What Does Getting Better Feel Like?
CW: discussion of suicide
Hi! It's been nearly a month since I wrote my last post. Lots of things have happened since then.
I'm almost done with my partial hospitalization, and on Monday, I'm stepping down to intensive outpatient. It's saved my life. My only regret is not starting sooner.
One of the most valuable things I've gained during my time in therapy is perspective. A month ago, when things were at their absolute worst, I'd lost sight of how it felt to be relatively normal and stable. Because my only reference point was my own mind, I'd convinced myself that what I was experiencing was not only typical, but deserved. I deserved to feel the way I did because I believed I was a bad person who'd brought everything upon herself. This clearly wasn't true, and many people in my life had told me so, yet the cognitive distortions that kept repeating in my head drowned them out.
Now that I'm in a better place, I can see how desperately in need of help I really was. I thought I could do it alone, but I was slipping further and further into the depths. I almost haven't grasped the full terror of what I was experiencing and what I was willing to do to escape it. I don't keep secrets here, right? After my suicide attempt, I chose January 31st as the date I would try again if things didn't get better. I knew how I was going to do it. I began writing a note for my friends and loved ones. I didn't tell a soul. But when January 31st arrived, I no longer felt the urge to act on my plans. The day came and went. I lived; I survived. Everyone who'd helped me take care of myself, find help, and begin on the road of recovery—they saved my life. I'm so glad I'm still here.
Through my program, I've been tracking my daily mood and progress, and the difference is stark. While I can't say that I'm back to normal functioning—and I wonder if "normal" is something I'll ever be able to return to, if it existed at all—I can take care of my basic needs now. I'm sleeping and eating better, I've restarted my exercise routine, and I've greatly reduced my use of unhealthy coping mechanisms. On most days, I wake up feeling neutral, and I've begun to enjoy things again.
Another thing I've learned is that mental health is a really delicate thing, and it deserves the utmost care. If this saga has taught me one thing, it's that very few things are worth sacrificing my well-being for. I've grown to hate the culture of self-destruction in the name of productivity and prestige that pervades the environments I've been surrounded by my whole life. It's incredibly cruel and dehumanizing, and it serves nobody expect those in a position to exploit the flagellants. If we want a kinder, healthier America, then we have to have the courage to say, "No, I won't disembowel myself on the altar of capitalism!" Otherwise, the machine will grind us all up into a bloody homogenous pulp that'll be resold as animal feed. If only I'd been raised with that courage instead of self-hatred, then maybe I wouldn't be here in the first place.
All this is to say: I am getting better! And I am learning to recognize my worth. It doesn't fix how deeply fucked up everything is, but at least I'm learning to handle it. What else can you do?