⚠️ TW: mentions of suicidal thoughts/ideation
The first time I realized I was suicidal, I had a plan that I subconsciously made many years before:
If I ever got to that point, do something crazy first.
It made sense to me.
That way, I could still make that choice if I wanted to after the “crazy thing,” but there was also the possibility of more. I had nothing to lose, I was already at the end of my string.
So, I did it.
We, actually. My boyfriend (now husband) and I gave away and sold most of my our possessions, gathered what little money and gear we had, and set off into the unknown.
And the unknown meant a train to Spokane, Washington with nothing but our bikes and a few (heavy) bags of clothing, food, and sparse camping items.
We called it bike tour.
But, it was so much more than bicycles and sleeping pads and gas station burritos. It was a door to an unknown world, the trip that changed everything…and would shape the rest of my life.
But, it wasn’t enough.
I still broke.
Or, that’s how I sometimes think about it. Other times I refer to it as when I went crazy, lost it, had a breakdown, etc. The truth is, three years later I still cannot make sense of what happened.
The hospital called it psychosis. But that word doesn’t mean much to me besides something that people fear.
And I do, too.
But not because it is unknown, but because I’ve lived it.
It was a time where my brain was not mine to control, I was just a passenger to all of the madness.
Sure, I had hallucinations and delusions and an overall “disconnection from reality”.
But, it was so much more than that.
(That, however, is a story for another time.)
Since then, I have spent time in and out of hospitals, intense therapy programs and groups, as well as individual therapy. I have also spent more years recovering, learning to heal, and how to accommodate myself.
I have learned and grown immensely since psychosis, but it hasn’t been an easy ride.
Even with the help of case managers, therapists, psychiatrists and other doctors, friends and family, I still felt like I was on my own to fix my brain.
Now, I realize that I was never broken, but instead have a lot of lessons to learn.
I’m still learning, still growing, still here. And maybe that’s what life is all about.
-the mom with the forehead tattoo
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