Don’t Keep It Locked In (Lyn Melody)
I could not reconcile the insecurity and worthlessness I was feeling in contrast to my usual pride and confidence. I knew that I was an intelligent woman and successful in my own right. I didn’t realize that old trauma was connected with new trauma. The internal battle I was fighting was real and very dangerous. I was self-medicating with alcohol and sleeping pills. My body needed something to keep the pain at bay if I was expected to function. I understood that I had become a secret-functioning alcoholic, and it was driving me mad. Trying to decide how I would substitute vodka for something else became my daily challenge. I would get up Monday through Friday, get my son off to school, and go to the gym. I would walk on the treadmill for an hour like a zombie and listen to music. Then I would go home, shower, and put my pajamas back on. I was privileged enough to work from home often during these days. This helped so that I could start drinking by noon without anyone noticing. I couldn’t eat much more than one small meal a day. My stress created havoc on my skin, and with each new blemish, I obsessed and picked until my face bled and I filled myself with embarrassing marks. When I fought the urge to hide and pushed myself to get dressed and go into the office, I was met with concerned eyes. “You’re getting skinny. Stop losing weight.” Each comment was like another sharp dagger to add to my pain. I knew I looked horrible, but my body was a prisoner to my mind. I lay in bed one night and began to admit defeat.
It was 2:35 am. Despite taking a sleeping pill, I was tossing in my bed. My son slept soundly in the next room unaware that his mother had finally begun to plan her death. It was the only solution to avoid unraveling in front of my family and being someone that needed to be cared for or even worse… releasing what I knew would give me immediate satisfaction and regain my confidence back. MY RAGE. It was feral. It was unlike any rage I had ever felt before because it was mingled with a cocktail of betrayal and embarrassment. Releasing that type of uncontrollable rage would land me in jail or dead. It would bring shame to my family if I ended up incarcerated for a crime committed out of passion so I could not bring myself to act out this way.
I lived these days in agony, and it took all my willpower to hide it from my beautiful son who was struggling in his own right with the break-up of his parents. At times that meant sitting in my car staring into space as the tears streamed endlessly down my tired face. Other times I hid in the basement smoking cigarettes and snarling at the thought of my fate. My racing thoughts would not let up. I struggled to calm the noise down. It played like a distant recorder, but I could hear all the words so clearly. They went against everything I thought I believed about myself. It was an internal war. You have failed again, you made the same mistake twice, you are too old, You have been rejected, your life was a lie, you were used, you will be alone, you are ugly, you are crazy, you have no common sense, you have a horrible temper, you are hated, you are a fool, you are not good enough, you will never be good enough.
I picked up my cell phone and texted myself the plan:
“Find a spot in a pretty park. Go there. Bring a blanket, a pillow, a large bottle of vodka, and all your Ativan pills.
Before you go, mail letters to Mom, Dad, the kids, and Lilly. No one else will care that much or need answers.
Mail a letter to the police department letting them know where your body is and who they need to contact.
None of your family should have to see your dead body in that state.”
I read it back to myself and thought... This is crazy. What about my kids? Will they survive that type of shock? Will this make my mom sick and not able to care for them? Does “he” win with this ending? I googled suicide prevention and found that there were many sites with support. I began to read.
I stayed up all night reading. Suicidepreventionhelp.com brought me some comfort in knowing I was not alone. I started to identify with the emotions and began to understand that the shock from my current situation combined with my past trauma was the reason I felt so desperate and depressed. I also read that it is important to confide in someone you trust when you are having these feelings. Someone who won’t judge or commit you to a hospital. There was only one person who came to mind. Lilly.
The next day, I asked Lilly to meet me at our favorite local diner. She agreed quickly and I was grateful that I would be able to release my feelings and push myself to get well. I wanted to feel better more than anything else. I prayed she didn’t overreact to what I had to confess.
I got there first and was seated by the hostess at a booth. I could see the door from where I sat. When she jogged in looking frazzled and silly my heart lurched forward. Would I have the nerve to admit my disgusting secret and ruin her mood?
We quickly ordered and as we waited for our food, we chatted quickly about simple topics. She knows me well and knew my vibe was off. She looked up at me with her big eyes and waited for me to begin. So, I did. I was not emotional as I explained my thoughts and the reasons behind them. She listened intently without overreacting. She asked me questions. She pressed me to go deeper and detail out all my fears and pain. Why was I so mad? What hurt the most? What did I hate about myself? She didn’t rush me although I’m sure I repeated myself at times. She acknowledged my pain and let me express it without interruption or trying to explain it away and simply give advice. She re-ordered more tea and made sure her body language was relaxed. In turn, I continued to talk and admit my shame.
Several hours later, Lilly told me to leave my car at the diner and we would hop in hers to do some light shopping. I agreed.
She pulled out and drove straight to the liquor store. As we parked, Lilly said, “We are going to cut this down, but today is not the day!” We both laughed and the thickness in my chest began to settle.
We got back in the car and mixed a cup of vodka and cranberry to share before setting off to our next destination which was the department store around the corner. We arrived quickly and sat in the parking lot, sipping our drink. Now that we had exhausted my emotions, we started to discuss the factual details of my impending divorce, possible alimony obligations, child support, selling my house, dissolving my partnership in the business, child custody, and the possibility of me moving out of state.
When we finally got out of the car and went into the store, we were both drained by the conversation.
“Damn, now I understand why some people just kill their spouses instead of just getting divorced!” Lily exclaimed in laughter as we walked through the automatic sliding doors.
“I know!” I said, matching her laughter. I was delighted that we could use humor as a way to cope with such an unfortunate event.
An hour later we set out back to her car so that she could drive me back to my car. We talked easily about what else we had planned that night. I had a date that I didn’t want to go on and she had to go home and cook dinner.
We found my car where I left it and Lilly pulled up next to it. As I was preparing my things to go, she began to speak. She let me know what a burden I had placed on her and one that she was so grateful I trusted her with. She would hold it and would be there every step of the way. She would not let me go. She reminded me of my worth and she reminded me of the trauma I faced with her when we were both young girls. Her encouragement brought us both to tears. I read the text that I sent to myself the previous night with my plan to end my life so that I could acknowledge the state I was in and so that she would know I was seriously suffering and needed help more than ever. She stared and nodded ahead as she listened to me read out loud the unthinkable… and when I was done, she turned to me and spoke firmly but full of love.
“You got through that time and you became stronger. This is not the end. I know it hurts. Your heart is broken yes…but you will heal… I don’t know why you had to go through this and it’s not fucking fair but maybe it’s to help someone and be able to tell this story to someone struggling one day!”
We embraced and I thanked her. I was not magically better the next day but each day she monitored me with text messages, phone calls, visits, spontaneous outings, and best of all, jokes. She demanded a daily intake of my mood and made it her priority. We laughed at my exaggerated misery and cried together for my sons. She held me accountable for my thoughts by carefully challenging me to explain my reasoning to ensure that no decision was being made on emotion. As the days went on my temperament went up and down like an ocean. An angry hurricane settled into low tide with a steady breeze.
Lilly doesn’t have a degree that would put her in a therapist's chair to help others. Privilege didn’t visit her home when she was young, but compassion and undeniable talent to nurture someone back to health bloomed somewhere in her chaos. She has the natural ability to take control, calm the situation, allow it to unfold, and circle it back to laughter.
Lily won’t stand on a podium and speak of this. She won’t explain to everyone how she was able to save her strong, well-rounded intelligent friend from suicide. She won’t disclose that she delicately took this ugly secret and carried it sacredly while discreetly monitoring me until she felt strongly that the wicked thoughts had lifted. She grasped the severity of the situation without hesitation and everything she did and said after that was gently weighed and measured. Her sensitive nature and non-judgmental acceptance were critical to my therapy.
Just like a virus can affect your physical health or a bad fall can break a bone, a traumatic event will most definitely affect your mental health. There are so many people going through the unthinkable and they hold these feelings because they don’t have the money for a therapist or there is no Lilly in their life.
To anyone reading this and suffering silently, please know you are not alone. If you are experiencing hopelessness, and constant pain that brings you to thoughts of suicide, please understand that the feelings will pass. Treatment comes in many different forms, but the first step is talking to someone you trust. Don’t ignore the signs. I promise you it will get better.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
Suicidepreventionlifeline.org
1-800-273-8255