Suicidal Spinning: What It's Really Like
Anthony Bourdain killed himself a few days ago. An acquaintance hung herself last year. The year before that- a dear man I loved like a brother who helped me get back into the stream of life hung himself. A man who I laughed with at work so hard we both nearly peed ourselves shot himself in the head. Countless numbers of people with full and seemingly happy and joyful lives and so much to live for kill themselves.
Bourdain was full of life. Full of love. Full of joy. He lit up everything he touched: passionate and creative and lovely and curious. Talented. Loved. Happy on the outside. So was Robin Williams. So was David Spade's sister-in-law. So was I. So what the hell happened?
I have been suicidal in my life exactly once. I was 27. I can still clearly recall what the state of my mind was like in the weeks prior to attempting to take my own life. What I'm about to share with you may or may not have been the state of mind any of those folks I just listed were in when they decided to end it. I am sharing this for those of you who have never been in so dark a place that death seems like the only way to end pain.
These are the states of transition I experienced within my own thoughts that got me to that point.
1. Brain Racing.
I could not stop my mind. I wrote belly button lint gazing journal entries attempting to figure out what was going on and why couldn't I stop thinking. I couldn't pay attention to a half hour episode of Daria on MTV, and when I did pay attention I analyzed every line for " hidden meaning" of a freaking comedy. I was oversensitive to every piece of stimulation of the day: lights, sounds, sights. Absolutely everything around me was a potential piece of danger: That car will hit us on the highway, this bus I'm on is going to tip over, when I get to work that guy won't stop chewing on ice. Every sensory perception got equal airtime as I reversed and forwarded time in my head in an attempt to assess the situation.
2. Obsession with everything that's wrong in the world.
People are homeless all around me and shooting up dope. I get asked for change at least twice a day. My husband needs a job. My grandma is dying. Women in Afghanistan are victims from the time they are born to the day they die. My mom is very sad. I'm living 2000 miles away from all my family and I miss them so badly. Just normal life stuff that is part and parcel with being a human being living with other humans had become unbearable.
3. Overblown sense of responsibility.
I have to fix what's wrong in the world, and I have to do it now. But whatever I do is not the right action, need to do more- be more- but I just don't know enough or have enough money or have the talent or skill to take care of it. So I just sit there and worry. Think and worry and think and worry.
4. Getting relief from self-harm.
At this point, anxiety and panic take physical form. For me, it manifested as a physical vibration in my arms. Cutting relieved that vibration, gave something tangible to focus on instead of the internal crap that had no physical manifestation to be able to point to it and say, THIS! THIS IS WHAT HURTS. Physical pain deflected the inability to release that internal pressure. Gave something real to focus on for a while, to distract from the brain racing.
4. Being convinced this overdrive world of pain will never end.
This is the tipping point, my friends. This is the reality of what a suicidal mindset is like. On the outside I could still smile at strangers, do my work, eat dinner, and so on. But inside your mind, when you're suicidal there is nothing, NOTHING anyone can do or say to convince you this spinning mind and world view will ever get better. Ever. All of this is hidden from the people I loved most, except my husband at the time- who, despite his best efforts, is just there witnessing helplessly and has no recourse but to shut down.
5. Feeling insanely guilty for being insane.
The worst part pre-suicide is knowing that what you are thinking and feeling is fucking nuts. I knew my thoughts were racing. I knew I was just a cog in a big machine. I knew I wasn't personally responsible for homeless people or my grandma dying or my mom being sad or world hunger. I knew I was supremely blessed to be subletting a gorgeous Seattle condo while contracting for a living, eating beautiful Thai food and having lots of excellent friends. I knew I was smart. I knew Daria had no hidden messages, that that car wasn't going to crash into us, and all the other racing thoughts going on literally from waking up till attempting sleep were INSANE. I read Neurolinguistic Programming (NLP) techniques to win my own mind back. I reached out in support groups. But it just would. Not. Stop. Shame fed shame. The inner critic was screaming on volume 11- one louder.
6. The singular thought: This pain will never end.
The final thought before attempting suicide is entirely selfish and you know it and you feel ashamed- so ashamed you become absolutely convinced that those you love would be best off without you and your fucking shenanigans. By this time I had ceased understanding what kind of effect my choice would have on the people I love most. The pain and pressure internally is so great and it will never stop. Ever. After weeks (in retrospect it may have even been months on months) of being unable to feel joy, experience a break from my own head, I think, this is it. This is all there is. Pain. Joy is a joke. This world is a joke. There is so much pain, and I cause so much pain because I can't be a fucking adult and just deal with life on life's terms like so many people are able to do. I'm defective. I'm a fake. I've always been a fake person. No one knows who I am, really. Who I am is a giant joke. And so on....it just doesn't end.
The pain is indescribable. It was an utter mental breakdown.
Rather than spend this blog entry detailing my 2 year journey out of that deepest hole, I want to get to the point:
I got better. The suicidal spinning stopped. Since that day 2 decades ago, I have never, EVER been to that jumping off point. And I am forever grateful that despite all the other crap from then till now has caused its own level of pain, heartache, scares, losses.....IT GOT BETTER. Often worse before better, but it got better.
Anywhoo.....
This shit is not relegated to addicts and alcoholics and those in the psych ward. This mental twist even happens to people who, on the outside, seem to have EVERYTHING going for them. People who are passionate, empathetic, and caring are often the most vulnerable, I think. When you turn on that mental spigot, given the right conditions the damn thing stays on and it floods your entire self until you can't even see the world. All you see is pain.
I still to this very day, this very moment, hang my head in shame with the incredible pain I caused my husband, my parents, my friends, my coworkers, myself. It is an extremely dark place I visited and am incredibly unproud of having taken residence there. I don't know what combination placed me there, but I remain grateful to the Nth degree I have never, ever been back down that low. I am eternally grateful for the 911 call, Harborview EMTSs, and the fact my family and friends did not shun me entirely from their lives. They loved me through it. And I eventually learned how to love myself again.
Anthony Bourdain's death affected me vastly the past few days. It brought all these feelings back: the shame, the memory of what that mental obsession and perception illness does to you. It is an incredibly powerless, lonely place.
If you have never felt this way yourself, please know you are not missing anything. Count yoursef blessed for not having this albatross. Also please know there is absolutely nothing YOU can do to change the person that is there. The best you can do is reassure them it will get better. Recognize the thing and care for yourself first. Demonstrate joy. No need to push. Just be there. Encourage the bits that peep out that look like genuine joy. I can't announce this enough: Reassure the person that it will get better. That's the best thing I wish I had heard back then. I suspect people did tell me this. Maybe. My head noise was so loud someone could have told me that 100 times over and maybe I just couldn't hear it. I was too busy refuting why that statement did not apply.
Life is so precious. This world is still beautiful, whether you're living as a privileged white tech professional or in your car because you lost your house. My life is nothing like I planned. But there isn't a single day now that goes by that I don't feel like I'm living on borrowed time, reborn into a new perception that is closer to reality.
The cliche is circulating everywhere right now:
Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. That is FACT.
Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. That is FACT.
But when you're in a suicidal spin, even though your head knows that fact, you can't convince your soul it's true. That is also a fact. And unless you've lived it, it's impossible to understand.
RIP Mr. Bourdain. I love you and your badass personality and all the joy and connection you brought into the world. I wish you had been able to traverse your soul into this fact. I am sitting here 20 years after my own tailspin into the permanent solution to a temporary problem and feeling joy right now. Even after revisiting that adventure into the souless black hole.
It gets better.
Let it.
Please.
It gets better.
Please.
It gets better.
Comments
Post a Comment