My body almost killed me a couple of times. I had a surgery that came with a 3-5 day hospital stay. But 3 weeks later I was still in a hospital, receiving excellent care, but being kept alive with IV fluids and tube feeds. And still….twice my body failed me. I became acutely aware that I had absolutely no control over the body in which I reside. None. I had to wait to see if my body would figure itself out and adjust to a new way of life. I had to sit, and wait. I. Was. helpless. And it was the most terrifying experience of my life. To be mentally aware of your circumstances, to have the same athletic, physical frame of mind you’ve always had, while trapped in a body that could not sustain itself independently. Everything I thought I knew or understood about myself, my body, and how I existed was called into question. How could I live my life when I knew every single decision I made had the potential to result in a horrible outcome. Anxiety isn’t a big enough word for the terror that came from within my own mind. I would sit in my hospital room running through all the normal events that may happen in my life and think of all the terrible outcomes that could result them. It wasn’t a rational thought process, I knew that, but I couldn’t stop it either. It became my therapy, I was determined to prepare for all future bad outcomes. Why? Because if I prepared for all outcomes I could convince myself I had some control in what happened. Again, I’m aware, not rational. But in those moments, it became how I survived.
When I finally got out of the hospital, I thought these fears would lessen. That I’d be able to go back to being the athletic, physical person I had always been. But my body had changed, I was weak, I fatigued quickly, daily living tasks were about all I had the energy for. Back on the hamster wheel I went. Why did I agree to this surgery? What have I done to myself? Is this my life now? I am someone who played softball and volleyball competitively for decades. I loved hiking and snowboarding. My job was physically demanding and I loved it. There was something wonderfully blissful about the exhaustion that came from a 12 hour shift making bread. But after surgery and hospitalization, I could barely walk a flight of stairs without needing a break. 6 months out I still struggled to lift a 50lb bag of flour, which I had previously hauled around like it was nothing. A year out I was still symptomatic and undiagnosed, exhausted, angry, terrified, depressed. In my darkest moments I grasped at anything that might allow me to take control back. And in that time, I genuinely believed there was no way to guarantee control of the body I was trapped in. Ending my life became incredibly appealing. I could not control my body or how it functioned. I could not control the pain or nausea, the fatigue, the headaches. I could not control the genes I was born with. I could not control how my illnesses manifested in the future. I could not control that lack of research or knowledge on my rareness. There is nothing about my physical body and how it existed in the world that could be controlled. Sure, you can try. You can eat properly, exercise, not smoke, do all the things you’re supposed to do, but the body does what it will regardless.
Learning that lesson while in the depths of recovery from a life altering experience is not recommended. I got trapped in a cycle of searching for control and concluding that suicide was the only control I could possibly have. I cannot find the words to describe how dark that place is. Trapped, alone, scared, and not willing to let anyone in because they could not possibly understand. While at the same time being ashamed of this thought process, not daring to speak it out loud because of the taboo associated with it.
I wish I could say that I had an epiphany one day and turned the corner toward the light. But that didn’t happen. It took me a year of hard work, intense therapy, and self care to even be ready to begin digging myself out of that hole. It was a year of really uncomfortable, painful self discovery and growth. But it put me in a place where I could meet this wonderful human, who looked at me one day and saw that I was not ok. Who did not take me at the “I’m fine” and fake smile I usually offered as the truth. Who climbed down into my hole and sat with me, waiting patiently for me to be ready to climb out. Never pushing, just gently offering love and support. When I was ready to begin the climb, they climbed next to me, slowly allowing me to determine the pace. Pausing when I got tired or frustrated, waiting for me to be ready again. It took over a year to get out of that hole. It took a lot of time and effort and discomfort. Standing up here, looking down to where I once was, I can honestly say it was worth it. It happened this way, because it needed to. I could not know this level of happiness without knowing that level of despair. I survived all of that, so that I could have all of this.
It is important to note that no one is at fault for not noticing how far into my own head I was. I still functioned very normally. I worked hard, I cracked jokes, I was present, I was able to put on a front for periods of time that allowed my true mental state to go unnoticed. It’s not a joke when people say things like don’t forget to check on your funny friend, or your strong friend. We are the people who function publicly and suffer silently. I have amazing people in my corner, I knew I had their love and support. But I could not communicate what was happening to them. The fault is not theirs, nor is it mine. Rather the fault lies in the shame that comes with admitting to ones mental health issues and/or suicidal ideation. I, am one of the lucky ones. I had someone look me in the face and tell me they knew I was not ok and that they were willing to stick around until I was. Being loved and supported at your worst, makes being loved and supported at your best all the more sweet.
My mental health journey is not over. I still see a therapist regularly, I am still chronically ill, I still have rare diseases, I still have raging anxiety, I still struggle with depression. None of that will ever change. What has changed is my understanding of what I can control. I can’t control my body, but I can control my frame of mind. I can control how I choose to fight and when I choose to fight. I can choose to live in the moment, to let life come to me as is comes, and to not stress about the unknown. Most importantly, I can choose to be happy. I can choose to build a life I love with the people I want in it. The body can endure almost anything, it’s the mind you have to worry about. Making those choices has been the most freeing experience of my 33 years of life. As hard as the last 2.5 years has been, as uncomfortable and painful as this growth was, I would not change who I am or the life I lead today for anything.
In closing, check on your funny and strong friends, especially if they are going through stuff. The jokes they tell about their experience are meant as a shield to block you from their actual thought process. The “I’m fines” and “it could always be worse” are the script they use to convince themselves to maintain their facade in public. The taboo surrounding Mental Health has to end. My name is Jenna, I am diagnosed with anxiety, depression, and ptsd. I have considered and planned suicide. I see a therapist. I have tried medication and chose to learn to live without it. I would not be sitting here typing this without the combination of a good therapist, me committing to do the work, and the unwavering support of certain people in my life. If reading my story helps just one person, then I have done what I came to do.
-Jenna
Chronically Sarcastic 