Courageous or Cowardly?

Is it courageous or cowardly? The thoughts and feelings of not wanting to be here; of not wanting to be alive. When we read or hear about people that have died by suicide, we usually try to make sense of the tragedy. We are left with more questions than answers. We are left with the feelings of guilt and wondering if there was something we could have done differently, that would have kept them here with us. Others that may not have been close to the person, may try to understand the tragedy through the lens of judgement. What a coward? How could they do that to themselves? Did they not realize the pain that they caused and the broken hearts they left behind? Suicide, an easy way out or a devastatingly, painful decision?

Is it courageous or cowardly? Well, I guess it depends on your perception. Sure, things may seem very differently when you can’t imagine what it’s like to be in that situation; to be in that state of mind. I know that I in fact didn’t quite understand why people would do this. My mom for instance was someone that I watched struggle and battle with this. For years, she told my brothers and I how much she didn’t want to be here. For years, she tried not to be here. For years, I cleaned the blood from her wrists and helped her vomit the excessive medication that she would take. For years, I didn’t understand why she wanted to leave us. Why weren’t we enough reason for her to want to be here. Why couldn’t she see the pain that she was causing us. After every attempt, I grew more exhausted and even angry. I was angry because I simply didn’t get it. I saw her as selfish because it seemed that she could only think about her pain, even though we were all in the hole together.

I didn’t understand and at the same time, unconsciously I knew the feeling. The feeling that overwhelmed my existence. The feelings of pain, desolation, and hopelessness, wondering if life would ever feel or look any better. I was about 8 or 9 years old when my grandma asked me why I didn’t smile anymore. My response: “Because there is nothing to smile about”. I look back to that part of myself and ask what the hell was I going through that I felt like this before the shitstorm even began?

The more I watched my mom struggle and fade away, the stronger my own feelings of not wanting to be here grew. The difference was that she was vocal about it and was deemed as unstable, while I kept it inside, for the simple fact that I didn’t want people to see me in the same light as my mom. After she died, I started to speak up and tried to tell people that I was tired of being in constant pain and really didn’t want to be here. The common reaction was “Lindsay don’t say that. You have many people that love and care about you. Lindsay thinking that way is a sin. Lindsay don’t think that way”. With every one of those statements, I died a little more inside and my pain only grew stronger. I wasn’t supposed to think or feel this way and yet I was. What was wrong with me?

I got myself into therapy, hoping to leave these thoughts and feelings behind for good and yet they remained. I remembered leaving a few sessions and on my drive home, I would break down because these goddamn feelings and thoughts wouldn’t leave me alone. They tormented me. In my car, was the one place I felt safe enough to break down. I sometimes would sit in my parked car crying for hours at a time. Nobody could see and understand my pain. What was the point? Something had to change. I could not take much more of this. Despite my previous experiences with opening up to people that weren’t able to hold my pain, I started to confide in select people and opened up about my feelings and thoughts. I expected them to try to push me out of that state. I expected them to tell me that I shouldn’t think that way and surprisingly, they didn’t. They didn’t respond in the invalidating ways that many people before had responded in. They sat quietly with me. Holding my pain. Witnessing my pain. And helped me feel like I wasn’t an alien with their words. It was their words of acceptance and vulnerability that helped ease the intensity of my pain. It didn’t take away what my experience was, it simply gave me the space to feel connected and heard. They even shared their own experiences with these kinds of feelings and thoughts. All I could think was “Wow, you too?”. I could breathe. It was no longer just me.

The thoughts and feelings have never really gone away completely. I can tell you from my experience that fighting against your thoughts and feelings can be one of the most depleting and difficult experiences. There were times in which while I was driving, I would get the urge to get out of this life and would accelerate with the hopes of crashing into a wall. With the hopes that death would release me from the world of pain. And even in those moments as I gave in, I would still fight and remove my foot off from the gas pedal. The mind is a powerful thing and can push you to do things out of desperation. Like me, my mom felt this world of pain and couldn’t see a way out.

Thoughts of not wanting to be here are more common than we think. Many of us are fighting silent battles that the world has no clue about or refuse to see. Compassion, understanding, connection, and the ability to hold space are a few things that can make the difference in a person’s life. Being in the position of questioning your existence, as well as being in the position of supporting someone, are both challenging positions to be in.

The love, support, and validation of my loved ones is what helped me in my fight. Because at the end of the day, we are the only ones responsible for saving ourselves. Every day, I have to make the decision to give myself a fighting chance. It is not always easy, but this is my fight. On my left wrist is an imprinted reminder to “keep going”. To keep going for myself and for every single person that has opened their heart to me during my darkest moments.

Not wanting to be here…courageous or cowardly? I guess it depends on your perception.