The day I almost died

Tuesday 19^th July 2016

This is the hardest thing I will ever write. Even now, as I write this, I have no idea if I will ever publish it. Maybe I will, but there’s a huge chance that I won’t. It’s still too hard to talk about, to admit to. But it’s important that I at least document the occasion.

One year ago, to the day, I was hospitalised following an attempt to take my life. It was following months of declining mental health, with depression gradually increasing in severity and anxiety taking over my life. I had memory problems for months; I would go to boil the kettle and find I had already done it. Sometimes I would find that I suddenly did not recognise where I was, despite being in a very familiar place. I became convinced that someone was following me everywhere wanting to hurt me. I had hallucinations of this “man” moving about behind me, even when my back was to a wall. My psychiatrist knew about all of this, my best friend made sure of that when he accompanied me on all of my appointments. But there didn’t seem to be anything anyone could do.

Eventually, on 19^th July 2015, I broke completely. I didn’t plan it before then, but after weeks of contemplating suicide every day I finally decided there was nothing left for me in life. I’m not going to go into detail on how I tried it, why it failed or how I ended up in hospital. All I’ll say is that it failed, and hospital was my destination. I finally started to get the help I so desperately needed. The weeks and months following the attempt are actually rather blurry, as I attempted to piece my life back together. I had to learn to want to live again. To see a reason to wake up every morning. Friends and family were incredible, and there is no way I would still be here without them. The support and love I received came in many forms. From hugs and cups of tea, to meals being put in front of me and my kitchen cleaned. From multiple late night movies, and drinks at the pub to holding my hand as I cried. It made the difference between me living and dying.

It’s incredibly surreal, that today it has been an entire year. I feel like a completely different person. It really is strange just how much can change in a year. Since 2016 began, I’ve finally felt like I’m piecing together a good life for myself. It’s not been all smooth running. I found myself with nowhere to live for a couple of months (thanks to Jo for taking me in!), and had to cope with the death of my wonderful Great Grandad. But, I have achieved so much. I finally became a homeowner, and the surrogate mother to my two beautiful cats. I am returning home to full time employment. I have had the privilege to watch several close friends get their degrees, even though I watched from the other side of the world. I feel closer than ever to my family and my friends. Today, I feel so very lucky. I have so many things that other do not.

This trip has really been the turning point. I have done so many things that terrify me. New people and new places that would once have left me crippled with panic, are now just part of every day. I have accomplished things that I never thought I would. I have checked things off my bucket list. I have learnt to adapt to change and embrace the unknown. I have finally felt peace and joy and contentment. I have experienced what it’s like to have a clear mind. I have felt pure freedom.

It has not all been easy. Of course, like anything in life, travel has its ups and downs and it has obstacles to overcome. But I’m proud of myself for how I have dealt with them. Yes, I have cried. I have missed home. I have felt pain. But that’s ok. That’s what makes us human. Nobody can feel happy all the time. But this time last year I genuinely felt like I would never feel even a spark of happiness again. It’s been a bloody long hard road, and at times I have felt so alone despite always having support on hand. It’s been a year of countless doctors and psychiatrists and nurses and counselling. But for the first time, I actually think I’ll be ok. I’ve had depression for years and years, and I probably will for the rest of my life. Maybe I will always have to take medication. Maybe not. But it’s ok. I feel like things will be ok. And I’ve never felt that way before.

I guess the reason I’m writing this is to prove that things can get better. Obviously my situation and my problems are unique to me, and everyone else has their own situations and problems that are unique to them. But I’ve come from the darkest point in my life to the brightest. So I guess it’s possible for anyone. If I’ve learnt anything from this trip, it’s this: life isn’t about the destination, it’s about the journey. If you concentrate on the end game, you miss the ride. The bumps in the road will happen, but they are all part of it. This thing we call life is messy, and it’s hard, and at times the path is dark. But even the longest night ends, and the sun rises. The journey is what it’s all about. The people you meet and the things you see along the way are what it’s all about. And I feel so grateful for all those people. Both the ones who have stuck around for years, and those who I was destined to only cross paths with once.

I hope this time next year I will still be thankful to be alive. I hope for a year filled with my favourite things. Cups of tea and cake with friends. Staying at the pub until closing after too many glasses of wine. Laying under the stars. Long runs in the countryside. Lazy Sunday mornings with bacon sandwiches and cat cuddles. Weekend trips to visit friends across the country. Family dinners. Quality time with my brothers. Movie nights. Hours curled up with a good book. Hot bubble baths. Painting my nails in the pub. Sharing communion at church. Celebrations of all sorts. I know it won’t always be a smooth road. But I actually feel pretty good about this next year. There is a whole world still to see, and I’m not checking out until I have seen it all.