Category : Books-Non-Fiction

Sub Category : Biography

This is my first post from the blog. As a writer I'm just finding my voice. So this is one of two I'll be posting right away. 
POSTED ON MARCH 17, 2018 BY ASHLYNN STONE
Suicide–The Inconvenient Truths I’ve Hidden
~~Note from Ash—A dear friend has been struggling with suicidal thoughts throughout a good portion of her life. Knowing she’s not the only one suffering, I asked if she’d share her story with you, so you knew you weren’t alone in the fight. I had my own suicidal demons, albeit not to the same extreme. Suicide is real, people. It is a symptom of something deeper. With proper help, which my friend receives, suicide is preventable. The only way to end the stigma of suicide is to shout it from the rooftops. If enough of us shout, people will listen
Suicide–The Inconvenient Truths I’ve Hidden. Written by my anonymous friend—After talking to Ash about this subject, she asked if I would like to post about the issue on her blog as a guest blogger. I jumped at the chance because I’m very passionate about mental health.
I’ve wanted to write this forever, but I was terrified for the longest time. Would people from my past judge me? Would they call me out even though they had no idea what I was going through? Would they take it personally? But after a while, I realized this is MY story. I can’t keep holding back for other people’s feelings. This was what I hid for YEARS, and I can’t keep it up for my own sanity. I should let you know I hold no ill will toward anyone in here. But everything I’m saying is true.
I see lots of suicides in the news, and of course, it makes me sad. But I feel there are some misconceptions about suicide. If you have suicidal thoughts, it doesn’t always mean that you would act on your thoughts. It also doesn’t mean you’re being selfish. People who have suicidal thoughts are often suffering from depression and maybe other things too. And suicidal thoughts are not easy to spot.
I have depression, anxiety, and PTSD. I was diagnosed with depression when I was fourteen. I was diagnosed with anxiety and PTSD when I was seventeen. I’ve had suicidal thoughts constantly from the age of thirteen to twenty. I’ve had people ask me if I have PTSD because I was a soldier. No, I have PTSD because my dad passed away when I was seventeen, and due to decisions made, rumors spread, and so much more. I felt I lost that part of my family. I would love to go further into it and I will later. But I don’t understand how people can think only soldiers can get PTSD. PTSD can affect anyone who has gone through something traumatic. Anyway, I still deal with depression, anxiety, and PTSD but on a much smaller scale. Suicidal thoughts are almost nonexistent now, but as much as I hate to admit it, they do still show up on occasion.
During high school, not everyone knew I suffered from depression. My family did though. May, one of my moms, and Dad helped me as much as they could. I was on and am still on an antidepressant and saw/see a therapist often. Dad and May even came to some of the appointments to see how to help me. My friends worried about me when I got quiet, but I learned to lie about it to the point where I lied to everyone a lot.
Before I got to high school and started living in Washington state with my dad and family, I started closing myself off. I felt like I wasn’t being heard, my feelings didn’t matter, and I was verbally abused regularly by Debbie, my biological mom. Debbie told me that I was too fat to ever get a boyfriend because in a size five in pants, I was the fattest in my immediate family. That comment was made when I was thirteen and caused my eating disorder. I don’t remember some of the things May said specifically, but we did have our own issues, and I know both moms verbally abused me at one point.
Some of the most memorable things that happened leading up to me moving to Washington state was my mom not hearing me out, Mom outsourced her parenting and disciplining to my dad, and the person she was dating threatened me. Debbie had once again outsourced her parenting for a lie, or something, to her boyfriend at the time. Her boyfriend called me into the dining room. He was polishing one of his guns. He pointed it at me while lecturing me. I saw bullets on the table, but with his temper and drinking, I was worried about there maybe being a bullet in the chamber. I immediately asked Dad if I could move in with him. He said as long as I told my mom. I wanted to leave as soon as possible, but she wanted me to stay until summer vacation. She lashed out at me every chance she got. I get that I hurt her now, but I needed to think about me.
So, by the time I got to Washington I had an eating disorder that I hid eerily well, very little self-esteem, and an inability to ask for help. Dad and May realized the inability to ask for help and low self-esteem immediately. My eating disorder was easy to hide, but it was still an eating disorder. If I could get away with it, I’d only eat one meal a day, but I’d eat every meal if I were in the presence of family. To my friends, I’d say I wasn’t hungry. My friends would worry and convince me to eat something small sometimes.
May tried over and over to tell me it was okay to ask for help, attention, anything. I couldn’t—I still don’t always ask for help when I need it. May would sometimes stay up with me all night to talk about EVERYTHING. But I still couldn’t tell her important things like my suicidal thoughts, getting molested, or anything. I kept the conversation on surface stuff only. Why did I do this? As I mentioned before May and I had our own issues that got worse or appeared when I moved in. She once tried to punch me, but Dad stepped in. She once threatened to call the cops on me because she thought I was molesting her son. I would never, and in all honesty, he molested me. When I broke down crying, she realized that I hadn’t done anything or ever planned to do anything like that. And one day she went through ALL my writing while I was at school. I came home, and she screamed at me. I became impassive like a character in a book series that saved my life more times than I can count. I shut down my emotions, body language, and everything that would tell her my thoughts. She got in my face and said, “If your brother wasn’t here I’d kill you.” then she sent my brother off.
The thing about the suicidal thoughts in my experience is they hit late at night when everyone was asleep. I’d try to reach out by writing my parents a note. The note said, “Please check on me.” I wrote so many of these, but I’d always destroy it before I ever fell asleep. When the thoughts got too bad, I’d list the names of loved ones I’d never want to let down… Dad… my favorite brother… the list went on until I’d cry myself to sleep. The next morning, I was good enough to fake being okay all over again. Those thoughts plagued me three or four days out of the week.
So, I was getting a bit better before Dad passed away. Immediately after Dad passed the family grieved in their own way. I was talking to my first boyfriend on the phone about not knowing what to do after the school year. A brother of mine heard everything, but when he told May, he twisted what I said. So even though I didn’t decide what I WANTED to do after school, May thought I was leaving, so she ripped me a new one every chance she could. I don’t remember what was said, but whatever was said made me think it’d be better to move in with Debbie.
Big mistake. She didn’t want me and made it clear I was ruining her family’s lives. Do I know why she felt I was no longer part of the family? No. Do I know why she felt the need to tell me to my face I was a burden on the family? No. But because of this, all the progress I had made in Washington state was reversed. It didn’t help that I was no longer on the antidepressants that had always helped. I was so closed off, I couldn’t talk to my friends about any of my feelings, like Dad, what I was going through with Debbie or the real reason I moved. On a summer vacation, I found out my mom was planning on kicking me out. Did she tell me to my face? No. I overheard her telling a distant relative. ‘If she didn’t kick me out I’d never amount to anything’ was her thought. She told friends and family, but not me. I was nineteen when she wanted to kick me out. She’s a firm believer that when you’re eighteen, you’re out the door. I’m sure she only let me stay simply to protect her reputation.
After a horrible family vacation, I took a vacation of my own to Redmond/Kirkland, Washington where I felt at home. I took a three weeks’ vacation to mentally decompress. The vacation helped an awful lot, but I still needed to go back to my mom’s house. And I was such a disappointment to her. Even though I was trying to go to college and become an author I was doing nothing with my life in her eyes. And no, she wasn’t telling me I needed to figure out my life she was telling anyone who would fuckin’ listen. I just got to overhear it . It got to the point where I felt like I didn’t really have a family, so why bother sticking around?
Before I was kicked out, I tried to commit suicide by trying to drown myself. What was I thinking as I started filling the tub? I have no family that cares about me (I had one that was nearby), my friends are too far to help (except one). What is the point of hanging around? After I was in the tub, I heard my younger brother’s laughter. I shot up, remembering that the lead singer to ‘All Time Low’ found his brother after he committed suicide and it had destroyed the singer. I didn’t want that for my brother. That’s what told me I needed help from an outside source. I couldn’t protect myself anymore. After my family went to bed, I called the suicide hotline. I made an appointment at a mental health clinic for the next day. I thought if I told my mom she would say I was overreacting like she always said about my feelings. I was nothing in her eyes, possibly worse than that. That night I told a friend in Washington about my attempt, and she ratted me out to a mutual friend. I understood why she did it, but our mutual friend decided to pick a fight rather than talk to me about it. “Why would you do that?” I’d try to answer, and he’d immediately shut me down. Why try to talk to me about my suicide attempt if you don’t want to hear what I had to say? I also hit up the only friend I had nearby and asked him to take me to my appointment. The next day he picked me up and stayed with me through my appointment. He had to call his work while we were waiting and after asking my permission, he said he might be late because his sister (me) was suicidal and she needed him to stay with her. In the end, I could go home.
I was officially kicked out a week or two later and headed to California where I moved in with my mom’s mom. I thought I made the right decision, but I was wrong. Mom’s mom was even more emotionally manipulative than my mom. My thoughts, feelings, ideas were all shot to hell because I was living in a creepy codependent relationship between my grandma and one of my cousins. They could talk shit about me next to my bedroom door, but if I ever wanted to say anything I was shut out. They’d bitch that I never chipped in with money, but when I offered to pay for stuff, I got bitched at. Kayla, my cousin, bitched about me being useless, a mooch, blah blah blah to our grandma full-time, but when I asked Grandma to talk to Kayla about me upstairs, out of hearing range or I complained about her precious Kayla, Grandma would give me the silent treatment. Once again, I was being taught that my thoughts, feelings, and opinions didn’t matter.
The day I had the appointment at the mental health clinic to make sure I wasn’t a danger to myself, I met Adam, my now husband. We chatted on a site for writers and started texting the same night. Our relationship grew as I lived in California. I met his family over Facebook, and I grew close to them. After ten months of being together, I got to meet him in person. We got along in person the same way we did online. The day I left, I had a panic attack because I didn’t want to go back to my grandma’s. Over the next few months, I felt so strangled and so alone that I asked Adam if maybe his family would mind if I moved in over there. He brought it up to his parents, and his parents and I talked about it. They said I could move in, so from June something to July 1st, 2013 I secretly packed my stuff, contacted a moving company, and left.
When I got to New York, I was a nervous wreck. I was antisocial, afraid I’d get kicked out here too. I was worried everyone would hate me. How could I not be? I was taught that I didn’t matter as much as everyone else. Within the first week, I needed my boyfriend, his older sister, and his parents to know my fears. They cried and let me know I was okay. I wasn’t going anywhere. His brothers were also a great help in calming me down. Slowly but surely, I opened up, and they helped me follow my dreams; going to school, getting my degree, and moving out on my own. With my regular therapy appointments, my antidepressants, and the support from my loving family and friends, I’m doing so much better.
But I feel it’s important to add all those insecurities I have will never be gone fully. They’re forever present even when I don’t want them to be. I can be laughing, smiling, and hanging out with friends and family, and in the back of my mind, I’ll wonder if they would be having more fun if I wasn’t there. I, all too often, apologize for my thoughts and feelings. I apologize to Adam and everyone close to me if I feel I’m saying or doing the wrong thing. If my negative voice in the back of my head isn’t talking to me about how I’m not worth a damn, then my moms’ voices are there to pick up the slack. Just writing this, all my insecurities came rushing back. All my twisted emotions came rushing back. On the first night, all I had were ever present nightmares telling me I shouldn’t say anything; people have had it worse. But this doesn’t mean I don’t have a right to speak.