Twists of fate: Happy rebirth day to me
December 9, 2009 by Angela Rose
Filed under Perspective, Twists of Fate
Dec. 26th is my rebirth day.
I’m not a spiritual “born again.” I don’t want to talk about how Jesus or any 12-step program saved me. Nevertheless, Dec. 26, 2000, was a day that changed me forever. For it was on that day that I attempted to end my own life.
Once upon a time, I had been a happy young woman. I was in the academic top five of my high school, active in the honor society and the school newspaper, adored by my teachers and even bragged about by the principal on parent teacher night. I received high scores on my ACT and SAT, was awarded several scholarships for academic achievement, and was confident that I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my future as well as how to get there.
Then I entered college. Suddenly, I was nobody afloat in a sea of other nobodies. It is easy to become lost in classes with hundreds of students. None of my professors knew my name, let alone enough about me to show an interest in my dreams. I think it was then that I slowly began to lose myself, and my dreams, as well. I had once been secure in the knowledge that a journalism career was what I wanted. I was no longer certain. If not that, then what?
I am sure many young women and men go through similar experiences as they enter college and adulthood. I’m equally sure many of them make it without becoming trapped in a swirling black hole of depression and anxiety about the future.
I was not one of them. For whatever reason — biological, psychological, plain old bad luck — I found myself in a vicious cycle from which I could not break free. I was afraid — of everything — to such an extreme that I became agoraphobic. I had to move home with my parents. I rarely left my bedroom. I could not see my way out of the blackness that filled my mind. I could not see that my family loved me and desperately wanted to help me. All I could see was an empty hole where my future was supposed to be.
When you have reached a point where you believe that your death would be better than your life, you have to make a choice. I had reached a breaking point. I was tired of being depressed because I was afraid and afraid because I was depressed. I was tired of feeling so lost, so trapped and so alone.
If you have never been there yourself, it may be difficult to imagine what would drive someone to suicide. You have probably heard people say, “Suicide is a selfish act.” And it truly is, but not because the person who is suicidal wants to be selfish. In my experience, having reached that point, one is so trapped in one’s own head, consumed with one’s own misery, that you not only are you not thinking about anyone else’s feelings, but you couldn’t even if you wanted to.
However, perhaps the most glorious thing about life is that change is always possible — and it often comes about in unexpected ways. On Dec. 26, 2000. I gave up. I chose death. I took a bunch of pills, wrote my note and lay down on my bed. But I didn’t die. My sister called me on the phone and could tell that something was wrong. She called my father and he rushed home to take me to the emergency room. I had my stomach pumped (I don’t recommend that experience), I vomited a lot. Nevertheless, I lived.
When I was released from the hospital, I was ready for a change. I determined that I would climb out of the black hole I had been trapped in, even though I didn’t know what my future would hold, where I would end up.
Sure, it was hard at times, and I faltered on occasion, but it was better than the alternative. I found a job I could deal with — maybe not one I loved, but one that kept me busy from day to day. I moved out of my parent’s house three months later. I met my now husband shortly after that. I stopped taking the prescriptions for anxiety and depression that various doctors had told me I would have to take forever. As the side effects that came with those pills wore off, I felt better and better.
Sixteen months after my suicide attempt, I lost my job. Instead of jumping back into the black hole, I took what I had learned and forged ahead, landing a significantly better job only a few weeks later. I now have a position where I get to do many of the things I love, including writing, editing, even cooking. I have found my path, and myself, again. I’m even writing a regular magazine column — a dream I thought I had given up all those years ago.
I look back at the scared young woman I once was and wish I could talk to her. I would hold her hand and tell her that nothing is ever as bleak as it may seem. Losing your way does not make you a failure. Asking for help does not mean you are weak. When you hit bottom, it is the perfect time to start looking up.
The holidays can be tough for many, and today’s economy is not going to make that any easier. If you know someone who is struggling, let him or her know that you care. They may not be ready to ask for or even accept your help, but at least they will know you are there for them.
If you are struggling yourself, do not give up. This is your opportunity to change — an opportunity to put yourself on a different path or to rediscover a path you thought you had lost. You do not have to do it all at once. A gradual change, day by day, is all that is needed to take you from the point of wanting an end to living for a new beginning.
— By Angela Rose, of Longmont
