By Anon
Trigger warning: This post includes stories of suicidal ideation and sexual assault. If you or a loved one is considering suicide, get help! You can call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255). If you’ve experienced sexual assault, you deserve support. Please call RAINN’s National Sexual Assault Telephone Hotline at 1-800-656-HOPE (4673) or visit their 24/7 chat. If you are experiencing a mental health emergency or crisis, call 911.
I was sexually assaulted as a young man in high school.
It is difficult to describe my mind’s response to that trauma. First, I felt denial. It happened at a small school, in a rural area — a “safe place” where things like that “don’t happen.”
Next, I believed I could just ignore it and move past it, but I did not know how to survive being assaulted by another man. I could not escape the feeling of shame; I could go nowhere to feel safe. I did not feel I could tell anyone. I felt like my only option was to try to repress my feelings about it.
My suicidal urges peaked four months after the assault. They were constant, and suicide was the only thing on my mind. My thoughts about suicide became loud and intrusive. I believed that I would never find peace or relief.
I created a facade. I allowed nobody to know about my suffering, and I gave no clear indications of my suicidal ideation. I tried so hard to survive for others, and this was one of the hardest parts of being suicidal. I felt guilty knowing that taking my life would hurt the people who love me. However, I still felt like that was the only way to find peace.
I attempted suicide.
Somebody caught and interrupted my attempt. I refused to accept any help at that time. I don’t remember much of high school after that. The urges faded. I tried to move on and to repress my emotions around the trauma as much as I could.
During college, I struggled with depression and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). I coped with depression and PTSD by isolating myself. Social isolation helped me to survive but not to fully live. I began managing routine mood swings, the fear of people touching me, and distrust of men. After college, I accepted a job in a small town and assured myself I was okay. I convinced myself that repressing my feelings was working.
My suicidal urges returned when Robin Williams died by suicide. In addition to losing someone, who was so inspirational, it was difficult for me to hear people’s reactions:
“How could anyone do that?”
“I never could.”
“That’s so crazy, and he seemed so happy.”
“What a selfish coward!”
People revealed their overwhelming lack of empathy and how they would have judged me. It was so hurtful. I became very irritable and anxious. I could no longer tiptoe around my emotions that had been quietly building up over ten years. I found myself forced to face the reality that I would rather ignore.
My thoughts began to debilitate me again. One of my friends convinced me to go to therapy. I did not think it could benefit me or teach me anything. I imagined a patronizing therapist, who would only prescribe prescriptions for me. I resolved to quit if it did not produce instant results. (Clearly, I had a positive attitude.)
Luckily, I connected well with a therapist, and we continue to work together. I was at a low point, but, finally, I had a place to start recovering. Although it was not obvious at first, I learned to challenge my preconceptions.
It started like that — dragging myself forward and committing to therapy. I began to discover lost pieces of myself and hear a less critical voice in my head. I started to give myself credit for successes. I fought my internalized shame and my “black or white thinking.” It was challenging, but I began to progress and feel considerably better.
Feeling better, I entered into a romantic relationship with a friend. I was happy and in love, but the joy of the relationship didn’t last. A year after we began dating, she and her ex-boyfriend reunited and moved to a different country together. I was devastated. I felt like I lost everything — the relationship we built together and all of the progress I was making toward mental health recovery.
First, I experienced denial again. Then, I began to feel hopeless. I felt like a failure during this first major setback after beginning to recover. It felt worse than starting over. I felt an incredibly painful loss. I was relapsing and desperate. To stay in recovery, my doctor prescribed psychiatric medications, and I met with my therapist frequently. After a month, however, I realized I was experiencing worsening side effects.
I do not remember hurting myself very well. It all felt very detached and out-of-body. I had no specific plan, and luckily I did not seriously physically injure myself. This self-harm experience ignited a process though. I called my therapist and then was rushed to a hospital with my parents. Their concern, mixed with my shame and feeling of being a burden, made it a nearly silent ride. Being in a hospital as a result of self-harm was not like I expected. The doctors and nurses were cold, and it was quite the song and dance. “No, I’m fine now,” next person, same questions.
Eventually, a nurse asked me to change into a hospital gown behind a curtain while she watched my feet and listened intently. I felt so low — like she was stripping me of my dignity. I realized that, because I was at risk of suicide, they would not even trust me to be alone with my belt as I changed. They were dutifully processing me, doing nothing more and nothing less than required.
After seeing the nurse, I met with a doctor who acted inconvenienced. I tried to be understanding. Maybe he was having a bad day or trying to avoid becoming emotionally attached to me. Maybe he believed a self-harming patient did not deserve his time and care.
I desperately needed empathy. I wondered how I could heal without help. There were no answers there, just more procedures to follow and phone calls to make. It felt like a nightmare. Before being allowed to leave, a hospital employee informed me that this required a police report. An officer was there to speak with me.
My heart raced. Nothing good was about to happen. The officer came in and immediately asked if I needed anything and how I was. His voice was genuine, and he had kind eyes (as cliché as that sounds). He recognized me from my workplace, and we talked for a long time. First, we spoke about hobbies and sports. I know that he didn’t come in expecting to solve my problems, but he did treat me like a human being, who was worthy of receiving care. For the next few months, he even regularly checked on me at work. Among all of the people I interacted with that day, he seemed the least likely to help me. He proved that another one of my preconceptions was wrong.
After that, I recommitted to recovery. I felt like I failed a lot of people and myself. More than anything, I never wanted to feel that way again. Shame is hard to unpack, and recovery is not linear. There was no way to erase the past or that visit, but I knew I could challenge my beliefs and resume recovering. Things build that way. One day I began to find my voice again.
As in every person’s life, there have been ups and downs in mine since that experience. I have not struggled with depression for over a year, and it feels amazing — like a fresh start. I believe that whatever happens tomorrow, I will be alright. All of us possess resiliency, a part of the human spirit that is determined to survive traumas. Sometimes we lose hope that we can harness our resiliency, but life will improve. Mine has.
If you or a loved one is considering suicide, get help! You can call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255). If you’ve experienced sexual assault, you deserve support. Please call RAINN’s National Sexual Assault Telephone Hotline at 1-800-656-HOPE (4673) or visit their 24/7 chat. If you are experiencing a mental health emergency or crisis, call 911.
0 Comments