Topic: suicide
My favorite person in the world isn’t here anymore. All the trips I wanted us to take, the late-night chats yet to be had, cups of our favorite tea yet to be enjoyed. I don’t know what the solution is, but I do know that she’d want me to keep running.
All three of these times, when I made the decision to jeopardize my own existence, I truly wanted to die. In those moments, I believed that whatever I was going through—coming to terms with my sexuality, breakups, fights with friends, bad decisions—was worth ending my life.
There are moments and things to stay for in this life. We may have no idea what they’ll be or when they’ll happen, but they will happen.
I’m putting together this action plan. Because it’s way easier to talk about this now, when I’m in good health and thinking straight, than in the situation that could occur if depression comes after me again.
I’m writing to you from the inside. From the mouth of the lion. The bottom of the well. It’s dark down here, and it’s lonely. But we’re here together. And I’m telling you: there’s something better waiting for us.
For me, being isolated was the scariest thing. The days I felt most depressed and suicidal were only enhanced when I isolated myself; when I decided that no one wanted to hang out with me or loved me. Those days were the worst.
It takes a boldness to say that your brain is sick. That you need help. That you can’t do whatever this is alone anymore.
I’m not depressed, I’m just tired. Preston isn’t coming back, I know this now. I’ve accepted this, and there’s no basis for any depression to occur within me. Everything is as okay as it will be, and we all just have to keep going. I’m not depressed.
My name is Michelle and I have Major Depressive Disorder. It’s severe and it’s recurrent. But I am not my depression, and my depression is not me. MDD is a part of my story, but it isn’t my identity.
I’m writing about this because the stigma surrounding mental illness, especially in Christian communities, keeps people locked in prisons of shame, refusing to admit that they need help.
I want you to understand this: If you are in the pits of depression, if you are suicidal, if any of the above spoke to you, depression is lying.
This letter is a reminder to the girl who wrote my suicide note. It is a reminder to myself: I am worth it, even when I don’t believe it. I am worth it.
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