So, you guys may or may not know that it’s national suicide prevention week.

I know.  Awesome start to a blog, huh?

But stay with me.  I just want to talk for a minute or two about this.  It’ll be warm and fuzzy.  And afterward we can have coffee and cookies and watch Adventure Time. (Which is an AMAZING SHOW FOR ALL AGES.)

Now, before I start, let me tell you that I’ve started seeing the counselor at school.  It has taken a lot for me to go because I don’t trust normal therapists.  This is the counselor at a community college, which doesn’t earn the greatest money.  She is there because she wants to help people.  People like me.

I have suffered from depression for most of my life.  Over the years I have learned not to talk about it because people of the stigma surrounding the entire thing.  Even the word ‘depression’ invokes a fight or flight response.  Some people simply don’t know how to handle it, or they automatically think you are seeking attention, or even make it up.  I promise you, I’m not.

Personally, I think depression is different for everyone.  In my mind (which is far from scientific), there’s a scale with different levels of severity.  That makes it hard to see in people.  Now, depression isn’t simply feeling sad.  It’s not having a dark day.  “I didn’t get enough sleep.  I am down today.” Isn’t depression.  That’s a shitty day.  Depression makes every day shitty.  It’s an all encompassing inescapable darkness that lives inside of you every day.

Everyone will tell you to tell someone you trust, and seek help.  I tried many times.  It is difficult for me to trust therapists, so I would confide in a close friend.  They would soon stop talking to me, avoid hanging out with me, and generally treat me differently.  They couldn’t handle it.  This happened to me multiple times, and after a while I stopped bothering to tell anyone.

I have spent months and months walking the edge of suicide.  It’s a struggle with myself because I know it’s irrational.  I know that there is a solution to my problems.  I know there should be hope. But no matter how many times you tell yourself that you deserve to live, the darkness feel like it’s too much.

I began to do things to protect myself.  When I have dark times, I don’t use big knives.  I stay away from heights.  I avoid sad songs.  I don’t use large cooking knives.  My family never owned a gun, so I wouldn’t even know how to buy one (walmart?).  I use an woman’s electric shaver instead of buying razors.  I claim they are too expensive, but in reality I don’t want to have access to them if that darkness gets too big.  I take away as many things as I can until I feel more secure.  It’s a false blanket, but it helps.  Sometimes.

Over the past several years, I learned to deal with this alone.  I learned that nobody will be there to help me. Nobody will listen, or care.  Nobody will save me.

This is a truncated version of the whole picture.  It has taken me a long time to say this.  Many people are like me.  They’re out there, suffering alone because nobody will listen to them.

If someone comes to you, please listen.  Don’t walk away.  Don’t find excuses to avoid them.  Be their friend.  Give them hugs.  Give them love and support.  Check on them every day.  If you think they are suicidal, don’t leave them alone.  That person trusts you.  It takes a lot of strength to ask for help.  Please, for their sake, be there for them.  It could save their life.

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