People Reach Out All the Time, But We Don’t Always Hear Them

I had another disappointing conversation about mental health. I have too many to count, and I see so many more. I mentioned my medication to a relative, and I got yet another warning about how bad it is to take medicine if it’s not needed. I asked if that’s the advice she would give to a diabetic. Of course, the answer was no.

But apparently, mental health issues don’t seem to count in her book, even though our mental health is inextricably tied to our physical health. Plus, the condition I have has mental health features, but it’s a neurological issue. Why doesn’t that get to count as healthcare?

I grew up witnessing the dangers of addiction in my extended family. I know that I could be at increased risk. I’ve always been careful when managing any potentially addictive medication. I’m also not the kind of person who pops a pill for every little discomfort, be it physical or mental. I’ve put in the work. I’ve tried natural remedies. But I also believe in taking advantage of the advancement of science in a way that past generations would likely have felt lucky to do.

But this isn’t another article about why people should stop giving unsolicited medical advice. I want to talk specifically about death by suicide and the suicide ideation that precedes it. I can’t look at another post telling people to just reach out because I know that they do. We do. People just don’t believe us.

My Personal Results of Reaching Out

I have Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder, or PMDD. In layman’s terms, it’s as if my brain suddenly developed an allergy to my hormones. For two weeks of every month prior to ovulation, I would have mood swings, depression, anxiety, body dysmorphia, rejection sensitivity, body aches and pains, overwhelming fatigue, severe headaches, and so much more. I also had suicide ideation combined with a lowered ability to control impulses. A truly terrifying combination.

I may have had some of the other symptoms before I truly noticed it, but believe me when I say that the suicide ideation was the first symptom that made me sit up and pay attention. Something was wrong. I wanted to die. I didn’t recognize my face in the mirror. I seemed disconnected from my body and the world around me. I was scared. So, I told my then-partner. He immediately offered love, support, and reassurance.

Actually, that’s what I would have liked to have been offered. Instead, I was being selfish and making everything about me. He was having a bad day. I’d been having a good one. Why was I suddenly inventing a crisis?

That was the first time I told someone and was ignored.

Since this recurred for two weeks every single month, it happened more times than that. I’d reach out to a friend and tell them I was scared and just didn’t want to be alive anymore. “Same.” “Me, too.” I’m known for being resilient and overcoming obstacles. I’ve certainly written enough about it. But this was different. I was reaching out, and no one was taking it seriously.

My family had mixed reactions. I got the lecture about avoiding medication. I was informed by one family member that another family member said that it doesn’t even last two weeks (it doesn’t for everyone, but it absolutely can run the full two weeks; look it up); I was exaggerating. Other family members thought I was lazy because I fell asleep at a holiday event when everyone else was outside playing kickball. I was a punchline, not someone so desperately fatigued that I couldn’t stay awake long enough to visit with out-of-town relatives.

I asked at work, looking for some kind of help, compassion, or accommodations. I got fired instead. Not a single accommodation was offered, and the ones I suggested were ignored.

Of all the people I told, my children handled it best. I told them I was sick, and they believed me. They didn’t offer advice. They could see clearly that I was struggling, but I was still trying. I didn’t tell them I had suicide ideation. I just reminded myself over and over that they needed me here.

But sometimes, it didn’t feel that way. It was before their autism diagnosis, and I felt defeated all the time because I couldn’t figure out how to parent them in effective ways. I felt like I was letting them down and letting myself down, too. I was exhausted and overwhelmed, and I was in it alone as I’d always been.

Plus, they’d come home from their father’s house talking about how their house was bigger than mine, and their stepparent cooked elaborate breakfasts every morning. They could afford to go to amusement parks. It was a constant list of everything I didn’t or couldn’t do. I was trying my best, and it felt like I wasn’t needed, a dangerous thought under the circumstances.

And the partner who couldn’t offer comfort? Well, I saw that ending long before it arrived. There’s nothing quite like going through a devastating chronic illness and watching a partner fall out of love with you at the same time. I couldn’t even hold on to the idea of us. I was holding onto myself. I knew that if I brought up how I was feeling at the wrong time or on the wrong day, it would be brushed aside at best and seen as some proof of my selfishness and attempts to hijack the attention at worst.

People are always saying to reach out. But I was. I was reaching out. But I wasn’t getting help. I was just getting ignored, rejected, dismissed, or lectured about what I should be doing that I wasn’t doing already. Pray to Jesus. Be a better person. Manifest it all away with positive thoughts. Take the medication. Don’t take the medication.

Frankly, we don’t need to keep putting the responsibility to reach out on the person who is already suffering. If we see someone struggling, we can reach out to them. We don’t have to wait around to see if they’ll ask for help. Our culture is so focused on victim blaming that we forget to empower ourselves and each other to recognize a struggle and do something, anything, to help alleviate it. We’re walking around a hurting world with blinders on, and it would be so much better if we were all reaching out helping hands whether or not anyone asked for it first.

Finding Help When Reaching Out Doesn’t Work

I had one friend who would listen but was too far away to do much more. She was there, and she believed me. She’s still in my life, and she knows intimately what this has been like for me. She’s been through it every step of the way.

In the end, I took myself to therapy while waiting for a doctor’s appointment to confirm the diagnosis. I leveled with her. For half of every month, I wanted to die. I thought about dying with all seriousness. I hadn’t formed a specific plan, but I was terrified that my lack of impulse control would make it a moment of action I couldn’t take back.

She didn’t tell me “same” and didn’t make light of it. What she did do was get me started on a trauma therapy treatment that could help regulate my nervous system. We came up with a safety plan. I was reassured that if I reached out to her, I wouldn’t be grasping empty air and feeling like the world wouldn’t even notice if I was gone from it.

I’m happy to say that medication manages most of my symptoms now to the point that it feels like I never had an illness at all. But I did. So, I don’t want to see posts about how people should just reach out. I don’t want to hear commentary about why someone died by suicide and what they should have done instead. I don’t want to be told that people “just gave up” when I know that they did everything they could because it’s innate within us to try to survive.

I don’t think we can stop someone who genuinely intends to end their life. I know some people don’t reach out because they don’t want help, just an end to their pain. Sometimes, lives end in a moment where impulse control is low and pain is high. Sometimes, they are planned over time and achieved at a chosen moment. And sometimes, we don’t want to die, but we also don’t know how to keep living the way we’re living. We want help, but every time we reach out, we are reminded that there is no one coming to save us from ourselves.

I reached, and I reached, and I reached until I was exhausted from it. I learned that there are people I won’t ever reach out to again. I know they won’t hear me anyway.

But some people showed up. During the diagnosis process, I signed up for a yoga teacher training with more of an intention to advance my practice than to teach classes. I met the most amazing group of women, and when my PMDD cycle fell during the middle of a yoga retreat that was essential to completion of the program to earn my certificate, I was surrounded by love and compassion. They sent me back to bed to rest. They came and gently woke me up for meals. They offered hugs and held on as long as I needed, often without saying a word. They held me together when I couldn’t do that for myself.

And my local friends rallied around me. We started planning lunch dates for my hardest weeks when I would want to isolate from everyone. Having a planned activity helped me find the will to get out of bed, and every single time, I felt better for having had time with a friend even if I was sad and anxious the whole time. My friends didn’t ask me to cheer up. They just sat with me through the sadness and pain.

The Struggle is Very Real

Before I found the right medication, I found the right support system. It taught me about the people I truly need in my life and in my corner. I know that if I call any one of them and say “help”, they’ll come running. And I know which ones will brush me off, roll their eyes, and act like it’s just not that serious.

People reach out all the time. We just don’t always listen. We don’t always see that the struggle is real, not in a flippant social media post sort of way. The struggle can be life-threatening, and we have to do more than “hard relate” and move on with our lives.

We have to be willing to sit in the struggle with someone who may not have the strength (yet) to get back up. They don’t need cheering up or the latest brand of toxic positivity. They just need someone they can tell the truth, so that if things get really bad, there’s at least one person in the world they can reach out and trust to hold them through it.

If you or someone you love is struggling, here are global resources for help with suicide ideation.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.