Acknowledging death

Content warning; mention of suicidal thoughts, self-harm, and the subject of death.

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It's extremely difficult for me to voice when I'm feeling suicidal. I get the same resistance within myself when I try to mention that I've self-harmed. There's a very visceral reaction that evolves into irritation when someone asks me about it, or when a mental health professional asks the usual questions; 'How did you self-harm?' 'What did you use?' 'Did it need treatment?' 'Are you feeling suicidal right now?' 'What caused the thoughts?' I have to tame the irritation rising within me and I answer shortly, often restrained. I feel like I have to reveal something deeply private and intimate that shouldn't be anyone's business.

Lately, I've had to deal with all of this, and it's because I've had a few really Big Things happen that have not only triggered my PTSD heavily — involving new trauma with police pounding down my door and making me feel threatened, only to find out it was the wrong home — and I lost my case manager, which I depended on to be able to get my medications, do grocery shopping in a way that wouldn't drain the bank, as delivery does, and I can't get to doctors in person, but virtual appointments are easily scheduled. I have one person I can ask, but she's not my case manager. She's my friend.

I finally broke down last weekend as it all finally hit home. I became terrified at how isolated I felt as a disabled person who can't drive, as I live in a small country town and it's the middle of winter. I don't know if I will be able to afford to have groceries delivered multiple times in a month because they always give me old food or damaged packages, or they forget items, and I have to order again to replace them which incurs more delivery fees. I am still coping with feeling unsafe in my home because of the night last week when the police pounded on my door at midnight, demanding to be let in, and then treated me like a guilty suspect before they searched my home.

I struggle with trauma related to invasion of privacy, so unannounced visitors usually set me back a week with symptoms. A random knock on the door sends me into survival mode.

I broke down after trying to hold it together. The feelings of abandonment mixed with anxiety, and I began to worry I was lied to about the reason for losing my case manager. I was stressed from worrying over my door locks to be sure no one could barge in. To make matters worse, what sent me over the edge was when TikTok deleted a video I'd made reaching out for support, and they gave me a guideline strike and punished my account when I hadn't even violated the rules. They threatened to take away my access to app features as well, and then brought up another accidental violation from two years ago where I also did not violate any rules. I felt silenced, alone, and scared.

I self-harmed. The next day, I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, and I meditated on what it would be like if I took actions to end my life. I made plans. I planned for it to be some time before anyone local noticed since I don't have many local friends and I tend to keep to myself. Something then hit me, and I wondered if I'd been struggling so badly because I fought the feelings too much.

I'd discussed recently in therapy that I'd been working toward acceptance, and I had finally decided to stop fighting how I felt. I stopped getting angry at myself for cycling through trauma, and I realized all of that was because I internalized others' reactions over time. Some have gotten angry at me for cycling and I was told it was my own fault and I was being toxic by venting. I was told I caused my own misery. So I became angry at myself any time intrusive thoughts would cycle and I'd experience CPTSD symptoms. I got angry because it shouldn't be happening at all, and if they continued, I just wasn't trying hard enough.

So I just let myself feel my feelings. I was kind with myself and realized none of this was my fault. I can't control the way I feel, or what my head does, but I can control how I react to it. So with the thoughts of suicide in mind, I came out to my computer and looked up Victorian postmortem photography.

It was an interest at one time when I was into photography, but I wondered if confronting death directly, to bring me back to reality, would help. And it did.

As I read about the history I already knew, and I browsed several postmortem Victorian photos, I took time to observe each one. They were peaceful. I realized that was all death was, it just left behind that, and people carried on. And back in the Victorian era, death was common, especially among children. People just accepted it as a part of the cycle of life, and they weren't frightened of these kinds of photos like people are now. They weren't considered morbid. Victorians had a much different view of death than we do today.

I realized that death would happen later anyway, as it does to everyone. When I viewed the postmortem photos, I realized, too, that it seemed kind of pointless. Just pointless in the way that it was all there was. A body just lying peacefully asleep. Did it bring up feelings of finally wanting peace in that way? Yes. I also wondered what it would be like, since all we have is consciousness.

Suicide also felt pointless the further I delved into the photos. The world would still move on, my body would eventually be gone, and it wasn't anything dramatic. It would be dark and meaningless in the end.

Last night, I took the time to flip through my Skyrim books as well, and I delved into the history of the world, the gods and goddesses, the wars, and everything else in the series. I felt a little bit of hope again as I often do when I delve in the Elder Scrolls series, and I realized that at my core, I came from the people who inspired it. The ancient people who survived harsh winters, constant war, and bloodshed, and many of them feared nothing. They survived even when it seemed impossible because humans have a very strong innate will to survive, even if something else is pulling them in the other direction. Like suicidal thoughts.

So I survived. I took care of the injuries on my arm, and I put aside the thoughts that I know will return as they often have in my life for many years. At least now I am evolving, and while I still feel scared and depressed, I am here. I learned to accept my feelings of wanting to die, and I allowed myself to meditate on it to bring some reality back into the equation, which often snaps some sense back into me.

I want to end this by saying that I don't recommend people try this same method if they're suicidal or self-harming. Talk to a professional first, as everyone will respond to coping strategies differently, and what worked for me may make it worse for someone else. There are different ways to accept things, and I'm just a very introspective person who tends to dive deep and ask many questions a lot of people don't really care about. I'm a philosopher at heart and I often deal with existential OCD.

Whoever you are, if you're reading this, just know that death happens to us all eventually, so why not live a full life that you can look back on when it's time? Give a chance for things to happen that will be better, no matter how bleak things look now. Be a warrior and persevere so that when it's time, the rest will truly come with peace.

©2023 Shane Blackheart