Continuing Life When You Want To Die

I can't pinpoint a day in time when I realized I was depressed, but I can remember the first time I cut myself while trying to cope after a death of a dear cousin of mine when I was in fifth grade. Silly me, I hadn't even experienced a fraction of the hopelessness that would come; although, that doesn't mean that what I was experiencing as a young elementary student wasn't real and very painful. It was the first time I understood loss, or I guess I should say that it was the first time I did NOT understand loss. And that's when I started to realize I didn't understand a lot of things about this world. I definitely didn't understand the people around me, but most of all I began to realize I did not understand myself. 

I don't even know if I knew what the word depressed meant when I was in 5th grade, but by the time 6th grade rolled around and my mother was diagnosed with cancer, I would know. You would think that the fact that my mom had a deadly illness would be the main source of my sadness but the deep sadness came from the lack of being able to talk about my mom's cancer and being asked to hide it at her request. I only wanted to understand what was happening. I believe that's when I subconsciously decided that if I didn't get close to my mom, it wouldn't hurt to lose her.

I struggled through middle school with depression. It had a root in my mind and a seed in my heart and It was slowly growing. I took all the little things right to the heart and I didn't know how to stop letting things affect me so personally and I didn't feel like I could ask. So anytime I was called annoying it would water that seed and anytime I wouldn't reach a sports goal it would fertilize that root and anytime I would have one friend tell me what another friend said about me I could feel that seed of depression growing. Of course these things would make people sad, but I didn't know how to let them go. They were the only things that I knew defined me and I had felt these negative feelings come from people I valued. And that is when I realized that nothing, nothing in this world mattered more to me than what other people thought of me.

When I reached high school I became really good at hiding my feelings because I cared what people thought of me and I heard what people said about other people who expressed their feelings a lot. I knew it made people uncomfortable and often made them feel like the person wanted a 'pity party'. I tried so hard to act in ways I thought people liked so that I could get everyone to like me; yet, no matter how hard I tried there was always a few (that I knew about, I'm sure their were more) that didn't like me. And no matter how many people DID like me, there were still a few that didn't and they were the ones that I let determine my worth. I was also hiding the real me behind all sorts of personalities, beliefs, and goals that were not my own but other people's. Because I was trying to please everyone and not just a specific group of people, I can imagine that I probably looked a lot like 100 different puzzles mixed together in a massive pile of shambles. I couldn't come together with a new identity because I was trying to make all these puzzles fit into one shape, which was impossible. I assume that a lot of people thought I was fake, bipolar, clingy, and needy. And I was, I had to be in order to hold these mix-matched pieces in some sort of array.

I played sports throughout high school and loved them. Unfortunately, I wasn't really getting any better as I got older because my mental game became my whole game. Physically, I could have done better but my mental game held me back. If I messed up, I was sure that the whole crowd was talking about how I should be pulled. I believed my coaches were thinking that they shouldn't have me start or maybe even play. I thought my teammates disliked me because I had let them down by losing the game from my mistakes. I thought that they pretended to like me because they felt like that had to because I was part of their team. With each error I made I would panic because I knew one or all of the previously listed situations were going to happen. Can you imagine making multiple errors with this mind set? Trust me, you don't want to. Why did I have this mindset in sports? I had heard people in the crowd before. I knew how harsh they could be. I had seen coaches pull players because of mistakes. I had heard teammates bash on other teammates. And I knew how important sports were to the people I valued and I was sooo afraid of letting them down. I simply cared what people thought of me.

In high school, my mom's cancer got worse and so did my self esteem. It was just one thing after another. The boys I liked wouldn't like me back. I could physically see my mother withering away each day. I was so busy trying to please everyone that I never took time for myself. I watched my mom's self built walls be tore down by disease. I would compare myself to my friends, celebrities, and other athletes. I was extremely rude to my mom because I constantly was pushing her away hoping not to be hurt when she died. I wasn't smart and I couldn't stay caught up in school. And then I watched her die. I felt her die. The June before my senior year she died. And part of me died too.

My depression was there long before my mom died, but her dying took my depression to an all time low. I not only had lost my mom in June, but I also was practically living alone by August. My dad was trying to cope as well and found someone to help him cope. He spent all his spare time with her. I can't imagine losing a spouse and am happy that he has found someone to finish this life with, but that left me with a lot of alone time. And guess what, I pushed him away too. I was angry at how fast he had moved on, (his first date was three weeks after my mom died), and I was angry that he had such a good relationship with this new woman (four months later she was his fiancé) when my mom and his relationship hadn't seemed that good to me. (Although, I never saw my mom and dad at the first of their relationship, which does change things.) I was angry because I didn't understand ANY of it. And so I lived alone with a broken heart from my mom passing and a bitter heart towards my dad who probably needed me as much as I needed him. My senior year was probably the worst year of my life. I had great friends, coaches, sisters, aunts, and teachers who I tried to make believe that I was happy, but they must have known I was not because they still reached out to me and helped me in ways that I can never repay.

In my despair I struggled with attending school, because going to bed at night was impossible and waking up was even more so. I made decisions that made my self hate grow beyond what I imagine to be the worst hate anyone could have for themselves. I still was clinging to anyone who would take me and trying to be whoever it was that they wanted. This led to many more poor decisions on my part and more self hate. Soon, I became numb. I no longer felt anything. I was so used to sadness that it just became .. my entire life. There wasn't happiness in anything, not even my most favorite things. I practically graduated high school early because I thought that if I left my house (where I was alone and where my mom died ) then I would be happy. I went and lived with my sister and became dependent on my boyfriend at the time. But it didn't help like I thought it would. Nothing helped. And then my relationship ended and high school ended and everything familiar ended and I found myself even lower than before.

At that point in life I was pretty desperate for attention. I clung to friends and family, well anyone really. I felt like I was so needy and that everyone was so annoyed with me, but I couldn't do anything about it because I was so so so afraid of being alone again. I didn't even know who I was without others to define me. And then suddenly I was back in my empty house for the summer. I was alone again and I was depressed and barely functioning but somehow I would still wake up day after day. I was still here in a strange combination of people's opinions and desires all meshed up into a girl who was the master of  faking it so it looked like she was making it. 

And then the time for college came. Little things like college or Holidays would distract me momentarily and my depression would lessen for what seemed a mere second. No, the depression did not go away at all. It was only like I was drowning in 10 feet of water instead of 15 feet, I was still drowning you see, but I was just closer to not drowning. Does that make sense? No? Well neither does depression.

And the days in college went by and I existed. I was living with three of my great friends from Highschool and they were always so sweet to me. I completed assignments last minute because I knew it was important to pass and I didn't want to lose my scholarship. But finding motivation in a soul filled with melancholy is like looking for fresh water when you're lost at sea. Soon I found myself waist deep in school work that was overdue and couldn't be turned in late. I had 0% confidence in my abilities especially when it came to school. I was blessed in highschool to have those compassionate teachers who let me get by on the bare minimum but that was only the luxury of a small town with people who knew my family's story, and people who cared. At my college of 30,000 students I was just another kid.

I remember getting myself out of bed one morning at 8:30 a.m. and to me that was as early in the morning as 4:00 a.m. would be to normal people since my sleeping schedule was still not on any schedule at all.. But I did it, I got out of bed and made it to school. I went to my first class and was walking to my second. It was everything I could do to put one foot in front of the other and I didn't even know why I should put one foot in front of the other. And I saw a seat in the sun by the window and I told myself I would just sit down for a few minutes. I knew I had to make it to my next class because if I missed that class again then my grade would drop half a grade. Sure enough I woke up an hour later and missed the entire class. The thoughts I had towards myself were ruthless. And after that I didn't go back to school because I saw no reason to do so. I couldn't find meaning to anything. I laid in bed all day until someone would call me out from my bed and then I would turn on my happy face and give them whatever they wanted. I was really good at faking it. I could tell that I was getting worse at pretending I was okay though. I started to give up on everything even the most important thing which was people's opinions of me.  For at least a solid four years I wished that I was dead EVERY SINGLE DAY. You probably think that is an exaggeration, but it's 100% accurate. Before those four years I was still seriously depressed, confused, and hopeless. And so it does make sense that I would get burned out of trying after all that time. I still don't understand why this was, but it was there and very real and I was the only person who really knew how deep it went.

And then my grandma died, she was someone who I basically lived with until I was eight years old & still continued to help raise me afterwards. Her death brought back my mom's death. And it also brought on another shadow of regret because I reminded myself of all the things I didn't do. The timing was really bad as timing always seems to be. All that time I had been laying in bed left me with my irrational thoughts. I was emotionally vulnerable & couldn't make sense of anything. The lack of understanding things has always troubled me. I could not see ANY of my worth. I had lost my scholarship, I was gaining weight, I was pushing away my friends, I was in a relationship with someone who I refused to believe cared about me, I had pushed my dad away, I had never had a good relationship with my dead mother, I never reached my goals that I had in highschool, and I had no new goals at that point, I had no idea what to do with my future if I were to even make it to a future point, and on and on and on. These thoughts were spoken to myself in a very ruthless and unfair way. These soul wrenching thoughts consumed me, and I had allowed them to tell me what I was worth. Everything that I had ever felt bad about was soaking into me. One night I found myself in so much pain that I even began crying. The pain had taken over the numbness I had been feeling and I was hysterical. I found myself with a knife in my bed. And was cutting into myself to relieve my pain. I wanted to die so badly. I wanted someone to come into my room and just kill me. I had a million ways to do it myself but I was so scared that I would fail and have to live through everyone's criticism and 'love' out of pity. But cutting took my mind to a lesser pain. A physical pain detoured my mental suffering. The gashes in my wrist were like medication for my mind. I was sure I hadn't been able to think so clearly. Seeing the blood and feeling the sting was all I could think about and I felt refreshed. 

I guess self-harm for me has been like medication that someone would take when they are sick. If I had a cold & I took NyQuil to make me feel better, I would still be sick but I would have some relief from the sickness. Cutting gives relief from the mental illness, but it is fairly instant unlike NyQuil. Self-harm is less like NyQuil and more like a very serious drug in the aspect of addiction. The first time you cut it relieves you but the second time you cut you have to go deeper to get that same relief. And each time the self-harm has to get worse in order for you to feel any temporary relief. At least this is how it was for me. And it is addictive and it is terrible. If you are reading this and are considering cutting then please reconsider. Cutting DOES NOT cure depression (or anything else) it makes it WAY WORSE. If you want to take the feelings of depression you have now and magnify them by one hundred thousand while also adding in a unsafe amount of anxiety then... STILL do not cut yourself. Okay, let's say depression is like drowning in the Ocean, pretty hopeless right? Well adding cutting to your depression is like being chained to the bottom of the ocean with just enough oxygen to keep you alive, but still completely miserable... oh yeah and there is also that whale/shark/devil thing off Jurassic World circling around you and it's not going to eat you because seriously depressed people would be okay with that, it's just going to make you wish that it would eat you by torturing you ruthlessly. And that shark, devil thing is what anxiety is like. It takes our depressive world and turns all our deepest fears into what we believe is complete reality. Do you get it? Cutting is a bad idea, okay? Any further questions please e-mail me at maloriannhowell@gmail.com.

Okay, where was I? Oh yeah.. so I was getting addicted to cutting and my cuts were getting deeper and deeper each time because the previous cut wasn't 'cutting it' anymore. #punny No, actually this is really serious. I wanted to die and I was close to killing myself.. I knew how I was going to do it, I just didn't know when. I wanted to write a letter to every single person I knew and explain to them why it wasn't their fault and why it had nothing to do with anyone but myself. I believed I was weak and pathetic and I wanted to explain that to everyone so they wouldn't blame themselves. I didn't want anyone to say "I wish I would have.." because I knew that there was nothing anyone could have done to fix this broken puzzle of a worthless girl that was doing nothing more than just breathing. If my boyfriend wouldn't have taken my suicidal thoughts and the cuts on my wrists seriously then I know someone would have found my dead body. My boyfriend texted my sisters and let them know what was going on and my sisters came to my apartment without me knowing. They took me to the hospital where I was entered into the Mental Health Clinic. A guy checked me in and ran me through the procedures that I would be going through during my stay and then he gave me to a nurse. The nurse explained to me that I would have my own room because a girl just checked out. Then she told me I wasn't allowed a pony tail and listed off all the other things I could not have. My clothes and other belongings were taken from me for security purposes and then she examined my entire body head to toe completely naked to make sure I wasn't hiding anything on me that I could harm myself or other patients with. She then gave me a hospital gown and socks with grips on the bottom. She gave me a blanket that was itchy and thin and then left the room. I went to the bathroom to look in the mirror and saw that the mirror was just shiny metal with dents in it. It wasn't glass so that I couldn't break it and cut myself. I took a shower and found they only had soap. I then went and laid in bed and a nurse brought me an increased dose of the anti-depressant I had already been taking and then she gave me some salve to put on my cuts. She then told me that I couldn't sleep with my blanket covering my face because I would be checked on throughout the night. I went to bed and woke up a few hours later with a bright beam of light shining in my eyes. I had no idea where I was or what was going on a jolted back and hit my head on the wall. The guy with the flashlight popped his head in and told me that he was just checking on me. I woke up the next day pretty late in the afternoon. I had missed breakfast. I came out of my room into a commons area to see a round guy who was wearing a painted bowl on his head. I then noticed an older lady who was sitting on her head up against the wall and shaking her head and feet around unnaturally. There were a handful of people in the open room and none of them seemed to noticed me. Me and the upside down lady were the only ones wearing hospital gowns. (Luckily, she was wearing sweatpants underneath the gown since she was upside down.) I came out into this commons area where everyone was to see what exactly I was supposed to be doing. Nobody had given me a schedule and I didn't really know the purpose of this place. Was it just a place where I could exist without hurting myself? There was an office like room where I could see the staff through the window. I guessed this is where they watched us from? I knocked on the glass and asked the guy who opened the door what I should do. He acted like he didn't understand my question and I didn't really know what I was asking either. I just didn't know what the point or purpose here was and nobody had really told me. So I told him that I needed to call some people to tell them my code. People were allowed to call me but they had to have a code and I had to be the one to give them the code. I hated calling people for a reason I still don't know but I did call my boyfriend and told him to tell my sisters my code "Santa's got a brand new bag". I received several calls from my sisters and boyfriend. One of my sisters asked when she could visit and what she could bring me. I told her to bring me shampoo, conditioner, a blanket, sweats, and a t-shirt. And then I went back to my room and slept. I was woken up for lunch. Lunch was just on a table in the commons area so I assumed this is where we would spend most of our time since it was the only room we had been in so far and all the doors were locked. There wasn't really anything in the commons area though, Just the lunch table and some chairs. There was a tray of food with my name on it. I was sat right next to the bowl hat guy. We started talking and he was really friendly. I guess he had been their for a really long time and he just kept telling me that he didn't know what to do about it. That really scared me because I already felt that way and I had only been there for one day. I asked him why he didn't just say he wanted to leave and then... leave. He told me that once we were admitted into the mental health clinic we had to have a psychiatrist's written permission for us to leave. I didn't even think that was a legal thing to do but if it was true then what chance did I have to get out of that place? If he didn't know what he was supposed to do to get out of there after months of being there then what hope did I have? So the conversation ended and we started eating our lunch. Although, bowl hat guy was an awesome guy, every single time he bit down into his food his teeth would hit together in the most annoying and irritating chatter sound that made pieces of styrofoam rubbing together sound like peace on earth. I got to the point where I just decided I would rather be hungry than listen to it. So I went to my room again and laid in bed. I wanted to sleep. It was my favorite thing to do, but I couldn't sleep. After a while I had found that I had drifted off. I woke up to find that I hadn't slept for very long at all. I got out of bed and went and knocked on the glass. I asked them if I could go home and they said I could not. I then asked why and the lady proceeded to tell me that I needed to prove to the psychiatrist and to the rest of the staff who would report to the psychiatrist that I was safe to leave. She also mentioned that I needed to participate in the activities that happened throughout the day. I asked her when I could meet with this psychiatrist because I knew that I could pretend to be okay because I had done it for years. She told me that I had slept through my appointment with him that morning and that he wouldn't be back until the next morning. I started to have an anxiety attack and headed to my room. I was pulling out my hair and breathing rapidly. My grandma's funeral was in a few days and I didn't even know if I would be out of the crazy home in time to go to it! I was also very upset because I was supposed to get myself out of the clinic by doing things I didn't even know I was supposed to be doing? I didn't even remember I had a psychiatrist appointment and I didn't know it was optional to attend! I wasn't sure if I had been told about this and I really was just a crazy person who had lost their mind completely or if they just hadn't informed me. It didn't matter though I knew I couldn't sleep all day like I had done if  I wanted to get out of there. And that's when I turned on my happy face. At dinner I went a spoke with all the other patients and I ate my dinner even though I was placed right next to the bowl hat guy and his chattery teeth again. I tried to speak to the lady who was upside down earlier that day but she appeared to be in some distant place and unreachable. She just wandered around and mumbled to herself quietly. I asked a friendly homosexual guy how we knew what the schedule of activities were and apparently it was posted right on the wall next to my bedroom. After dinner there was an hour of visiting time and my boyfriend came and visited with my sister who brought me the stuff I had asked for. I was only allowed two visitors at a time. The clinic staff took the bag of stuff from her because they had to examine it before they would allow me to have any of it. After they my visitors left I was told I couldn't have the shampoo and conditioner because they don't know if anything had been put in it and if I tried to consume it then it could possibly kill me. And then they told me that I couldn't have my sweats unless they took the elastic band out of it because I could use it to strangle myself. So they took my favorite pair of sweats that I had gotten from basketball my senior year and cut out the elastic band. I realized at the end of the first day that being there wasn't helping my mental health at all.

The next day I woke up and went and met with my physiatrist and told him that if I didn't go to my grandma's funeral then I would be much worse off. I told him I would be surrounded by family and that if he wanted me to come back after the funeral I would. He said, "I will wait to see how your day goes today and then we will decide tomorrow when your release date will be." I went through the day and did everything that was on the schedule. I ate all my meals and I did the crafts where I watched the bowl hat guy paint another bowl to use as a hat. There was a new girl and I introduced myself to her. And the homosexual guy told me his life story and it was very interesting. He was going to be released that day. He was so excited to leave and I was excited for him. I also tried to talk to the staff as much a possible (even though they were locked away in the office almost all of the time.) I went to a self help class they had and participated by answering questions and filling out the paper. And then I had two more visitors that night. And then I got ready for bed and I fell asleep. I woke up during the night because they had gotten another patient and they informed me that she was going to share a room with me. I remember the nurse tried talking to her but she wouldn't respond. I tried to talk to her after the nurse left but she just stared at the window and said nothing. It scared me because I realized I was just another one of these people. At the point I realized that that was how everyone in the outside world viewed me; someone who was crazy, unreachable, and lost. I wasn't sure if I wanted to leave anymore. I had decided that I belonged there. Throughout the night I couldn't sleep. I don't think my roommate slept either. We both had quiet sobs for the entire duration of the night. I didn't know what to do anymore. I thought about it all night and then decided that I had to go to my grandma's funeral regardless of if I was crazy or not.

I don't really know how many days I was in the Mental Health Clinic but when I finally got out I was so so grateful. Have I self harmed since I left the clinic? Yes. Have I thought about killing myself since I left the clinic? Yes. Did the clinic help me at all? It helped me realize that I never want to go back there. Returning to that place is one of my greatest fears. Then why am I still alive if I was so determined to die before the clinic and the clinic didn't help? My boyfriend and sisters came and pulled me out of bed every day. They never left my side. They helped me do everything, even the basic little things. They made me attend therapy and made me talk about my feelings and they pulled me along to activities. All of these things helped immensely even though I never wanted to do any of it. But what helped the most was coming to know my God and my savior and the power they have to not only help me but to save me. I could go on and on about how God and Christ saved me and I actually will in a future post but for now I am just telling the story. I just want to let you know that if you turn to God on your knees and ask for the Savior's atonement to enter into your life and for it to heal your heart and mind or anything else for that matter, then you will be healed, I promise.

I know that people have a hard time understanding depression & to be honest I do too. No two cases are alike and I am more than willing to answer any questions about my personal experience. I know some people feel unloved, I knew I was loved. But depression is so complex that we can't just point it at one thing and say "this is why she/he is depressed." A lot of people who know I suffer from depression automatically assume it's because my mom died of cancer. My depression began way before my mom died and I had therapy way before my mom died. My mom's death was a huge factor in my depression but you must realize it's not the only factor. There are so many things that cause depression and I have only listed a handful of things in an infinite amount of reasons as to why I suffer from depression. There are some reasons that I did not list that I do know contributed to my depression and there are many reasons I do not know and therefore could not list. One thing I know for sure though is that it's curable, but it's not easy. It's not meant to be cured on it's own and it won't just go away by doing nothing. If you ignore cancer it's not just going to disappear and depression is the same way. Unfortunately, that is why saying "I'm going to be positive today" isn't going to make it all better although, that can be a tremendous help, you must seek help from a therapist who can unravel the mess of reasons behind your mental suffering.

I want you to know that depression and anxiety can cause people to be VERY irrational but telling them that they are irrational does not fix anything or help in anyway. The things people feel when they are suffering from anxiety and depression may be irrational but they feel very real and scary and painful to the person who is suffering.

I would like to note that just because I suffer from depression does not mean I do not enjoy things. I enjoy a lot of things. The picture below depicts this perfectly.

Although, in the words above it does sound like I did fake my entire life. My puzzle pieces were still in that mixture of puzzles and often were expressed. I did pretend to be a lot things I am not but I was still there in some form. A lot of people probably know the real me to some level. Everything you know about me isn't a total lie, but there are some things that you think you know about me that probably aren't really me. I'm still trying to sort out all the puzzle pieces and figure out who I really am so please be patient with me.

I also need you to understand that everything I have expressed above is only me trying to break down what happened so I can better understand it. I still do not understand most of it. My therapist told me that writing in a journal is one of the best ways to help yourself through mentally hard times. I am writing this in order to better help myself and I am posting it publicly so that I can help others too! That means if you are struggling with this, then reach out to me!

Another thing people need to understand is that depression can affect anyone. I played three sports, had/have the greatest group of friends, had/have the BEST family, was in student government, was a sterling scholar, varsity team captain, etc. and I still was very depressed. I remember a young man at my high school killed himself and I remember everyone saying "he had so many friends and was always laughing, why would he be depressed?" And it hurt so bad for me to hear that because that was an exact description of me. I was suicidal and I had a lot of friends and I definitely laughed but someone just told me that it wasn't okay for me to feel the way I did and have the things I had. PLEASE BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU SAY.
If physical diseases were treated like mental illness:

Another thing I believe is necessary for everyone to know is that my depression isn't anyone's fault but my own and maybe it's not even my fault. Please remember that whether you are a family member, friend, coach, or complete stranger it is not your fault. I don't even know if it is my own fault or who's fault it is or if it is anyone's fault at all. All I know is that I am trying. I have had a total of six therapists throughout this journey and my favorite and most beneficial has been my Heavenly Father. If you are struggling, please don't give up. Everyday will not be as bad as today and there is so much help out therefore you. Please let me be your proof that even after years and years of suffering from depression and anxiety there still is a reason to keep living and keep trying. It's been one year since I was in the Mental Health Clinic and year ago I would never believe I would be where I am today. I got my scholarship back, I got engaged and then married. I am going to school. I have a great job. And although depression still knocks me down fairly often, I have a reason to keep fighting and I know you do too. "You were not created to live depressed, defeated, guilty, condemned, ashamed, or unworthy. You were created to be victorious."