Demons and Diamonds

Today is a special day in two counts. One is a count of days added to my life; the other is a count down to my new life. Today marks two years of living after a failed suicide attempt and exactly forty-nine days until I marry my best friend.

When I reflect on how dark my life was two years ago, I am still surprised I survived. I nearly didn't. But I am so glad I did! I have met many good people and friends in the last two years that I wouldn't have met otherwise. I've lived in three different states in the last two years, and I'm about to add another to that list. And I met the man I'm soon marrying.

Someone recently asked me about my relationship with Matt, and I realized that I wouldn't be as good a match for him had I not experienced everything involved in my suicide attempt. There are several reasons why, but the biggest one is I learned not to judge people by their past. Had I met Matt earlier than when I did, I wouldn't have given him a third date. He would have just been another passerby. He often says the same.

However, God is so good. He led me on a path that I took to mean failure. In reality, He was moving me toward something greater in places I didn't think or want to look.

My demons are still here and will likely always be with me. Yet, now I have a companion to help me defeat them. I have to fight my own battles, but Matt is there to hand me a new weapon after the first one breaks. (He jokes that the "Beyond" in Bed Bath & Beyond stands for battle axes.) That is what the diamond on my hand stands for: a partner to support me when the demons feel too big, and someone to continue counting days of living with me.

Here's to living and trusting in God's timing and love.

Current count: 49 days until the wedding
Current count: 730 days of living

The Same Road, Two Very Different Road Trips

This week is National Suicide Prevention week in the United States. Because of that, I want to write two posts, one about the last time I was actively suicidal and another about why I stay (this year's theme of TWLOHA).

Let me set the stage. These road trips happen along I-15 from California to Utah, a route I have driven many times. Specifically, these moments happen on I-15 driving north of Cedar City, Utah.

March 2017
I'm on my way to attend FanX with my oldest nieces. I know it will be a fun time. We are seeing the new "Beauty and the Beast" on opening day. We're scheduled to take pictures with a couple celebrities and all have costumes. Okay, my costumes are just fan shirts, but that's how I roll. All of that is the good I'm excited for during this trip.

The downside? I'll be seeing my recent ex-boyfriend a week after a very emotional breakup. I want to see him and I don't. I'm feeling rejected by him but more so from God. It is a dark place. I am back in my dungeon and feeling a loss of hope. Not even my "Bad Day" playlist will help today.

That darkness and loss of hope leads me to contemplate driving into oncoming traffic. It's a serious consideration that is both enticing and scary. Thankfully (I suppose), I've been down this path before and know the danger signs well enough to reach out for help.

--

I didn't pull into oncoming traffic and made it to Utah safely, but there was a good stretch of road where that outcome was questionable. I did make it through that trip with all its fun moments and emotional moments. It proved, once again, that I need my family sometimes to survive.

Myself and my nieces, Whitney and Monique heading to FanX the day after driving

This brings me to the second trip.

July 2017

I am on my way to Utah once again. This trip is quite different from the last time. Happy music is blasting, and I'm singing along to all the songs. I'm excited to see my family, excited to watch my niece play softball, and making really good time.

At some point, I realize I've reached the stretch of road where I was suicidal months before and the contrast hits me. This is the proof that I am in a better headspace, proof that I am healthier, proof that all the therapy and doctor's appointments have been worth it. This is the confirmation I've needed before going after new dreams. 

This is the ultimate proof that hope and healing are real.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit this suicide prevention resources page.

If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or text “Hello” to 741-741.

365 Days of Living

Today is the first anniversary of my suicide attempt, which you can read about in this post here.

It's been 365 days of fighting demons and learning that life is worth the fight. There have been good days and bad days, but what I've learned the most is that this process isn't linear. My fight isn't over, but there are less demons than before. I can get out of bed nearly every day. I am going back to work soon and making plans to live on my own again later this year. I finally found a therapist I like and a medication that works. I am making healthy changes, setting running goals and finding my passions to build a fulfilling life. In fact, I'm participating in the Unmasked 10M event put on by the Hogwarts Running Club and benefiting TWLOHA, an organization so dear to my heart. Not only does this combine two of my sources of hope, I decided it also was one of the best ways to celebrate living.

Because of my experiences this last year, the knowledge that God has been and will always be right beside me is now permanently embedded into my soul. He is shaping me into more than I ever dreamed and guiding my life to become more than what I planned.

Because today stirs up so many emotions, I am choosing to focus the most on gratitude.

To everyone in my life, thank you. Thank you for your prayers and kind thoughts sent my way. Thank you for reminding me of my value when I cannot see it myself. 

To those who stayed with me through my darkest and most desperate times, I can't thank you enough. You were my lifeline when I couldn't help myself. Your words of support, texts, and confidence in me reminded me that I had strength to continue on.

To those who left and who kept their boundaries, thank you for recognizing what you could handle and for choosing to take care of yourself. Self-care is so important.

To my therapists, thank you for working with me and for guiding me through the dark maze of depression. You helped me see my gradual progress and gave me hope for better things to come. Thank you for accepting me as I was each time I entered your office whether it was a good or bad mental health day.

To my amazing nieces, thank you for showing wisdom beyond your ages by accepting that I couldn't always keep my promises. Thank you for being concerned and expressing your unconditional love to me. Some days, your love is the only thing that keeps me fighting.

To my family, thank you for the support you've given me this year, whether emotional, financial, physical, or just your love. I wouldn't be as healthy as I am today without your care and support. Thank you for the tough love that was needed (and sometimes not). I know you are trying your best to understand, and I love you for that.

Please, please, if you or someone you know is struggling, take heart. There is hope in the darkness. Help is available. You matter. You are important. 

If you or someone you know needs help, visit this suicide prevention resources page.

If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or text “Hello” to 741-741.

My Suicide Attempt

To read the background story of my struggle with depression, click here.

I've felt like I wanted and needed to share my suicide story for a while, but it's rather scary to share it. Now that it is several months later, I'm not embarrassed or ashamed about it. I've actually started talking about it in a matter of fact way during some conversations. In honor of National Suicide Prevention Week this week, I decided it was time to share my story. This post will give a timeline of what happened and share parts of journal entries I wrote while in the hospital (quotations in italics). It seems less scary to share what I've already written.

Thursday, April 28, 2016

I overdosed Thursday on Tylenol PM. I took 28 pills over the course of the day. Finally, I asked to be taken to the ER around 11:30 pm. I'm still not sure why I overdosed other than I stopped caring about anything.

I didn't recognize the warning signs the days leading up to Thursday. I've now since learned that I become enraged and then I just don't care about anything. It's a coping mechanism, albeit a bad one, for when I can't deal with the situation anymore. I don't recall a specific trigger for that day. I know I was angry and then said "Screw it. I'm done." And I meant it. I specifically went to the store to buy a bottle of Tylenol PM with the intention to kill myself. I took a few and went to sleep. When I woke up, I took several more. This happened over and over throughout the day. Finally, I was feeling nauseated and a rational thought kicked in.

I texted my friend, Liz and asked her to take me to the hospital. I'm very fortunate that I had the rationality in the moment to ask for help and that she was still awake.

Friday, April 29, 2016

I was cognizant enough when we arrived at the hospital that I could provide all the necessary information to check me into the ER. I threw up before being taken back to a room, so my stomach didn't need to be pumped. I'm grateful for that. Sometime after midnight, I was taken to a room and hooked up to an IV, was poked and prodded for blood tests, asked to give a urine sample (which is really hard for me even on a good day). Liz was a trooper and stayed with me for a couple hours. She contacted the people who needed to know where I was, such as my ward leaders, family, and work.

I spent the night in the ER room while they ran tests on my liver and monitored my vitals. Around lunch time, I was admitted to a regular hospital room under 24 hour surveillance. I had a CNA or nurse with me at all times. While there, more tests were done and more IVs were given to flush my system. I had a few visitors and several phone calls from friends and family to check on me. There was a mixture of shock and concern. A friend even brought me ice cream!

I was able to have a serious talk with the night nurse about what happened. It was the first time I felt safe talking about my suicide attempt. Most of the doctors I had talked to up to that point had made me feel like I was being lectured. I knew it was a very serious situation, so I didn’t need a lecture about that. If I hadn’t known the severity of the situation, I probably wouldn’t have asked to go to the hospital. I was thankful to have a nurse treat me as an adult and a person who needed help.

Saturday, April 30, 2016

Sometime after breakfast, the doctor came in with the test results on my liver. Everything was alright.

I could have done serious damage to my liver and body, but I am fine through the grace of God. It truly is a miracle that I did not have any permanent damage. This paradoxically feels like rock bottom and a good thing. I don’t believe in coincidences, so I will use this time in the hospital to focus on my recovery without too many distractions. For a long time, I have felt like I have been losing my faith. I think I was fooling myself and letting Satan lie to me. This experience has reawakened my soul to feel again. I still have time left on Earth to give to God.

I spent most of the day in my hospital room waiting to be transferred to the Behavior Unit. After being cooped up in my room for such a long time, my nurse and I did laps around the hall. We even gave my IV stand a clever name, although I can’t remember it now.

Around dinner time, I was transferred to the Behavior Unit of the hospital. I must say I was nervous beyond all get out. I had sent most of my things home with a friend because I knew there were more restrictions on the Behavior Unit.

The unit here is pretty restrictive. In order to keep us safe and help with recovery, I don’t have access to any electronics including my phone. Visitors can visit for one hour each day in the evening. Phone calls are less restricted, so I wrote down as many phone numbers as I could before having to hand over my phone. So far, the staff and other residents have been nice and offered me support.

I pretty much arrived with only the clothes on my back. My phone and a few other things that weren’t allowed were placed in a bin and locked away for safe keeping. I had a private room with a bathroom and a nice view out the window of the mountains. I almost could see my apartment complex down the street. Upon arriving, I felt so lost and alone that I broke down in tears in my room. The emotions of my reality were sinking in. The doctor came in for my assessment and found me crying near the window. He was really reassuring and one of the kindest men I have ever met.

Because my transfer from the regular hospital to the confidential unit was so quick, I managed to text a few friends and family the info before having to turn in my phone. There was one funny mishap that came from that transition. I had asked a friend to visit me after I was transferred. Here’s what happened.

[My friend] rode his bike to the hospital all the way from Sandy (about 9 miles) to visit me but was sent away because he didn’t know my floor. Because I am a confidential patient, I am not listed on the regular list at the front desk. He called my unit on his way home. He accused me of being a ghost and then told me all the items he had brought for me to help stave off boredom. Most of the items turned out to be not allowed, so it kind of worked out for the best. His gesture was really sweet. I appreciated his thoughtfulness so much that first day.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit this suicide prevention resources page.

If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or text “Hello” to 741-741.