Today starts "World Suicide Prevention Week", and September is "National Suicide Awareness Month". Suicide is a big issue that isn’t talked about very often. I would know, I struggle with it chronically. The only reason I’m here right now is because of suicide prevention.
I remember the first time I checked into a hospital (after attempting), we were in the ER for what seemed like forever (probably 5 hours). We got to know the nurse and as I finally was leaving for the psych floor, I broke down crying. There were a lot of ugly cries that day. The nurse got down on my level and looked me in the eye, “Rachel, you aren’t a failure. Checking into the hospital, admitting you need help is not a failure. What is failing is giving up and hiding it away, not asking for help.” I think about that moment often and it has gotten me through a lot of shame-inducing experiences: getting diagnosed with BPD, having to go to therapy three times a week, and yes… checking into a psych ward a second time. I haven’t told a lot of people that because I worried people would think I’m incompetent. But it is the reason I’ve been able to keep going, because I got the help I needed.
Suicide is a lot more complicated than “I want to die”. Sometimes it’s because you feel stuck and option-less, or you feel like everything is over. Sometimes it’s a mental illness driving it, sometimes it’s your circumstances. Honestly, most of the times that I feel suicidal, I don’t want to die at all. I just want everything (whatever it is) to stop. Mental illness has affected my life more than I’d like people to know, and chronic suicidal thoughts come along with it. They come and go and I am often reminded . In the six years since I checked in that first time, I’ve met a lot of incredible people and seen a lot of incredible places. I’ve graduated from college, gotten a job that I absolutely LOVE (and helps get me up every day), and made relationships I can’t imagine life without. And, if I’d given up six years ago, or any of the nights I think of it still, none of that would have happened.
I am a lot more than my mental illness; a lot more than suicidal thoughts or psych ward stays. I’m a friend, a teacher, a daughter, a sister, an aunt (yay). I’m sarcastic, sassy, and kind (usually). I care and am wiling to drop anything for anyone. I try hard, fail a lot, and get up again anyway. Suicide might feel like the answer, but it isn’t. Life is #WorthLivingFor
Medications help, therapy works, and ice cream never hurt anyone.
"Instead of the cross, the albatross About my neck was hung."
It's been a while since I read the poem "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner", or even thought about it really. I "read" it in high school- shout out to Mrs. Mucic (sorry I wasn't as good of a student as I should have been)! It didn't speak to me very much at the time, but I vaguely remember the imagery of the albatross around the mariner's neck, the weight it brought and the sinking feeling of never being free. It reminded me of other books I read, one being The Awakening. That trapped feeling, one you can't ever quite shake. The albatross, the sin or weight of mistakes and guilt that hangs over you, was tied around his neck. He couldn't shake it or get away from it, it was always there. I don't remember exactly what the albatross was supposed to symbolize, but this is what it means to me at this point in life.
I've thought about this Albatross symbolism a lot lately. February is hard for me. It's a time where I've struggled a lot with mental illness and it's a constant reminder of failures in the past. It reminds me of my mental illness, and the shame that comes along with it.
There's been a lot going on in my life lately, with details that aren't relevant. I've been stuck and trapped in the mental illness vortex. I think about the choices and situations I've put myself in with my experiences fighting mental illness. The road has not been easy and guilt and shame creep into my consciousness like they are embedded there. I've struggled with making the choices that I think will make me happy or make me a better person. I make mistakes and I struggle coming to terms with the consequences of those choices, often guilt and shame being the biggest consequences.
My therapist said to me once (ok, more than once...) that I would need to "accept my consequences gracefully". It felt so patronizing at the time, as if I didn't recognize that there would be consequences. But I guess I've realized over time that just because there are consequences, we don't always accept that it's our reality. We fight it and push back.
In DBT (Dialectical Behavioral Therapy), there's a skill called radical acceptance. This is a skill that I hate, and even just the hearing the words "radical acceptance" makes me want to rip my hair out. Those words immediately send willfulness rushing through me. The whole point of radical acceptance is that you have to accept your reality, whole-heartedly. You have to accept where you are, but you don't have to like it; it is what it is. Fighting reality doesn't help. Ignoring that stupid albatross around your neck doesn't make it go away. You have to accept it. Eventually you can change it, like removing it from your neck instead of carrying around the guilt, but you have to accept it first. You don't have to like that the stupid albatross is around your neck, reminding you of your failures, but you do have to accept that it's there.
Once you've accepted it, you can move forward. You can deal with it and make changes. You can't change the consequences, you can't avoid all consequences completely. It isn't how it works. The longer you avoid whatever consequences may come, the longer you are stuck sitting in misery. Nothing changes, there's no growth, just misery. Ignoring it drags on the consequences.
I've been thinking a lot about the past and some of the choices I've made. I've held onto this shame and guilt for so long, that it's a part of me. I am always afraid to let people in or really let anyone see me because I'm afraid of people rejecting me. I'm afraid that once they know the truth, see the albatross I've shot down and hung around my neck, they will walk away. The truth is, as open and honest as I am about my mental illness, I'm ashamed that I still struggle. I don't think I really recognize that that's how I feel. I just realized that I try to be open about the fact that I do struggle, but I block out the fact that I fall short, often.
I think part of this comes from my religious background. I have always been taught that if you have enough faith and follow the Spirit, you will make good choices and you can return to God. Simple, right? No. Because when you have mental illness, things aren't quite so good or bad. There's a lot of grey. You don't think clearly and you aren't always in control of your choices. It's been a balancing act of trying to figure out how much guilt and shame to accept for choices that I've made while in the midst of a mental health episode, and how much to let slide and forgive myself for acting out in hurt or emotional confusion.
It feels like a character flaw, that the person I am is defined by these choices, and therefore defined by my mental illness. I'm starting to realize that it isn't true. I've been carrying around this dead, disgusting, rotting carcass of an albatross that I shot down years ago. It isn't there anymore. If I had just accepted my choices instead of fighting them, I could have dropped the weight of the albatross in an easier way.
Finding a balance of pushing yourself to grow and become better (better managed, more stable, faster recovery time from an episode, better choices) and also forgiving yourself for when you fall short is hard for me. But the first step: acknowledging that there's a rotting carcass around my neck.
So, here's to radically accepting my flaws, and working towards loving them. Here's to acknowledging that the albatross around my neck is there, weighing me down. Forgiving myself and allowing myself to be freed from the years of choices I made before I knew why I couldn't think straight, the years of me struggling through the process of healing and recovery, and the years to come of continuing to stumble and fall along the way.
***
When I read this poem in high school, we had an assignment to come up with our albatross. I don't quite know what the parameters were exactly, but I think it was something we wanted to do or let go of. I remember I struggled to figure this out, partially because my suicidal self couldn't visualize surviving much longer. When I finally came up with the albatross in my life, I came up with "making a difference". I felt so much shame for who I was even way back then that I felt like I had to make up for my lack, that I had to make up for the fact that I was a "bad" person. We wore those papers around our neck for the day, which felt a little silly. As I've thought about the poem more lately, I've also thought about that project. My albatross was all about overcoming shame, but I went about it all wrong. Mrs. Mucic, I changed my project. My albatross isn't making a difference in the world, it's learning how to love myself for who I am today. Flaws, crazy brain, overly sensitive emotions and all... because those are what make me who I am. The good, the bad, and the ugly.
