Yeah. Me too. Four years ago. I was drunk and my university over reacted when I ashamedly -- through tears -- talked about desire for suicide. I think I mentioned my drug addict father and some other fucked up shit. I still cut pretty much every month. Usually deep enough to leave a permanent scar. I have a few on my chest and about infinity on my leg. I cut myself intermittently to relieve the depression. I don't want to get drunk and have that happen again.
I'm not advocating for self harm. It's a bad method.
I went to rehab after my school kicked me out. It was the only way I could prove I was healthy enough to come back and take my finals. I am worried it will be the reason I can't be a cop. Though I'm depressed, I feel like I'm a very safe and caring person. I hope my past isn't ruining my future.
Besides my background, I know the pain, shame, and disappointment of a 5150. It's painful because someone steps in and decides for you. It's shameful because it appears as though you can't decide for yourself. And it's disappointing because you've failed to commit suicide. But, of course, suicide is NOT an option. Rehab taught me to repeat that phrase every time I thought about suicide. They told me to treat it like a drug addiction. To use my other outlets like: physical fitness, art, music, friends, and most of all books to get out my depressive thoughts.
I feel like 5150 are necessary because people don't ALWAYS want to die. They sometimes overreact on an impulse. Or they haven't received the psychological care required to see the fault in their logic. And to be honest, I think they should exist. It's given me more time on this earth--despite not enjoying most of my time here, I feel I'm giving life another chance.
I still go through bouts of depression. Last weekend, after drinking (see a pattern? Because I do), I took my cutting knife and sat in my bathroom and played around with my skin. I practiced stabbing. But I was drunk. So I stabbed a little too hard. I penetrated my wrist about 1-2cm deep. The tip was completely submerged in my skin. I pulled out slowly. Then I put it back in and twisted it 90 and it split the wrist into a "t" cross section. I could feel an important vein just right of the blade. I pushed a little deeper and a little more to the right, but the vein just slipped away. After that, the drunken haze was sobered up by the sharp pain. I saw the blood. I stood up feeling the same feeling of shame from my 5150's but I could hide that shame behind a band-aid. What I mostly felt was empowered. I've never so easily penetrated and cut my wrists. It's always been a delicate and soft process. But what I really realized as I stood in that mirror, was that I am not who I wish I was. The empowering feeling was more or less a sign of my weakness. I'm unwilling to effort my way through life. Id prefer to roll the dice with life than to knuckle down and: ask out that girl, practice a skill, really try my hand at something new or innovative. I was only empowering myself to give out and give in rather than put myself out there.
I guess I rambled a bit. Point being. We all struggle in and out. But I can tell you I have been to the other side. After rehab. For three whole days. Three WHOLE days I didn't want suicide. I looked back on suicide as a childish dream. The real world was around me. The earth and soil felt like my play things now. All the people around me were fascinating--worthy of conversation and befriending. All my triggers were like distant mirages. I could smile and wave as they faded away. Those three days kept me going for a while. Even when my sociopathic tendencies crept up on me and death became my confidant once again, those three days were the light at the end of a darkening tunnel. Mental health can be changed and can be adjusted. You don't have to be like this forever. And I can tell you, if you TRULY try and work on your mental health, you can get there. You can be the one who sees a counselor, tries their medications, their methods, their advice, and you'll be a better person. This dream like bliss exists. It won't last forever, even happy people get sad or cynical, but it will never be like it is now. You'll be able to conquer these feelings with a passion and a stride like an Olympic athlete on the hurdles. Don't be like me, four years after your 5150, pushing your limits until you lose that final roll of the dice. Play the mental health game. Really try. It's not going to fail you if you don't fail yourself. I can tell you life truly is worth living.
Sorry if I rambled. Sorry THAT I rambled. I want to help. I'm not the best at helping. But good luck to you. Humans are malleable. Don't forget that.