Two years ago today I did my first volunteery stint inside a mental hospital. They didn’t remotely help me, and I checked myself out. A year or so later I was still suicidal, so I went to a different mental hospital, but they just drugged me up so much that I hardly remember my week there, or the month after. Once again, no help.
Although, it was there that they updated my diagnosis to (and got me on psych meds to treat) schizoaffective bipolar type, with severe PTSD. Wish that could have happened without losing over a month of my life to a drug induced stupor gifted to me by mental health doctors who’s idea of help is sedation.
However these experiences taught me that, not only do I never want to end up in another mental hospital, but that I want to live. I was in such a dark place that I couldn’t see the beautiful life I had with family and friends that love me. Now I do.
I’m still crazy. I still have voices in my head that tell me horrifying things. I still have hallucinations sometimes, really scary stuff. But I want to live.
This isn’t to say that I don’t get suicidal thoughts still, I do, but I have promised to myself that I will never let myself go through with it. I have found strength in my family’s love.
I wouldn’t recommend mental hospitals, but I suppose it was better than losing my battle with my depression.
If you are so low that you are thinking of taking your own life please, please, please seek help. Take it from someone who’s been there; reach out to a professional, or a family member, or a friend. If all else fails, call the number for the national suicide prevention lifeline, and talk to them. Talk to somebody, anybody, that you can trust. If I’m online, hit me up. I can promise that I will listen without giving judgment, or unsolicited advice, except to say stay strong, and hold onto life.
My story isn’t over. I hope yours isn’t either.
Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage. Rage against the dying of the light. – Dylan Thomas