DB What?

I wrote For Me, Suicide is Always on the Table a few years ago and never thought that would change.

I always wondered what the fuck DBT was and how could it possible help me not be me.  Here's an example of how I applied it. I've been pretty fucked up recently and wrote this when I wasn't. I'm fresh from the dark side though and reading this helped a little in pulling me back. I doubt it could help anyone else, but man if it could, I'm happy to share.  That is a scary, shitty place to get stuck.

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My 11 year old daughter is supposed to be at Girl Scouts camp this weekend so I was surprised to see her active on facebook. I wondered if camp was cancelled and tried calling but my calls were rejected. I tried messenger and called again with no luck until a text arrived: mom please stop. This stung more that I thought it should. She's a tween and I'm the parent, I should be able to handle this but my insecurities flared up and I wondered if my yelling last weekend drove her away.

I wondered if I should let her be or find out more information and decided to text a question mark.  She called and told me she didn't want to talk me.  My mind immediately assumed it had been right all along and I am a bad mom.


You might wonder why I would jump to that conclusion right away, a valid question. It's because I was raised in an abusive, alcoholic home where the hate towards me was palpable. I'm terrified I will unwittingly carry on the cycle.  I'm not, but the fear is always lurking like a shadow.

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I asked my daughter why she didn't feel like talking and her response was her throat hurt.  I pretended to believe her while pain radiated through my chest. I quickly got off the phone as my thoughts wandered down the familiar path of self-loathing.

It was as if my brain had a distorted lens that I was now looking through. All of a sudden I was interpreting recent events as evidence I'm bad, not liked, rejected, etc. I looked at unanswered texts I sent and suddenly thought I was ignored on purpose. I looked back at recent interactions and viewed my behavior as bad, other's reactions as negative.

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Before DBT I would have continued down that painful path, combing through the mountain of evidence I had collected over the years proving my awfulness.

I used to live in suicide ideation, not by choice but because it was the only thing that made me feel better. It seemed everyday I was tumbling down a dark, suicidal spiral until imagining in detail every gory aspect of the death I thought I deserved. It felt like the only thing I could do to redeem myself for the pain I thought I caused.

Today is different. I've been in DBT for 10 months and have skills to escape the impossible hell that no one who hasn't been there could understand. In case you haven't heard of DBT, it stands for dialectical behavior therapy which is a fancy way of saying there's two sides of the therapy that happen at the same time: accepting myself the way I am while also accepting that I want to change.

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I've learned the sooner I catch myself and use skills the quicker and easier they work. I stormed out many times during the first few months and was really scared DBT wouldn't be able to help me but eventually it caught on.

If you're curious about the skills, the first one I used today is Describe. It's based on mindfulness and works how it sounds - I looked out the window and described to myself the green leaves rustling in the wind, the grey sky, the mango candle I could smell, the birds I could hear singing. It brought me back to the present moment and out of the past I was wading in. 

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The other skill I used is Check the Facts. I looked at the situation and considered the many possibilities besides what my gut was telling me to be true. I realized that my daughter is in a hotel room with a bunch of other girls her age and probably doesn't feel like talking in front of everyone while they're hanging out. I looked at my sister's unanswered texts and realized it was Friday night and she may have been on a date, tired, distracted - who knows? I thought about my best friend and instead of assuming he must be angry at me for some reason I realized the fact is I have no idea what is happening in his life.

When I first started DBT I doubt I would have caught these thoughts in time. I probably would have ended up dunking my face in a bowl of ice water for 30 seconds - that is also a DBT skill and is fantastic when it feels like your emotions are going to rage out of you. It activates the dive reflex in the body which slows the heart rate and calms you down.

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For me, suicide felt like a plague I couldn't shake. I knew in my gut that I was horrible and couldn't fathom anyone convincing me otherwise. The past had happened and there was no other explanation besides it was all my fault.  DBT got me 75% better but didn't fully dispel that belief until I read this answer on Quora.com by Brian Barnett. He explained how those with Borderline Personality Disorder form a subconscious belief that they and their feelings are inherently bad.  This was the answer I needed to see the past in a new light and destroy my belief that I was a horrible human being.

I don't want to come across as someone who has the cure but do want to offer hope to those that might not have any.  I used to scour the internet for anything that could help me, something to let me know that I wasn't alone and that it could get better but I didn't find that, instead it was therapists refusing to help BPD patients and horror stories from loved ones at their wit's end dealing with BPDers, which just crushed me further and validated my belief that I was awful.

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It takes me three hours and a ferry ride to get to DBT but not going isn't an option. I live in a rural area and when Obamacare passed I thought I'd be able to get help but couldn't find a DBT group that accepted Medicaid.

I went to the county behavioral health center because it was my only option with Medicaid. I sued them after they refused to fire a therapist that wanted to have sex with me.  I was then turned away from the neighboring county facility while in crisis and about to go through with my suicide plan. I already felt like the world hated me so when the only available help turned me away it brought me that much closer to tragedy. 

After a four year battle I was approved for Disability/Medicare and was finally able to get into a group. My DBT group has an 18 month wait list for medicare patients but somehow I started immediately, I think they sensed I was about to die. 

On the ferry to DBT

If you have Borderline Personality Disorder, struggle with self hatred and think about suicide I want to let you know you are not alone. What I've learned is our emotions and reactions that cause us shame actually make sense given what we've been through. Growing up in the environment that triggered this disorder was not our doing and there is hope for our lives to become worth living.

I seem to be on the other side now and want to help those still suffering. I had a hell of a time getting into DBT and if this is the case for you please leave a comment (anonymous is OK) with your city/state and insurance if you have it. I am interested in forming a nonprofit to bring DBT to those who need it.

Also, I heard Marsha Linehan speak about a grant her team was awarded to put DBT online so hopefully that will be coming in the future.

I greatly appreciate feedback so feel free to let me know what you thought of this post by commenting below.

For Me, Suicide is Always on the Table

A note to my future self and anyone else that feels the world would be better without them:

Please give yourself at least 24 hours to think about it, because you are wrong, and there's a small part of you that knows your wrong.  Feelings alone will not kill you but they will definitely cloud your judgement.

This post may be triggering.  The suicide hotline is 1.800.273.8255, please call if you want to talk.

I'm sharing my story in case it might help someone feel less alone. 

 

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I remember my first suicide ideation like it happened yesterday.  It was May 1991.  I was about to turn 10 years old and I was more than ready to end it all.  I had had enough of living with my alcoholic parents who hated me.  I loved them more than anything but just couldn't stomach one more insult, one more painful reminder that I wasn't wanted.

There were four bars in our little town and I knew each of their phone numbers by heart.  My parents hated me so much that they were never home.  Instead they'd go out to the bars most nights.  I would wait until I couldn't stand it and then start calling, usually around midnight.  The bartenders would usually put my mom on the phone but sometimes they'd lie for her.  That was the worst.  My heart would be pounding.  Not only was it dark outside but I was home alone with my little sister.

    "Hey JoDee!!" I'd hear the bartender shout over the music, "phone's for ya". "Huh? Ugh, tell her I'm not here" my mom would slur back. "Haven't seen her" they'd casually tell a terrified kid looking for their mom.

When they made it home they'd be completely trashed.  For as poor as we were I have no idea how they afforded their booze.  Not only did they drink at bars but the fridge was perpetually stocked with beer and boxed wine, the cupboard with vodka.  If they didn't pass out they'd end up in a huge, violent fight.  I would try to get them to stop, then I'd call 911.

So when my birthday was nearing I couldn't fathom why I should stick around.  My life was absolute Hell.  I would do chores until the drama started.  Patiently waiting for the alcohol to kick in and hate to emanate from my step-dad, Mike.  He hated my guts and could never control that intense feeling from coming out in every moment I was in his presence.  My mom was a little better, she'd at least make sure I was fed dinner. But she couldn't contain her disdain for me. I ruined her childhood and I was a pain in the ass. I had been colichy, bit her toe once really hard and was too smart for my own good. I constantly had her on her toes which she really didn't appreciate.

My plan had been to shoot myself in the head on my 10th birthday. The pistol I was going to use was kept in the hall closet with ammunition. I wrote my suicide note that morning before school. I said goodbye to my little sister. I loved her to death but knew she, like the rest of the world, would be better off without a bad person like me.

When I arrived home from school Mike was already there. He got off work early that day.  I couldn't believe it, he was never home early. I took it as a sign that I shouldn't kill myself. So I didn't until October 2005.

It's not that I didn't think about suicide after my first botched attempt. I would find myself entertaining the idea often. I felt it every time I was banished to my room for the day. Doesn't sound so bad, and it wouldn't have been, but I could overhear from my room all the nasty comments my parents made about me. It's tough to be criticized. It's excruciating when it comes from those that are supposed to love you. The thought that constantly crossed my mind was "If my mom doesn't love me, who will?". I didn't have an answer but I knew it certainly wasn't me.

Four years later I attended homecoming with my new boyfriend, Jacob. He was a junior that drove his own car and offered me a ride to school.  One morning he brought a dozen roses with him and asked me to the dance. I ecstatically said yes, trying to conceal how lucky I felt to carry roses with me to school that day.

I brought my homecoming pictures with me to visit my family three hours South.  Dad loved them but when I asked if I could take them to my cousin's place my dad said no. He was adamant that I not see him. My cousin had been in a lot of trouble lately and I felt that he needed his family to support him but dad disagreed.

After dad left my grandma gave me a ride to my cousin's house anyway.  I showed my cousin my Homecoming pictures, excited to show him my new boyfriend. I brought my new Alannis Morrisette CD with me as well, not realizing it would be the soundtrack of my rape, my first sexual experience.

I was horribly ashamed.  I didn't speak more than a few words to anyone until I saw Jacob two days later.  Being the upstanding and responsible person he is, Jacob dragged me to the counselor's office.  I was then sent to the police station for a report and the hospital to have my genitals probed with a magnifying glass by a group of nurses.  The shame seemed to never end.

My grandparents were notified and made the decision to never tell my dad what happened. To say I felt horrible would be a huge understatement. Not only did I disobey my dad, but my cousin, who he already had issues with, raped me while I disobeyed him. It was a double whammy.

The only time I ventured South during the next year was for the deposition. My grandparents told everyone they were going to the beach so no one would know I was in town. I felt like a shameful secret.

By the time a year had rolled by, I was feeling pretty suicidal. I missed everyone, especially my Dad. I had a hard time talking to him, the shame was overwhelming. I couldn't tell him he had been right, that I made a huge mistake and that I was sorry. We knew he'd murder my cousin.

Then the unthinkable happened.  On October 26th, 1996, at 10:41pm, my dad was in a drunk driving accident. He had been out with a coworker that had given him a bad deal. This night was supposed to make it up to my Dad. My step mom, 8.5 months pregnant, answered the door to the frantic neighbor. He was looking for my dad to help with the accident that just happened across the street. No one realized it was dad until they saw him lying on the ground. He was ejected from the car and died instantly.  

His viewing is when I realized I couldn't commit suicide.  I not only felt the raw, gut-wrenching pain of losing a parent, but I saw the pain everyone else was experiencing as well. I knew then that I had to stick it out. Even if it still meant living with parents that hate me.

Until October of 2005, suicide had increasingly felt like the only way to end my emotional turmoil and the wreckage that was my life. Unbeknownst to me I had Borderline Personality Disorder. I was overly emotional, impulsive and could switch between love and hate in a heart beat. As relationships fell out around me I felt more and more isolated, alone and ashamed. My behavior was always the cause of my problems. I had usually lost my temper at someone, raising my voice and saying mean things that I didn't mean. Nothing fizzles out friendship more than mean, hurtful comments yelled across a room.

Then an Oprah episode came on. I was huddled in the corner of my closet under blankets, positioned so I could still see the TV. My dog, Abby, was by my side with her face gently pressed into my leg to comfort me. Faith Hill was the topic. She spoke about her life which of course sounded amazing. What happened inside me though was not jealousy or even envy. It was the realization that I could never and would never feel true happiness. Looking at the facts, my history with others and the chaos that surrounded me, I knew that I couldn't be happy and I just gave up.  

I decided I needed to save the world from my horribleness so I looked up the dosage on my fiance's sleep medication. I made sure I took enough and went to bed, thinking how incredibly easy it was to swallow a handful of pills. As I drifted off I felt relieved to escape my feelings.  I had been drowning in sorrow and heart ache knowing that I was not good enough for anything. I hadn't been able to maintain success, everything always ended in shambles. I thought I took care of the problem.

I woke up two hours later because I had to pee. I will never forget the terrible, horrendous feeling. My body was dying and I could feel it happening. Every inch of my skin and my organs were screaming in agony. I fell out of bed and my fiance noticed something was wrong. I told him about the pills and he lost his shit.  All he could keep asking is "Did you really take those pills?!?". Since I couldn't speak it was really annoying that he kept asking the question, over and over.  

When we got to the hospital, I fell out of the car and stumbled into the Emergency Room.  The lady behind the counter looked horrified as she called for a wheel chair as I fell to the ground again.

My next memory is of me on the exam table, with the doctor inserting a catheter and me screaming. I was convulsing and dying.

The next morning I woke up in ICU. I had two plastic chest paddles stuck to my chest, ready to go off in case my heart stopped. Apparently my research had paid off and I took a huge dose of those pills. The college I went to sent a Psychology student to come talk to me and evaluate my mental health. I must have passed with flying colors because the hospital released me that day, with no follow up appointments made.  

There was another attempt in October of 2011 after a year-long addiction to Spice.  Turns out though that antidepressants don't do much when used to OD.

So it's been a few years with no real attempts but a lot of ideation. I just can't seem to pull it off the table, which frightens the Hell out of the part of me that is sane. It might be a small part, but it is definitely alive. When I read the statistic that 10% of Borderlines successfully commit suicide I scream inside. I don't want to die. The problem is that I sometimes know that my loved ones would be better off with out the burden of putting up with me. Of course, I am wrong when that goes through my head but it is right to me at the time.

A note to my future self:  

If you are thinking about suicide, please give yourself at least 24 hours to mull it over.

Even though you might think you're right about this doesn't mean you can't talk it out with someone in the meantime. You're worth that, every single person is worth a conversation.  1.800.273.8255 to talk it out.