Those left behind by suicide.

During a series on PTSD, The Establishment printed a piece called The Secret World of Suicide Survivors by Cindy Lamothe. Cindy's sibling committed suicide, and she discusses the loss, the PTSD and trauma:

One of the core tenets of trauma is the self-protective impulse it instils in us to fight or flight. The mind starts to shut systems down, causing us to lose contact with important functions such as the ability to plan, to reason or think, even to formulate words.

This is how I lose a decade of my life. Through an absolute shut down.The brain adapts ridiculously complex ways to protect you from what you're feeling. As does the ego. Maybe even the id. We will fall down a rabbit hole to avoid what we're feeling.

Lamothe also features other writers who have survived the suicides of loved ones.

This wasn't what I was expecting from that article. I expected the stories of those who tried to take their own lives, failed / were saved, and then continued to live their lives. 

Of course, it seems evident that those close to a suicide would see themselves as a survivor.n They're (in this case) someone living with  PTSD of the trauma of that death. In my own life, my brother's best friend's little brother committed suicide very violently, and it shook my brother terribly. His best friend, A, is someone I grew up with, and he also lives with mental illness, so no doubt he lives with the repercussions of that suicide daily. I can understand seeing all of those affected as survivors, but I don't entirely see it. Not clearly. 

Suicide is self-inflected. That doesn't mean it doesn't affect others. That there isn't a ripple. I tend to lean towards those with the suicidal ideation. I just see suicide through a graph. A peak of pain. The apex of suffering when it's seen as the only solution / reprieve. 

It's terribly sad. There's something so sickening about the living ending their own life. Does that exist anywhere else in nature? Animals can lay down and die, maybe sacrifice themselves, but willingly manipulating their bodies in a way as to cause harm to the point of death, is that possible? 

There are types of passive suicide, but active suicide of a violent nature, is so loudly traumatic. 

The times in my life I was suicidal, I couldn't imagine traumatising my mother to that degree. I could bear the pain, for her. Had I lost her too during that time, I don't know if I'd still be here.

So I have mixed feelings. I can see that someone close to you dying by suicide would be deeply traumatic. I can see the trauma and grief of that causing PTSD. I wouldn't necessarily say that they're the survivor though. They're the survivor of their grief, the survivor of PTSD, but I wouldn't go so far as to say they're the survivor of suicide - suicide is self-inflicted. And if I commit suicide there is only one victim intended. 

Lisa Ling and PTSD.

I watched an episode of Lisa Ling's This Is Life last night. It's playing on OWN, after originally playing on CNN.

I really liked Our America by Lisa Ling on OWN, and this is in a similar vein.

I don't know why she left OWN, Our America had a better production value, but the content is similar, and I really like and respect Lisa Ling. According to an interview with Ling, cited on Wikipedia, she could look at "edgier" content with CNN.

Last nights episode "Jungle Fix," was all about ayahuasca, a plant-based hallucinogenic that is espoused by some to be a useful tool in confronting and dislodging trauma. 

Ling travels to Peru and interviews folks who flew down there specifically to take the drug, and to try and face their demons. 

The most powerful interviews come out during her interviews with veterans. They are clearly (understandably) angry at the lack of help they're getting back home, and with about 22 American veterans committing suicide daily, they're willing to try anything to alleviate some of their pain.

While on Our America, Ling did an episode called "Invisible Wounds of War" that, to this day, my friend S and I talk about. It deeply, deeply moved and upset me. The pain was palpable. I could taste it and feel it and it was just an overwhelming viewing experience.

That might make it seem frightening, but it was beautiful and important. 

I recommend both of these episodes. 

Treatment looks like different things to different people. We don't all have the same needs. We don't process things the same way. We all struggle to access help, and our drug laws are antiquated, maybe access to assisted retreats with certain drugs could in fact dislodge certain things for certain people. 

If someone is in deep pain, they deserve the opportunity to try whatever they can to help themselves.

Radical survival.

Something I made for a creative project I'm working on.

Not sure if it's complete, or if I'll make a sticker or a patch out of it. . . .

All survival is radical. Remember that.

What have I done?

Source.

On days that are a little bit harder on me, I'm then exponentially harder on myself. Today I feel I have very little professional/working value. I feel under-qualified. I feel unskilled. I feel like it's so much work, so much struggle just for the little calm I get out of my life. I will always live pay-check to pay-check. I will never be professionally successful.

So, on a day like today, this image poked me. For a long time, my life-language has been one of survival. And on bad days, that's enough. 

Standing in a water fountain.

Yesterday was a bad day. I ended up leaving work around 2 pm, I was confused, disoriented and just really hurting.





I ended up walking to the Place-des-Arts fountains. I sat and watched them. I read. I walked in them. It rained yesterday morning, so I was already wearing rain boots. I would have liked to do it barefoot, but it was cold out. I wanted to be in a warm bath. I wanted to float in warmth. I wanted to hear nothing. I wanted to close my eyes.

I was completely overrun. Everything was so noisy. I was completely lost within myself. I can't be expected to engage anyone, to communicate, to be seen. Eye contact becomes difficult. I find myself looking at my feet, in seeming permanence. 

I eventually made my way home. I avoided my mother and said I wasn't feeling well. I went into my room, undressed, and crawled into bed. I then did my best to burrito myself. Or I guess tuck myself in. I wanted to feel swaddled. 

I just googled "blanket burrito" - turns out this is a thing. Some of these images were from a google image search and I can't seem to find the illustrators.

There's also a lot of great ones of swaddled dogs. I encourage you to discover that yourself.

Anyway, I ended up sleeping most of the night, and getting up to eat a bagel and take my medication. 

Today is better, but I'm tired and feel weak. 

Adventures in major depression! Like rolling down a dump-covered hill and then attempting to walk straight through a crowd, whilst trying to convince yourself you don't smell like fucking shit.

Build upwards.

Piece by Carolina from Subtle Ceiling. Her about section speaks to the value of creativity in healing and moving forward. Check out her work, which includes zines, and a shop.

Just surviving is often radical. And sometimes "just surviving" leads you to a time and place where you take a look back at your life, and you've actually built something.

Human of New York (with depression).

I’m trying to come back to work after a period of depression. I’ve battled it off-and-on my whole life, but two years ago the wheels just completely came off. I’d just had a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner with my friends, and I went to sleep in a good mood, but then the next day I couldn’t get out of bed. I was still in bed four days later when my boss started calling. The next two years were a battle. I lost my job. I was hospitalized three times. I filled a giant binder with information about depression, where to find programs, and how to appeal your insurance company. I felt like I was fighting for my life. I’d call a hospital that specialized in a certain type of therapy, and they’d tell me they didn’t take my insurance. I’d say: ‘Please help me. I’m dying.’

Because this isn't a Tumblr blog I can't re-post this easily, but I really wanted to link to this. If you're not familiar with Humans of New York, head to the website as soon as you have some free time, it's a beautiful project.

This was a brutal read for me. So much of what this person is describing speaks to a lot of the fear I'm living with these days. I struggle everyday, but  my energy has been getting worse.

Will I just stay in bed one day? Will I lose my job? How will I support myself? I keep trying to access services, and I keep coming up empty handed. I also feel like I'm fighting for my life, but on some days I can really feel the fight draining from me, and that's terrifying.