I called a suicide hot line tonight. It was difficult because the man spoke English as a second language. I hung up after about five minutes because my roommate came home and I didn’t want her to hear the conversation. I’ve been on medication for 10 years and I’ve been hospitalized twice. I’ve experienced happiness, and it’s nice and all, but I’m so sick of always slipping back into depression (manic depression and psychosis). It’s a real piss off, and I feel… tired. And pathetic. And I can’t get the image of slitting my wrists out of my head.
No question, I guess. I just needed to let that out.
Tired and pathetic is a perfectly understandable way to feel, but none of the shit swirling through your head is worth a miserable and bloody death.
Of course you’ve experienced happiness, and you’ll experience it again, but that needn’t be your source of hope. Like you said, happiness is nice and all, but it’s not the point. The pursuit of happiness is what matters, and never giving up on that pursuit is what’s important.
Keep this in the forefront of your mind: those suicidal thoughts do not belong to you. They belong to your disease. They belong to a part of you that needs treatment immediately.
Your instinct to call a suicide hotline and reach out to me does belong to you. That’s the part of you that still very much wants to live, and that’s the part of you that also knows you need treatment immediately.
Please call the American Suicide Survival Line at 1-888-784-2433 or the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.
If you get someone who can’t effectively communicate with you, ask to speak with someone else, but stay on the fucking phone, okay?
Write me back tomorrow and let me know how you’re doing.