Are you suicidal?

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Please don't flame me for this - I'm genuinely trying to help.

There are certain facts about suicide which most people don't take into account, and having had over a decade of my life ruined by suicidal impulses (please don't ask me to figure out exactly how many! I suck at maths), I thought I might give you the benefit of my hindsight.

History - I had my first 3 suicide attempts when I was 13, and an average of one attempt a year until my final attempt on 4/9/00. Luckily, my mum is a mental health social worker, as are most of her friends, so people kept an eye on me. We only figured out I had AS in 2008, of which Depression is a symptom, rather than a cause. Explains why so many different therapies didn't help, really! Nowadays, like a recovering addict, I view my suicidal impulses as a) a bad habit and b) my addiction. I take every day slowly and keep a constant awareness of danger signals, since I never want 4/9/00 to happen again.

Facts:

1. It's extremely difficult to kill yourself. As the Bupa advert said, your body is a machine whose entire function is based around keeping you alive. It will fight you if you try to destroy it. This can get unpleasant.
2. The majority of people who manage suicide have done it by accident.
3. Men are more likely to take a violent route to suicide, whereas women are more likely to take poison. This also relates to murderers, incidentally.
4. Suicide will affect your family. I know you've persuaded yourself that it won't, but it really will. Especially your mum - she carried you for 9 months and gave birth to you. That forms a bond for her which is primal and undeniable. Unless there is something seriously wrong with her mental health.
5. You will be sectioned after a 'true' suicide attempt.
6. Thoughts of suicide are just as viable as ending up in the hospital. Never, ever say someone hasn't tried suicide if they haven't ended up in the local ward. It dismisses their pain, which only compunds the problem.
7. Therapy works. I know you think it doesn't, but you just have to find the correct one for you. I found Art Therapy and CAT Therapy worked for me.
8. Suicidal thoughts stem from Depression. Depression stems from supressed/unexpressed anger. You cannot solve the puzzle without first understanding the root of the problem. Therefore, what past event frustrated and angered you?
9. Buy a punchbag. Seriously. Whenever you feel Depressed, write the name of the thing that's bothering you and stick it to the punchbag. Then express your anger on the punchbag. It sounds stupid, but it really will help.
10. People tend to either lose or gain weight during Depressive episodes, from either starving themselves or comfort eating.
11. Talking about it helps. Find someone willing to be in your support network and talk with them about the day to day things.
12. Suicide is a fight with yourself. Whether or not you take the poison depends entirely on you.

Now, I've wondered seriously about whether or not to describe what actually happens during a suicide attempt, but since I am trying to help, I guess full disclosure is nessessary. Please understand, this is extremely humiliating for me, but I mean well.

I took the poison at around 4am the night before starting a new job. No, I am not going to tell you what I took. Suffice it to say that I researched the substance and was assured that 5ml was enough to kill an adult. I took 38ml, just to be sure. I had kept it next to my bed for a week in a glass and no one had noticed, so I decided that they didn't care. I drank it because my friends had deserted me, I was a virgin with no hope of recovery, I had been Depressed for the past 4.5 months with no relief and there was no chance anyone would ever love me. I was a complete waste of oxygen. So I drank the glass and went to sleep.
Unfortunately, I woke up at 7pm when my alarm went off . So, I turned on my pc, left my suicide note on the screen, dressed and left the house. I drove off, then had to return when I realised I had forgotten my wallet. Mum met me in a panic, asking what the letter meant. I grabbed my wallet, lied to her that I was going to work, and left.
I started driving, with some vague idea that I'd keep going until I collapsed at the wheel or maybe get to Cornwall and see Tintagel. It seemed as good a place to aim for as any. Around Exeter, I started feeling woozy, so I pulled into the airport, with the vague idea of flying to another country so no one would be able to find me when I died. But I didn't have my passport on me, so I sat in the car park, feeling worse and worse and wondering why I was still concious. I threw up. I then felt desperate for the loo and went in front of the car. I assume the poison was affecting me here, since I wouldn't normally wee in a car park! At this point, I fell unconcious. I woke to find paramedics next to me, but I said I was car sick and sent them away. I had a fit of severe shivering and fell unconcious again.
I woke at around Midnight in jeans filled with my own waste. I felt absolutely fine. [My shrink suggested that my body did its utmost to expel the poison any way it could. Lovely] I got up, took off my jeans and wrapped a blanket like a sarong around me. I then walked a very long way to the hut with the attendant, explained I had tried to kill myself and asked to use his phone. I was in shock at this point. I asked for an ambulance, but the hospital refused to send one for me, suggesting I take a taxi instead. I knew a taxi wouldn't let me anywhere near it, so I was told I would have to drive myself to A&E. I walked back to the car, only to discover I couldn't leave because of the barrier. So I returned to the hut, paid the man with a filthy note and exited. The signs in Exeter to the hospital aren't great, so I got lost. I eventually found it, and walked in. There was a girl having a fit in A&E and no one was helping her. People avoided me because of the smell. There was no way to summon help, so I banged on the glass for 20 minutes until the people at the back stopped their conversation and came to see what I wanted. They let me in. I had to ask if I could wash somewhere. They left me alone in a bathroom for 20 minutes whilst I cleaned myself, then refused to give me anything to cover myself with. They refused to let me phone my parents to tell them where I was, saying it was selfish of me to want to wake them up at this time of night. Throughout the next few hours, I saw 5 different Psychiatrists, all of whom wanted me to tell them the same story. None of them offered me sympathy or medical assistance. I was made thoroughly aware, by everyone except the sandwich girl that I was selfish, contemptible and using a bed which someone who was really ill could use. This is an extremely common reaction in hospital staff.
The next morning, I was allowed to phone my parents, in a public area, with at least 20 people standing within 2m of me. Most of them were looking at me accusingly. I had asked if someone would phone my parents for me, but they refused, saying I should deal with their distress myself. Mum was crying uncontrollably, so was dad. However, mum knows me and when I told her I couldn't cope with her crying, she stopped and took over. They drove to get me, with some clothes I could wear. Whilst mum helped me, dad cleaned the car and then made me laugh on the way home by imitating Ludo from Labyrinth. Mum and I talked in the car and when we got home, she took me to the local hospital and talked them into committing me into her care rather than sectioning me.
I then spent the next 3 days in bed, feeling exceptionally ill, unable to eat, unable to deal with bright lights and extremely dehydrated. I was put on medication, and introduced into the mental health system, where for the next 3 years I sat on waiting lists for different therapies which people thought might work. It was only when I tried Art Therapy that the poison started to come out of my system. Putting the feelings down visually helped me a lot. No one else understood them, but I did, and that's what mattered. I developed Anxiety, panic attacks and Agoraphobia, which is apparently an indication of Depression getting better, and a friend of mine forced me out of the house each day to walk her dogs. A couple of years later, I started CAT therapy, which essentially cured me.

I still have suicidal thoughts, and I always will have. They've been my way of coping with life for so long that they're a part of me now. However, I have learnt coping strategies with theraputic help. It is my responsibility to keep myself strong. No one else is going to do it for me. I am not a princess in a tower waiting to be rescued - I am the prince.

The point behind my story is this: you are in control of your life. If a miswiring of neurons is affecting your behaviour, then see it as that and resolve it. Suicide doesn't solve anything, since all it does is make you dead. The people who hurt you won't be more hurt by your death, because they're busy with their own lives. They'll tut, wonder if they could have helped, then forget about you. Your death solves nothing. By learning to deal with the problem at its root you are doing far more for yourself that disappearing from the gene pool.

For what it's worth, during the aftermath, I moved out of home, got my own place, reconciled with my friends, lost my virginity, fell in love and have been going out with my BF for the past 2 years. I am now looking for permanant work and I sincerely hope I get it. Life can get better - it really can . You just have to trust that it will.

Well, at some point I was but now I'm not. My other personality, as depressed as he is, absolutely hates the idea of it.

I like that! And good for him. Suicide is never the answer.

Hi Arian! Thank you so much for writing about your personal experiences. It was really helpful.

I had one question in particular - you said that anxiety, panic attacks, and agoraphobia are a sign of depression getting better; I've never heard this before and I was wondering how you figured this out (I am not questioning the validity of it by the way), because a lot of my depression has morphed into anxiety, panic attacks, and agoraphobia and I am hoping that might be taken as a sign of improvement!

Hmm, let me think back... I was extremely depressed when I started the art therapy (lots of black paint and red blood everywhere, symbolising anger and depression), but then I had my first panic attacks completely out of the blue, which scared the hell out of me . So I talked it through with the therapist and, the therapy being public, I had got to know a girl with severe anxiety, so from her experiences and history and mine, the therapist and I theorised that panic was a natural progression from anger. It went something like this:

Suicidal thoughts come from frustrated anger.
Once that anger starts to be expressed, a mental cleanout has begun, so there are gaps which were formerly filled by depression.
The loss of the crutch of suicide, especially for a longterm 'user' can form anxiety.
Anxiety also forms from the loss of the "I'm going to die, so it doesn't matter what I do" mentality. Suddenly, life matters.
From ignoring people, suddenly they become important, and thus intimidating, because there's no structure in place to cope with them (also exacerbated by having AS!! !!).
So entering into the world becomes a very scary experience when it didn't matter before.

Now, this is logical for my experiences, and for the girl I knew, but does it speak to you?

Arian, it's really great that you've posted about this. It takes great strenght to be able to share this kind of personal information, I hope this changes the way people treat people who attempt suicide.

It sure is. If we switch I don't have to worry.

Thank you.

This is the only thing that keeps me going when life gets too much.

"When a man finds that it is his destiny to suffer, he will have to accept his suffering as his task. . . . He will have to acknowledge the fact that even in suffering he is unique and alone in the universe. No one can relieve him of his suffering or suffer in his place. His unique opportunity lies in the way in which he bears his burden."

Viktor Frankl (1905 - 1997)

Hi Arian! Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. Actually wanting to actively live in the world obviously then challenges you to figure out how you're going to manage that with the limited skills you have. (Well it wasn't so obvious to me before you set that out, but it is now!) Thank you very much again. Sorry this reply is so short in comparison to yours, but I did take in everything you said and it means a lot.

You know, I really like that, and it's extremely appropriate!

I just chatter on. It's one of my flaws, I think. I over explain to the point of oblivion, without seeming to have any kind of filter! *zipping mouth quickly*

I dont like to talk about this because if there is one thing Ive learned, or minimum been reinforced of, is trust noone. Id been having suicidal thoughts for maybe 2 years by then, last summer, and after just reaching a point where I had finally decided maybe theres a reason for them I found the "right" moment. I was fed up with everyone and in the manner in which that day was headed I just could feel how the conversation with my parents was going to go. I could swing to either the same pushover Id done for my whole life or gave them not just a piece of my mind but rather the whole cake. I decided I was to confront them about everything in my life. This would lead them to get angry enough to finally kick me out or something similar, at which point I was going to either hang myself ironically with survival parachord or get into a fatal car accident on purpose.

Thinking farther ahead than I should have I decided to write a short nonchallant goodbye in facebook, little did I remember my stepcousin was in my facebook at that moment, ratted me out within 1 minute of me posting. My parents got a call and obviously the first thing they do is ridicule me and act all mighty and all knowing as always when just as usual they find out late if they ever find out. Well, my mom used her super doctor powers to get me locked up in the looney bin for a week.

Fast forwards a month or so. Now I have a job, decent paying for a first job. As you can imagine staying at the looney bin didnt fix anything. So I had decided to buy a gun and shoot myself. Im not a fan of pills and such for the exact same reasons the OP posted, i feel a "violent" method works quicker, more convenient and usually seems a better way to die than jumping in and out of conciousness and throwing up everywhere. Anyhow I decided to ask for help in an online car forum I frequent. These guys almost all own multiple guns and seem to be quite knowledgeable about these things. So I asked them of different ways to acquire a gun. I wasnt counting on 1 guy having good enough memory to remember when I talked about coming out of the looney bin and told everyone this. It turned into a shitstorm of epic proportions of mostly ridiculing me and no real info on what I asked originally. Eventually someone called the cops on me and got picked up 2 days after asking. Another week in a different nuthouse. This lead to being forced to visit a psych, who tells me i have AS and all that "fun" stuff. Just to return to an even worse point of living than previous.

Thats as far as Im willing to go on that story.

You've been extremely brave. I am suicidal myself, and the fact you can open up here has been informative. I'll ring the councillor today.

That was a great reminder of why I shouldn't do it. I can't anyway because I have children and that would make me the most horrible mother ever, so I have to be here no matter how bad I feel, but one more reason doesn't hurt.

~Kate