If you know me well, chances are that I've opened up to you about having struggled very seriously with depression throughout my life. There's no reason, there's not a specific incident that took place that triggered my bouts of low self-esteem. I had a great life, grew up in a loving family, had everything I could have ever asked for...it's not something that I have ever been able to control. I've just simply been depressed.
I first noticed that it was a severe issue when I was eleven years old, when I had my first incident of legitimately contemplating suicide. I had always dreamed of running away, to get away from everything, thinking that it would make everything better; but I had never before thought up a plan to take my own life.
I sat awake for hours and hours, for weeks, thinking about how best to off myself. I wrote countless suicide notes and hid them throughout my room. I decided I was going to do it oldschool, shove a knife straight through my stomach and let myself bleed out. Luckily, one of my parents was awake late that night when I went downstairs. I sat and reflected on the decision, and chose that I was going to be better. Good Charlotte had recently released their video for "Hold On", and it hit pretty hard that it wasn't worth it and I needed to stay.
Nobody knew a thing about it.
I started struggling in school, which was never even close to an issue before. I started to be deviant, and lying about everything, whether it was even a big deal or not. I could not figure out how to be happy, and it was taking a serious toll on me, physically and emotionally.
Years went by, and I was doing a lot better. I'd still feel low every now and then, I mean, it's not like I was all cheery and happy all the time, but I hadn't thought about suicide in a very long time. I was playing highschool sports, had a good group of friends, traveling and playing music that I loved, and I was never alone with my thoughts. I felt like the intentions I had beed repressing for so long were finally gone for good. But then one night, I had a dream.
Yes, I know it's just a dream, but it scared the living shit out of me:
I was sitting in a room with a circular table, and a light. All you could see was the table and infinite blackness around it.
Upon the table there was a gun, and a single bullet.
I looked curiously at it, loaded the round into the chamber, stuck it into my mouth and pulled the trigger.
I floated out of my body and watched myself die.
This dream wasn't only scary because of the content of the dream; this dream meant something much more detrimental. This dream brought awareness to the fact that those thoughts that I'd tried so hard to get rid of, those thoughts that I never wanted to ever cross my mind again...they had been laying dormant in the back of my head. They weren't gone. They were just sitting there in my subconscious, waiting for the perfect time to return.
I tried my best to never let it show. Still, nobody had a clue about what was going on deep in my mind. I'd hidden it and put up facades for almost ten years, and nobody knew a fucking thing about it. I had too much pride.
I started abusing substances, always trying to numb myself to my own thoughts, but of course it only hurt me worse.
One day in the summer of 2012, everything finally exploded inside of me. I decided I was finally done.
I drank an entire bottle of whiskey and drove through Logan Canyon at speeds greatly exceeding the limit, hoping that something would go wrong on the way over and that it would all look like an accident. If I were to make it to Bear Lake, I was going to watch my last sunrise, and then on the way back, clip a guard rail and roll my car into a ravine hundreds of feet below. I knew that canyon road like the back of my hand; I knew exactly where to flip my car so that it would be the most effective. As I was flying down the road, a certain song came on on my iPod's shuffle. "Amber" by Stick To Your Guns. If you don't know what the song is about, it's about (in a very brief summary) a young girl who wants to die, but she doesn't know how much she means to everyone. It's about realization of self worth.
That song came on, and it had to be fate. I pulled over, broke down, and bawled for a very long time. If it weren't for that song, it's pretty safe to say that I wouldn't be here.
Since then, I've become much more open about my depression. The reason being, I feel like it has helped me out in ways that nothing else could. I'm too prideful to go to see a therapist about it. I feel like the fact that people know about it makes it that much harder for me to ever be able to go through with it. By letting you know, it's not that I'm seeking attention. It's about the fact that I'm proud that I've overcome it, and dealt with it for so long. It's about showing that I trust that people actually care about me. It's about holding MYSELF accountable, because I would never want someone to feel like it was their fault if I went through with it.
If you end up reading this, don't treat me any differently, like I'm unstable or need help. It's not like that at all. I'm perfectly healthy, and while I have breakdowns every now and then, I've come to realize that it's completely normal, and everyone does.
If you're ever dealing with depression, know that you're not alone in it. You're never alone. People legitimately want to help, and they care about you. You are loved. If you're ever feeling down at all, I encourage you to open up about it to someone. Anyone. It's so much better than keeping everything bottled up, because one day that bottle will blow up. It's the best thing that I've ever done for myself.
You can let it consume you, or you can be proud of what you've learned about yourself and who you've become because of it.
You can let it consume you, or you can be proud of what you've learned about yourself and who you've become because of it.
