Thought Storms

Endeavoring to explain the phenomenon of suicidal ideation to someone who has not experienced it themselves has led to much contemplation over the years. The judgment, particularly the self-judgment is thick and oppressive like humidity. The dark thunderheads first appeared when I was 13 years old. I can remember lying on my bed, feeling overcome by the darkness that flooded my mind, startled by its arrival like one is when the boom and crackle of thunder surprises you when the sun is shining. It does not make sense. And that is why it is so hard to explain. We want to understand something inherently irrational rationally. This is the humidity. When we cannot understand something, we often resort to judgment so that we can escape the discomfort of not knowing.?

In my early teen years, it would rumble in for a few hours and then disappear. I was so relieved at its departure that I did not speak of it nor try to understand. As if I had glimpsed something I should not have, the shame immobilized my tongue.

When I was 16, I remember being plagued for several days by these thought storms, and I remember steering into a shady part of town hoping something bad might happen to me so I could escape the darkness and shame. Then there was a night where I was drinking at a bar that overlooked a lake and I jumped in hoping to escape the roar of the tornado thrashing within me. I do not recall telling or being asked why I jumped in. Easy enough to chalk it up to the influence of alcohol, I suppose. I was a teenager doing things I was not supposed to be doing, so being secretive was a natural part of the landscape.?

I have a hazy memory of those thrashing thoughts as I teetered on the ledge of the dock, and it simply was this: I need to escape this pain. This may help numb the noise, turn down the volume. I did not necessarily want to die or was trying to and yet I needed a reprieve from the intensity of the thought storm. Much like when the eye of a hurricane passes over or the stillness of the ocean before another set of waves roll in, I was seeking the lull.

At 16, I did not understand that help could be found outside of myself. I did not know that existed. What I was experiencing felt so taboo that I did not have the language to ask for help.?

Like the chaos of a tornado, you have little time to take cover and know little of what will remain after the storm passes. Its fury may flatten your home and leave your neighbors unscathed. The chaotic thinking leads you to believe everyone is better off without you; that you are a burden.

When I was 20, it was the first time?that depression settled in persistently for weeks at a time like a sweat-soaked T-shirt that is hard to remove and even after you do there is the film of sweat that remains on your skin and no matter how many showers you take there is not enough soap or water to wash it away.??

This film can feel like a 200 lb. cloak that you cannot take off as you go about the daily tasks that were once inconsequential parts of your daily routine???Brushing your teeth now feels like scaling Mt. Everest. Bathing has suddenly been rendered as impossible or as your greatest achievement of the day. Again, it does not make sense. There is no explanation for this sudden immobility of an able body. We all want tidy explanations. In the harsh, messy landscape of mental illness where suicidal ideation is the most stigmatized symptom, tidiness is a mirage.?

At 20, I started experiencing insomnia for the first time and I remember reading my first book on sleep, trying to find a solution for this problem or symptom I was experiencing. The lack of sleep allowed me to rationalize my declining mood and the lethargy I was experiencing. Feeling exhausted was the reason I declined social invitations. I found a lot of plausible explanations for why I was not myself, but the term clinical depression was not one of them in 1993.

? As I resumed college after that summer, the fog of depression lifted, and I had a peaceful lull for several months until the following spring. My ability to concentrate rapidly deteriorated and I found myself retching from anxiety.?I was concerned about my grades suffering and this was interpreted by my general practitioner as anxiety, and I was prescribed Xanax. One pill was enough, I felt so woozy that it further impaired my ability to function. I struggled through the end of the semester and as despair darkened and skewed my thoughts, I could see the impact my downward spiral was having on my family. I became convinced that I was hurting them by breathing. I believed they would be better off without me. I was a burden. Death was the only option.

So that thought storm became life threatening by the belief that death was my only option to escape this pain and unburden my family. I drove myself to a park. I parked my car. I swallowed 29 pills of Xanax with water. I toss the empty bottle into the trash and made my way to a picnic table, sat down, removed my glasses, laying my head on folded arms, closed eyes, waiting for death to come.?

The time between then and when I woke in the hospital with my arms restrained is fragmented with bits of flashback memory, eyewitness account from the good Samaritan who found me and drove me to the hospital, and medical professional notes. As I came to, I saw my mother, father, and younger brother at the foot of my bed. Their facial expressions flooded my heart with shame and my mind with anger and as I turned away that is when I became aware that my arms were tied to the bed.?

The thought storms I experience today have evolved and so have I in my ability to cope. Suicidal ideation is still a chronic symptom and now I experience it like a radio frequency, most of the time it is like an annoying gnat that I can ignore or swat away when engaged in the activities of life. I have come to reframe my suicide attempts as my best failures. I feel so much gratitude to still be here even when my mind darkens. I have learned to separate my thoughts from beliefs. I have learned that suicidal thoughts themselves are not where the danger lies, but rather it is my beliefs I must manage. As long as I believe I have more options than acting on those thought storms, I will remain here and be safe. I remind myself that all I need to do is wait for the thought storm to pass. Just wait for the storm to pass. This mantra diffuses the power of impulsivity to escape pain by suicide. I let the thought storms pass through me and over the years I have found other tools to help me cope. My mission is to help you find your tools too, to persuade you to not act on those thoughts. To wait out the storm with you.?