 hours a day. I couldn't keep a thought in my head for longer than a minute. I would just walk away from what I was doing, or forget I was having a conversation while I was talking. After discussing it with my psychiatrist, I stopped the medication, and then fell even further down the hole. 36 hours after my last dosage I felt like a veil had been lowered. I began having incesant suicidal thoughts. I saw blood running down my arm and had a very hard time not running a blade over my wrists. I had gone to spend the weekend with a friend to help celebrate her and her daughter's birthdays. I had to take her aside at her party and tell her what was happening. She offered to take me to the hospital. I probably should have accepted, but instead I said no, and left a message for my psychiatrist. I white knuckled it through the rest of the day with constant thoughts of suicide. It was horrible. After I went home, I took some Ambien and went to bed. It was about 5:30pm, but I'd had all I could take.
I shoulf clarify that these thoughts of suicide were completely different from when I had planned my suicide attempt. These thoughts felt mechanical - like they were coming from somrthing other than me. I had never wanted or planned to slit my wrists, and yet I had this constant image of bloody, open wrists baraging my brain. And this continued for days!!!!!!!! I was on enough of the first medication that I was able to recognize that these thoughts were a symptom of my disease, and not my actual desire. Knowing this didn't make it better, but it gave me the strength to hold on until I could get on another medication.
I started taking another medication within a couple of days, but it was one that takes about a week to kick in. I did my best to go on with my life, but it was exhausting. I wanted to lie down and die. I'd be at the store with this mantra running through my head: do not lie down on the floor, they will call an ambulence, do not lie down on the floor. I was terrified that I would lose control of my impulses and slit my wrist. My friends knew I was having a hard time, but I don't think I was totally honest about how close I was to the edge.
The second drug kicked in and suddenly it was over. With the first medication I had a gradual easing of symptoms, with the second it happened all at once. A switch was flipped in my head. It still took me a few weeks for my body to adjust. I had tremors that gradually went away.
Prescribing psychotropic meds is as much art as science. The way I react to the meds I tried is different from others who've tried the same meds. Another friend is still on the med I reacted to so badly and it works really well for her. My therapist is the one who insisted that I keep upping my dosage of the first med, and the one who suggested the complimentary med that ultimately worked well for me. My psychiatrist mostly seemed to agree with whatever she suggested.
I often wish that, like a diabetic does with blood sugar, I could measure my brain chemistry everyday and adjust my dosages accordingly. The meds make my life livable and allow me to be me. Which also means that my problems have not gone away. The meds can be dangerous, so it's important to have someone you trust who knows the medications well. For me it was my therapist (who is not a physician and cannot prescribe).
The process of getting to the right combination and dosage was painful, and in a lot of ways, worse than the pain of being depressed. When I started taking a low dosage of antidepressants I could suddenly feel how miserable I was. The protective numbness was ripped away, but the pain had not been alleviated. I was horribly unhappy, in physical pain, angry, and without hope. Sometimes I felt like the depression was an electrical current jerking through my body. And I had promised I wouldn't make another suicide attempt, so I just had to grit my teeth and get through it. As I acclimated to the meds, the pain and anger began to subside, but I still felt unhappy and hopeless.
One of the unfortunate symptoms of clinical depression is a reluctance to get better. So I fought my therapist on upping the dosage, or adding other medications. But she kept insisting it wasn't good enough, that I wasn't happy enough, so I would concede - just to show her it wasn't going to get better. She was always right and I was always wrong. It kept getting better, and then it plateued. Which is when I fianlly gave in and talked to my psychiatrist about adding a complimentary med. The first one we tried was a complete disaster and led to the worst month of my life.
When I added the second medication I began sleeping 14 - 16 hours a day. I couldn't keep a thought in my head for longer than a minute. I would just walk away from what I was doing, or forget I was having a conversation while I was talking. After discussing it with my psychiatrist, I stopped the medication, and then fell even further down the hole. 36 hours after my last dosage I felt like a veil had been lowered. I began having incesant suicidal thoughts. I saw blood running down my arm and had a very hard time not running a blade over my wrists. I had gone to spend the weekend with a friend to help celebrate her and her daughter's birthdays. I had to take her aside at her party and tell her what was happening. She offered to take me to the hospital. I probably should have accepted, but instead I said no, and left a message for my psychiatrist. I white knuckled it through the rest of the day with constant thoughts of suicide. It was horrible. After I went home, I took some Ambien and went to bed. It was about 5:30pm, but I'd had all I could take.
I shoulf clarify that these thoughts of suicide were completely different from when I had planned my suicide attempt. These thoughts felt mechanical - like they were coming from somrthing other than me. I had never wanted or planned to slit my wrists, and yet I had this constant image of bloody, open wrists baraging my brain. And this continued for days!!!!!!!! I was on enough of the first medication that I was able to recognize that these thoughts were a symptom of my disease, and not my actual desire. Knowing this didn't make it better, but it gave me the strength to hold on until I could get on another medication.
I started taking another medication within a couple of days, but it was one that takes about a week to kick in. I did my best to go on with my life, but it was exhausting. I wanted to lie down and die. I'd be at the store with this mantra running through my head: do not lie down on the floor, they will call an ambulence, do not lie down on the floor. I was terrified that I would lose control of my impulses and slit my wrist. My friends knew I was having a hard time, but I don't think I was totally honest about how close I was to the edge.
The second drug kicked in and suddenly it was over. With the first medication I had a gradual easing of symptoms, with the second it happened all at once. A switch was flipped in my head. It still took me a few weeks for my body to adjust. I had tremors that gradually went away.
Prescribing psychotropic meds is as much art as science. The way I react to the meds I tried is different from others who've tried the same meds. Another friend is still on the med I reacted to so badly and it works really well for her. My therapist is the one who insisted that I keep upping my dosage of the first med, and the one who suggested the complimentary med that ultimately worked well for me. My psychiatrist mostly seemed to agree with whatever she suggested.
I often wish that, like a diabetic does with blood sugar, I could measure my brain chemistry everyday and adjust my dosages accordingly. The meds make my life livable and allow me to be me. Which also means that my problems have not gone away. The meds can be dangerous, so it's important to have someone you trust who knows the medications well. For me it was my therapist (who is not a physician and cannot prescribe).
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Things I really can't say
After you've made an attempt on you own life, you can never express frustration and unhappiness in quite the same way. I can't say "I'd rather shoot myself than...." "I hate my life..." "kill me now..." or anything else that indicates a possible intent to self-harm. Unless you want to see the eye twitch start going, or listen to the tense silence as your friends wonder if you mean it. Do you mean it? Should they be re-thinking the hospitalization thing? Frankly it's just cruel. Be nice to your friends and family - you really freaked them out.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Why I'm writing
Two and a half years ago I tried to commit suicide. When it became clear that my plan wouldn't work, I contacted friends instead of coming up with another plan. Now there are certain topics that are off limits with my friends, so I need an outlet. I also need to put some stuff out there that I was looking for desperately in the aftermath of my suicide attempt. While I still have suicidal thoughts sometimes, I'm not here to discuss how to commit suicide. I'm still trying to figure out how to live.
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