Suicidal ideation is an interesting barometer for my mental health. (SPOILER ALERT: I will not be killing myself today. Sorry. Try back tomorrow. This is merely a philosophical musing)
At the best of times, suicide is still disturbingly present on my mental radar. I remember an incident at a waterpark, where it became astonishingly clear to me just how unstable I actually am. While in line for one of those terrifying tube rides, about three stories up, I commented to my companion something along the lines of—“Huh. From this height onto those rocks? That would almost definitely be fatal.”
Deafening silence.
What I had interpreted in my brain as a perfectly normal conversation starter, he had found disturbing and frightening. I was not feeling suicidal. I was simply being observant.
Since I was very small, I have always been aware of what options I have in terms of fatal occurrences. Standing at an intersection, my mind often wanders to what vehicle out of those in my line of sight would kill, rather than maim me at the speed they are currently going. Being at high altitudes during hiking has me observing sheer dropoffs instead of gradual (if dangerous) downward slopes. Don’t even get me started on the myriad options available to me when I worked on the ambulance. These thoughts are not abnormal to me, but they aren’t pressing. Its just…something I look for.
I have decided to compare myself to a bird watcher. They may well be at their cousin Susan’s wedding, but they’ll still notice a Harris’ Sparrow hanging out in the trees flanking the arch and altar. Its not that the bird is more important to them than the vows (I am not imagining an obsessive bird watcher), its just that they can’t help but notice a detail that has become a big part of their life.
Is that what suicide is to me? A pleasurable hobby? That is the thought that stopped me dead (heh) earlier today, and lead me to writing. In conclusion: no, I don’t think so. It’s merely something that I keep track of. Is that disturbing and a little frightening? Absolutely. But what it IS is occasionally comforting, in a way, to know my options.
So, to get back to the barometer aspect of suicidal ideation—
My normal baseline notices suicidal options. That isn’t something that I think I can change. I don’t long for them, and I don’t seek them out. I just notice them when they pass me by.
At the very beginnings of my descent into an unhealthy place, I start grading the suicidal options as they come across my path. Hit by a bus? Not definite enough. Jumping off a cliff? I might get found by innocent bystanders, even children, if I land too close to the hiking path I came up on. Gun? Messy, but definitely effective. Again, this level of awareness usually doesn’t happen at the time. I notice it later, once I’ve started to come back to what I have established as baseline.
The next step is planning. I start contemplating the logistics of my death. I found myself searching for crematoriums on the island where I live not too long ago, and in realizing that there WASN’T one, made the completely logical decision to not kill myself here. I’d have to at least travel down to Bellingham first. It’s just too darn expensive to ship a body.
At this point, I am STILL not actually planning on or truly having suicidal ideations in the classic sense. Yes, I know that a textbook will tell you that picking a method and “planning” is a major danger sign…but for me, I have learned that it really isn’t.
(Here be dragons.) Somewhere after the “planning” stage in my lovely descent into a very personal hell, I start realizing I’m contemplating suicide, albeit in a very general way. There is a fork at the road at this point. I either turn right, and start trudging back up the hill, paying more attention to myself along the way, and letting a few friends and professionals know…or I turn left. I can’t explain what happens when I turn left. It’s only happened a few times in my life, and I can’t honestly explain why. Despite all of this rambling about suicide, I really do not want to die. I love my life. I love my friends, my family, and what I consider to be a valuable step in my eternal spiritual path. I honestly do not understand how I could have ever been suicidal in my current state of mind. It just doesn’t compute. I may notice suicidal options—but I really never actually plan on acting on them.
Until I do. Then, like a trapdoor being pulled, I “turn left”…and suddenly find myself honestly planning on dying. I start judging myself for what I haven’t yet done. Circular logic leads me to “well, I’m going to kill myself, so I don’t deserve to live,” as well as other equally idiotic places.
This has happened two times in my life. I will not go into details of these times right now, though I feel like it might be educational to others to discuss it at some point.
The next step, which I have never yet sunk to, is actual suicide attempt. I have had plans. I have waited until those who loved me weren’t around, and I have had my finger on the trigger, both literally and figuratively.
But I have never done it. And God willing, I never will.
This is what mental illness looks like. It’s not flashy visions of Green Lantern telling me that I am the chosen one. It’s rarely panic attacks and homicidal rages. It isn’t something you can see at a glance when you meet someone—and it certainly isn’t something that people can always see in themselves.
It is this. It’s realizing that the way I have always thought is seen by many (now including myself) to be not only terrifying, but dangerous.
But that’s part of healing too. Because for the first time, I’m not only realizing the parts of me that are wrong and scary, I’m accepting them as the quirky little beasties they are. Like a dog that pisses on the carpet a little when he gets nervous, my brain is not always the best companion. But I’m learning to anticipate his excitement—and realizing I have to clean up afterwards. (Sooner rather than later)
I don’t think I really have a conclusion to all of these thoughts. I don’t think I’m there yet. I’m doing all the things I’m supposed to do to be healthy, and I’m starting to really look inside myself and really see who I am. I don’t want to die. I’m firmly in the “life is good” camp.
And I guess the point is that I’m learning that I can’t take that for granted.
Alright. Time to go make oatmeal.
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