Living With Addiction Day 9 ~ Depression

Blameless Depression 9

Living With Addiction

Strongholds of Depression

Damage more than the Afflicted

Day 9 of 40

You’re a brave soul to continue on here with me.  Not every person that is depressed and suicidal feels and goes through what I went through or suffers these symptoms.  This is how my generational stronghold of depression started manifesting itself with more than just the subtle cues announcing I needed help!

My first attempt to take my life was to find out what was at my disposal in my house.  Easy way out, I thought, was to take as many pills laying around the house as possible.  It’s important I deviate here for a moment…

Parents, please don’t deny this:  With peer pressure the way it is today, us parents have a tendency to think, “Oh, my child will never take my pain meds.”  You’re gravely wrong.  Even if they don’t ingest them personally, they may take a couple here and there and sell them or their friends will know you have them and rob you blindly.  Yes, this happened to me as a parent.  $20 today gets you a couple Vicodin or one Oxycontin.

Continuing…  I started taking all the medications that were in my parent’s cupboard.  I think back at how desperate I was, I even swallowed enema suppositories.  I had no idea at the time what they were.  Pretty gross, huh?  I might nervously laugh at that now due to discomfort in being transparent, but that’s how low and rock bottom I had hit.

My parents were loaded with medications.  No wonder I kept throwing up every day for weeks; it was the meds.  All this did was add more ammo to the fuel lines of depression because I really felt like a failure; I was unsuccessful at taking my own life.  Epic failure!

I then started slashing my wrists.  At first it was just a get-back-at-you vice towards a boy so I could write a love note goodbye in my blood.  Pretty morbid, huh? 

Teenagers today are often cutting their skin to release some of the tension; a little different than slashing their wrists.  They will have fine-line scratches, almost like a two- to three-inch-long cat scratch.  They diffuse their anxiety and mental loneliness through a quick cut; their drug of choice. 

My slashing only made matters worse with the anger coming from my family which brought on more isolation time and removal from others because of the punishment:  I was grounded and left alone to suffer the consequences in my room. 

Please remember to never leave a depressant and suicidal individual alone in their cell of hell because all it does is give them time to contemplate and conjure up their next move.

After many days of forethought and preparation, occupying time and space, I decided to slash my wrists this time by going straight across the wrist in order to sever any nerves that were in the wrist area so I could bleed out.  I obviously had found books during schooltime showing how to properly cut and bleed out because the internet did not exist back then.  My initial attempts were vertically imposed; this time I would cut horizontally.

I inflicted the greatest of pain imaginable to myself here because I somehow or another felt using dull razors while digging deep to lacerate both wrists over and over again would bring instant death.  The agonizing scream was torturous itself.  I still cringe thinking about this 40 years later. 

This time the paramedics came.  I was taken to the hospital and stitched up.  My slashing my wrists was an obvious “I need help,” but when there’s generational strongholds here, we become numb and blinded to the loud pleas for help because it gets dismissed.

This might be morbid, even horrifying, to read, but this pales in comparison to what some people feel and experience.  Depression is real and many have no idea they’re afflicted or how to break free.  It starts subtle and has become an epidemic in today’s society because of the advances in technology that offer the ease to cover up and isolate.

As I was trying to console a girlfriend whose daughter tried to end her life by ingesting bleach, I was sharing with her that the parents cannot carry the shame and blame for what their children do.  Yes, it is the parent’s responsibility to seek out help if there are signs or symptoms, but when we let shame and fear and the veil of generational strongholds keep us from intervening and seeking help by sweeping it underneath the rug, God help us!  As far as my girlfriend goes, most of us were oblivious to her daughter’s despair and depression.  

We all get depressed; that’s a natural part of life, to a certain extent.  Sadly, some stay in this rut and isolate and can’t shake it and need help.  There’s nothing to be ashamed about.  Don’t let darkness prevail here. 

Good time to close.  I’m preaching and not sharing.  Tomorrow’s might be offensive to some as I try to be as raw and candid about everything I went through and felt the day I drove myself off the cliff.

Until next time…

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