In the Dark . . .

Today is World Suicide Prevention Day. If you or someone you know is thinking of suicide call 800-273-TALK, or click here for resources.

I have taken a break the last month from blogging in an effort to get some shit in order and to try to move this blog more towards costuming and less towards me just bitching about stuff, which is not particularly useful to most people. But, today is an important day, I feel, so I wanted to say something about it.

Most of you who are more than casual readers to this blog know that I have contemplated suicide in the past, multiple times. I have gone down the dark road late at night when there is no one there. I have considered carefully the hows and whys of it, have thought about the ramifications to those left behind. I even went so far as to write a note once. I have felt muzzled by depression, felt ashamed. But, ultimately, I have reached out before taking action, usually to a friend or family member. I have realized that I did not want to die, I just wanted soeone to recognize the soul-crushing despair I was feeling.

This, I believe, is the tipping point for most people navigating through the dark. Is the despair too great to allow them to speak? Is the only action possible one of ending the pain? Or is there still enough will left for them to reach out one last time, and hope someone hears? I believe most people who ultimately commit suicide are unable to speak in those final hours. They cannot act in their own interest to make anyone see the despair; so often, friends and family say, "I never knew how bad it was. I never expected this."

Be aware. Take notice. Pay attention. I promise you, the people most at risk want you to see their pain, but they are unable to give it a voice. Reach out to the people who shy away, who shrug with indifference when you ask them how they are. Call the person you haven't spoken to in months, who pulls away from their friends. Don't take the easy answer when you know it isn't true; when the voice on the phone says, "Fine," and you know they feel the opposite. It is not easy to help someone who is suicidal. But, if you don't, if they cannot help themselves, who will?

Hug someone today, and make them feel less alone. It means so much.

No Plan B . . .

I had a long and upsetting talk with my sister last night, outlining my fears for the next few months re: the Big Move.

See, all my life, I've been a Fixer, a Get-Shit-Done Machine, a Problem Solver. We had a lot of roadblocks when I was younger, never enough money, and I became an expert at figuring out how to make things happen. I could create elaborate Rube Goldberg-esque plans to try to get the things myself and my family wanted or needed. I very rarely took no for an answer, because I've always believed that if you wanted something enough there was a way to get it. Everything I've gotten in my life has been gotten through this skin-of-your-teeth mentality; nothing has ever just happened or landed in my lap.

The Big Move is like this: I made the decision, and I haven't stopped fighting since. Every waking moment has been spent planning and scheming and rearranging plans and schedules and budgets. My life is focused, incredibly focused, on getting out there. And, I have no Plan B if I fail.

I'm starting to really believe that I won't find a job. And, without a job, I can't leave Chicago. Period. I do not have the money saved to live out in LA for two or three months while I look for a job there; I would need an extra $5-7K, and unless I get a sugar daddy or a Daddy Warbucks in the next month, that won't be possible. The dreary abyss this idea opens before me is vast and almost inescapable; when I have been so trained on being there, staying here will be a failure of epic proportions. I would have to admit to myself and everyone else that I just wasn't good or smart enough to make this happen, and now I'm stuck with the alternative. I don't know how to survive that.

This sounds grandiose and over-dramatic, but I don't know how you get more important than the rest of your life. Here in Chicago, I would never make enough money to save enough to leave and live on my own at the same time, so if I don't leave in January (while I'm still able to share rent and bills) and I'm forced to find a place here, I'll never get out. Ten years from now I'll be shovelling out my car from another snow storm and I'll look back on this time and realize that this was where I lost my dream. Not because I gave up or was too afraid to try for it. Because I failed.

There is no Plan B. My new life starts in January, or it stays in limbo. And for once, I don't know how to make this work.

In the fog . . .

One of the blogs I read, Scoutie Girl, has a post today about depression, and has encouraged her readers to write about their struggles. I have written about this before in general, but I wanted to get a little more specific today.

I was a classic over-acheiver in high school. I joined everything I could that had to do with creativity or academics: International Thespians Society, National Honor Society, French Honor Society, Social Planning Committee, you name it. I volunteered for everything, did every play and musical, was at school more than I was home most days. I hit the ground running at 5:45am and didn't get home until after 9:30 most nights.

At the same time, my mother lost her father, and she had a complete nervous breakdown. No one else in the family wanted to acknowledge it or knew what to do, so I took over. I badgered my father to get her help, I became her therapist whenever she needed to talk or cry or scream, I made sure bills got paid and things got done around the house. I went from a 16-year-old worried about college and prom to a woman worried about whether or not her mother would be alive when she got home from school.

My mother got help and I got myself out of there when I went to college, and I thought things would get better. But, after spending so long taking care of everyone else and ignoring my own issues, they slammed into me like a freight train. I broke down my sophomore year in college, staying in bed, missing classes, bursting into tears, forgetting to eat, not sleeping, and yes, contemplating suicide. I hid this as much as I could from those around me; I had always felt that being in any kind of pain and letting it show was a sign of weakness that others would despise me for. I finally got help, went on medication for a while, and came home.

Again, I thought things would be better.

Ten years later, the fog is still around. It seems like it doesn't take much to trigger me: a little stress, a few setbacks, and suddenly the world is ending. But, I have learned a few things along the way too, that help me through the fog:

1) Have an outlet. My writing and creating keeps my thoughts and emotions focused on something other than stress and fear.

2) Give yourself permission to cry, and then let go. Bottling up the tears just makes it worse, but you can't wallow in them either. Cry, and then stop.

3) Acknowledge the depression. Say it to your friends and family, and ask for their help.

4) Don't let yourself stay in bed, or on the couch, or in the house. Force it if you have to, but get outside!

5) Whether you believe it or not, this depression will end. There is another side to this, and you will feel better in time. Remember that.

I have been having a tough week or so, weepy and snappish, but I know this will pass. I keep working on my novel, keep making hats, and keep my eyes trained on my destination, and I know the fog will lift. Eventually.