My life isn't tragic.

It's not. There isn't anything about my life that makes it out of the ordinary. I mean, I guess my paternal grandpa passed away before I was born but, other than that. I can't think of anything that would make anything about my life traumatic.

This post makes me anxious because I don't want to be judged and it's a part of myself I haven't told anyone, about even my best friends. Another friend is being very courageous today and writing about his adoption so I wanted to honor him and write about something that, for me, takes equal courage.

I had depression. I don't know, do I still have it? Is it like herpes? Once you have it, you have it for life? I suppose maybe it's more like cancer, it's there but goes into remission. Again, my life isn't traumatic, I have nothing to be depressed about. Currently I'm in "remission" but college was tough. I had everything going for me, I ran cross country, I was on Dean's list, I had wonderful friends, I liked my job, I like school. There wasn't anything to be sad about, but I was. Nothing made me happy. It was like I just kind of lived in the shell of my body without any emotion. I went to student health services and they started me on prozac. Bad idea. If I was a limp noodle before, now I was a limp noodle that didn't fall back out of the strainer and had hardened to the bottom. It was like I became more depressed. One night I hit rock bottom. I took a piece of glass and tried to slit my wrists. I mean, I did slit my wrists, I have the scars. I guess, like Pool, thankfully I'm just no good at suicide. I guess, situationally, I'm lucky because I had almost cut the tendons that control my hands. Since I used a piece of glass, it was raggedy and wouldn't have been repairable. I'm sure not being able to use my hands would have made my depression WAY better.

Everything was kind of hazy. I remember being brought up to the psych ward and thinking I didn't belong there. They had cut the strings out of my sweatpants and took my shoelaces, should I think it was a good idea to try it again. My parents came, my sister, my aunt, friends. Nobody understood why I was there. I don't think I really understood why I was there. I hadn't really thought about killing myself before that night but it just seemed right. Like, everybody's life would be better without me weighing them down. They tried to make me go to therapy but I quit, there wasn't anything in my life to make me sad so there really wasn't anything to talk about. About a year later, I tried again, clearly unsuccessful. I think the second time I was just so tired and didn't want to be a part of life anymore, it was more a cry for help than a suicide attempt.

Without the intention of doing so, I think these episodes ruined my mom's life. She was a lifelong Christian but the thought of God trying to take her daughter from her ruined their relationship. I think it made my mom bitter towards me because she thought it was something she had done. Our relationship has never been the same.

What people don't understand is that, in the words of Dr. Phil, It's not about you. It literally has nothing to do with any of you, how you act, react, what you say or don't. It's a chemical imbalance that just makes us sad. Sometimes I think I'm manic, I'm really, really up, then down.

I don't know why I'm embarrassed to talk about this but I am. It's something I feel ashamed of and that's not the right way to feel, I know it's not and I would never want anyone else to feel that way about it so don't know why I do.

I don't even really want to post this because I don't want friends to be upset I haven't told them. It's shame and embarrassment that I want to put behind me but every day I see my scar I think about it and how glad I am I suck at suicide.

I haven't felt depressed for, oh gosh, I don't even know how long. Which is a good thing because I have the memory of an elephant, so it means a long time. Don't get me wrong, I feel sad about things but I know better how to cope. I'm not on anti-depressants, I use running to pull me through. It's my own little prozac. Being outside (or randomly inside) admiring all that God has made and given me, makes me happy. Running is my God time, to thank him for my life and that he has given me a second, and third, chance. I love life, I love my husby, my friends, dog, family, my niece and nephew, running, just, everything. Well, except I'm home sick today. I don't love that. Se la vie!

Judge me or not, this took a ridiculous amount of courage to write and I'm proud of myself. Even if it helps one person, I'm glad I wrote it.

PS
Make sure you do all your research before you choose an anti-depressent. There have been studies that Prozac increases suicidal thoughts in youths and young adults. Google prozac and suicide, there are a bunch of results. I don't want to blame prozac but I had no thoughts of suicide before I started taking it...

GET HELP. PLEASE. For your own sake, the sake of your family, for my sake. I love friends, I'll be your bff, just don't hurt yourself!

National Suicide prevention hotline; 800-273-TALK (8233)