I have Major Depressive Disorder. I know what it feels like to have depression for long stretches of my life. I know what it feels like to have it come out of the blue, to have your therapist ask what I think caused it and to have the answer be, "It just happened." To feel like a failure because I don't have a good answer - because I want to blame something other than my neurotransmitters. There is no one cause just like there is no cure.
There's management. There's medication. There's therapy. There's a psychiatrist. There's family. There's a few friends if they don't turn and run away from you because what you have scares them and they no longer want you around their kids. There's a home where I live alone. There's isolation. There's reading very little because your brain can't function cognitively for very long without having a meltdown. There's writing when your hands aren't shaking so much that even you can't discern what you've written. There's typing when you stare at the screen as your mind runs fast and your fingers try to keep up but then something crashes in your inner talk and all of what you were trying to say comes to an abrupt stop. STOP! Quiet. There's the internet. There's the news. There's movies. There's cleaning. I take excellent care of my cats and all their needs. Personal hygiene is not as important as getting out of bed.
The flipside. There's not regular showers. I took one in December, one in May, one in June and one in August (Sometimes I use baby wipes in between). There's not regular destressing practices. There's not regular book writing practices. There's not regular talking about my feelings practices. I do not want to be around others. I do not want to be out in public alone. I'd rather beat the crap out of someone who judges me or puts me into a group of "what other mental illness people do or don't." I don't want to talk about it. My personal freedom is none of anybody's business. Where I go, should I need to leave, no one will be able to track me. I will not be found.
Major Depressive Disorder or Severe Depression or whatever you want to call it has an element of hiding itself from the public. Hiding the really bad stuff, that is. And when it gets too bad or too much or too lonely to handle and we don't want our loved ones to suffer from what our inner demons are putting us through, some of us choose to take our own lives almost as a gift to those we love.
We think to ourselves, "Now they won't be burdened by my pain. They'll be sad for awhile, they'll miss me for awhile but in the end, this is the best decision for all of us." What the suicidal person doesn't realize is something I realized just a short time ago.
"I have a responsibility to my family and my friends to make sure I do everything I can to live as long as I can." This doesn't take into account how I feel because how I'm feeling is temporary. It doesn't take into account what I think because my thinking is screwed up when I'm having suicidal ideation. It doesn't take into account anything that has to do with me because my life at that moment isn't mine. God gave me this life for a purpose - His purpose - and that has not been fulfilled - YET.
I wish Robin Williams would have reached out one more time.
I wish Robin Williams would have not given up on himself.
I wish Robin Williams would have said, "Seize the Day," and made a call for help.
Anyway, I wish Robin Williams wouldn't have committed suicide.
