The night before I made this decision, on May 18th, I stumbled across a documentary entitled "The Bridge". This insightful documentary gives viewers a front-row seat to the deaths of several people who committed suicide at the most popular place to do so in the entire world: The Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, California. It also explores the aftermath of suicide and how this final act affects the people left behind. It's my belief that this documentary is not meant to exploit the pain and suffering of both the victims and those they leave behind; I feel like it really helps people who have never been touched by suicide have a better understanding of it, and also helps those who have find some solace in knowing that they're not alone in their emotions during the aftermath.
In "The Bridge", viewers see men and women of all ages and backgrounds pace along the Golden Gate's walkways, climb over the side, and leap to their deaths. The effect this image had on me was (hopefully) different than the effect it has on other viewers of the documentary; I had found how I wanted to die. Instead of a depressing jump to an outcome with no return, I saw a leap to freedom. I was suffering, in the most unbearable, desolate, hopeless pain imaginable. I was at the lowest point in my life, thanks to side effects stemming from issues with the medicine I take to balance my bipolar disorder. So when I watched these people die, I didn't see a shocking, sad image. I saw freedom from all the pain. Some of the people looked incredibly peaceful on their way down, and I wanted to find that same peace. I decided the only way I could do that would be to fly out to San Francisco the next day and make that final leap.
I had resolved to end my life, and I went to bed that night feeling at ease for the first time in a while. I didn't tell my husband about my plans because he'd obviously try to stop me. So the next day when he went to work, I began searching on my computer for a flight that would get me out to San Francisco the quickest. I was pleased with how inexpensive it would be for me to fly there one-way without any luggage to check; I didn't want my final act to cause my husband any more financial strain than my burial expenses inevitably would (given that my body was even found). I know many people who read this will think that I'm a selfish person, that my plans were the most selfish thing I could possibly do, but the thoughts in my head were incredibly unselfish. I was looking forward to relieving my husband of his vow to be there for me through sickness so that he could move on to find someone without mental health issues and be happy. I had been feeling like my issues with mania and depression were a burden on my entire family and all my friends, and by killing myself, I could free them of that burden. They could all get on with their lives as if I'd never existed.
As I was typing in the payment information to book my flight, a faint, errant thought occurred to me: "What if I CAN feel better?" It made me pause long enough to think of something else: "There's something wrong here. It's not normal to feel this way. Maybe it's just my medicine." I don't know why or how I was able to have this one brief, clarifying thought, but I knew in that moment that if I didn't hold onto it, I'd continue with my plans and be dead by nightfall. Before I could push these two thoughts to the back of my mind, I called my husband and told him I needed him to come get me, that I needed to go somewhere to get help.
So here I am a year later, reflecting on the decision I made, the decision to live. Do I regret the decision? At this point in my life, no. But in the weeks and months after my release from the psychiatric facility I admitted myself to, I often did. Spending time in a psychiatric hospital seemed like something to be ashamed of at first, and I was wary of telling anyone. When I was released from the hospital, I was kept home from work for several weeks and going back after my leave of absence was terrifying; I was afraid my customers would look at me and know I'd gone off the deep end. It was a difficult rollercoaster-ride trying to get my mentality back to a healthy place in addition to regulating my medication; as it turns out, my medication really was to blame. It's efficacy was cut in half by being on birth control pills, and when I quit taking those pills, it was as if my mood stabilizer had been doubled and according to my physician, I technically overdosed on it.
Today, I feel as if I've come full circle. I'm healthy, both physically and mentally, and truly happy. I have bad days here and there, but doesn't everybody? I don't regret my decision to live whatsoever. I'm blessed to have had two sane thoughts that day a year ago. If I hadn't, I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't be trying to bring awareness to suicide prevention. I wouldn't be telling my story about how I came so close to death that day. I wouldn't be trying to spread the message that there IS hope, that things can change and get better and sometimes, it's not easy to get there. But with work and a little help, it can and will happen.
According to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, over 34,000 people in the United States die by suicide each year and it is currently the 11th leading cause of death in Americans. The AFSP also estimates that approximately 90 people commit suicide each day, breaking down to about one death every fifteen minutes. These statistics are staggering, especially given that many of these suicides can be prevented. Please, PLEASE take the time to go to the AFSP's website to learn more about signs that someone might be considering suicide because you just may be able to reach out and help them. If you're dealing with the loss of a loved one because of suicide, the AFSP has a ton of information on how to cope with it. In addition, you can access support groups and learn about International Survivors of Suicide Day (which, oddly enough, happens to be on my birthday, November 19th, this year). Another great activity the AFSP holds each year is a series of walks, the Out of the Darkness Overnight and Community Walks, aimed at raising money to support their mission, give victims of suicide a chance to meet each other and bond over their losses, and to spread awareness about suicide prevention.
I'm living proof that no matter how bleak and dismal your life may seem, there IS hope. It really can get better, and there's a better option than death. If you or someone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts, I urge you to call the
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255) - there are people there who can help you get through what you're dealing with.
The world is a beautiful place with so many incredible things to see and do, and there is light at the end of the seemingly endless, black tunnel.
*If you have an interest in watching "The Bridge," you can find it at Hulu. Because of its extremely sensitive subject matter, it is obviously not intended for children to view. It is very difficult and heartbreaking to watch, and it does show the actual deaths of several people, so please be aware of this before you go watch it and really think about if you can handle seeing it. I know some readers might think I'm still a bit off for recommending the documentary given that it inspired the plan I had to commit my own suicide, but now that I'm in a stable mindframe, I can appreciate the film for the reasons it was made and I do think it is very insightful.
