The one where my brother saved my life.

I’m scrolling Instagram this morning, because that’s what I do now – yay blogger life! hahaha and came across this post I just had to stop and read over and over:

“Depression is not sadness, anxiety is not nervousness, OCD is not cleanliness, and Bipolar Disorder is not moodiness.”

PREACH!!

Do you know how often people tell me, oh, I think I might have a touch of depression, too? Or oh, I think so-and-so might be depressed. Or oh, yeah, I get really bad anxiety when [insert crazy scary event that would make Bruce Wayne question his life choices] is about to happen.

It happens alllllll the time.

One of my favourite things that’s happening in the world today is we are TALKING about this stuff: the taboo has been lifted, and there are warriors out amongst the fray trying to change the stigma.

But as common as depression and anxiety really and truly are I would venture still that MOST people won’t actually experience it in its chronic form.

I think I notice it the most when I hear people talking about someone’s recent suicide. There was a time not long ago where it felt like ALL the celebrities were losing the fight and it was a big topic of conversation online. And currently my small family and I live in a part of our city that is steps away from a beautiful bridge that is often closed in the mornings for “police investigation” as they look into yet another jump.

And people just…they don’t understand. They think it was selfish. They think the person was giving up, there was no hope, ending it was EASIER.

I can’t tell you exactly what goes on in the mind of every single depression victim’s mind, I can’t. I know that. It’s POSSIBLE that some of those reasons I just dismissed above are legitimately the reasons why someone jumped, hung themselves, pulled the trigger, took the pills… it’s possible, absolutely.

But I’m going to tell you what happened in my story.

And then why I’m still here.

When I was finally diagnosed with mental illness the doctors suspected I had been suffering unknowingly for quite some time already. It wasn’t until I was getting help that I even had any idea how serious my situation had been.

Please, for this tale, do remember depressed does not equal sad. I wasn’t sad for years. I wasn’t crying at the drop of a hat. I didn’t seek help to fix my mood, even.

I WAS deep into self-loathing, and increasingly practiced at maintaining a stoic existence. As a teenager I earned the nickname Stone Cold, like the wrestler – no emotion. No feeling. Just hard. Tough. I took pride in the fact that I was dead inside. I functioned on auto-pilot. Someone recently used the term ‘void’ to describe the hollow feeling that eats your insides – it followed me everywhere.

Finally my roommate at university had enough. I don’t remember what instigated it, but I do remember sitting in the counsellor’s office and that wonderful girl doing all of the talking about what was potentially wrong with me, what it was like living with me, what odd behaviours she saw me exhibiting – I was too scared to open my mouth. I didn’t even KNOW I was alienating people I thought I cared about. I remember in those early sessions learning that I had been in love with a boy and I hadn’t even KNOWN it. Stone has no feeling. Love isn’t possible.

In high school I wanted to dye my hair; I was always aching to do the things the other girls did at school. I longed for friendship and connection, and thought if I were cooler… but now I know I was never then capable of having what I so desperately craved. It’s always been on me that I feel alone and disconnected, not anyone else. Hiding behind my stone walls kept me from reaching the people I yearned for most. But I still very much wanted to be accepted, to be one of the cool kids. And the cool kids dyed their hair.

I think blonde highlights was the first majorly “crazy” thing I did when I was away at university hahaha I didn’t live at home anymore so I had a bit more freedom!! And I used it to dye my hair – I was a REAL wild child, let me tell you! hahaha Honestly, though, I was scared of everything. Rules kept me safe. Rules and walls. Can’t get into trouble, can’t be disappointing. Tow the line. So dying my hair was a BIG deal. At least to me.

One night after I had come home for a break (summer? maybe? I don’t remember, which is bugging me hahaha), and my hair was dyed so it was suddenly not a forbidden thing anymore, my girlfriend and I were refreshing our highlights in the downstairs bathroom, a location we had purposely picked in order to keep the sounds of our frivolities from crashing around the house and disturbing my parents. I don’t know how my brother got involved, but he was there, and I’m pretty sure we had convinced him to let us give him the boy-band frosted tips look hahahaha! Oh, we were having SUCH fun being idiots.

I swear we were trying to stay quiet.

Apparently we were failing miserably.

Mom came into the bathroom and reamed us out for being so insensitively loud – the bathroom is right under their bedroom, the sound echoes, YOU’RE LOUD… etc. etc. (Please understand, Mom – I am aware you probably didn’t actually REAM us out. I was very, very, verrrrrry broken.)

She was right, of course. Bathroom noises echo, and our attempts at silence were doomed from the get-go! And we were having fun, which can unwittingly get noisy, heaven KNOWS I know that story!!

But do you know what my brain did? It didn’t brainstorm how we could finish with our bleach projects and deaden the noise or move to another bathroom or just SHUT YOUR MOUTHS or any other sane response, nope. It didn’t even register feeling hurt, or ashamed, or sadness.

It told me the best, most analytically correct course – no, it presented the ONLY possible course of action would be to kill myself on my way home from dropping off my friend at the end of the night.

We lived about an hour’s drive away from each other. I will drive her home, and then if I take the back roads home there’s this section where there’s lots of hills and twists and turns, and I’m pretty sure if I gun it and give it a good run at this spot and then careen off the road I should be okay. Well, okay as in, deceased, which would be okay because it would make life easier for everyone.

I wasn’t trying to PUNISH Mom. I was trying to HELP her. I wasn’t trying to ESCAPE a difficult, hopeless situation. IT WAS THE ONLY OPTION AVAILABLE. I’m causing Mom trouble therefore I will fix the problem. I’m a fixer. I was not being selfish. I wasn’t even SAD.

It. Was. The. Only. Thing. To. Do.

It wasn’t until years later in therapy, much after that first session with my roommate, when I was asked everyone’s favourite question “have you ever been suicidal” for the umpteenth time and I laughed and said, of course not! And then, I don’t even remember how it came up, but that night finally did and suddenly, FINALLY I realized the gravity of the situation, what had ALMOST happened.

Wait, what? ME? Suicidal? No. Not me. No I’m not. I haven’t been. I…what?

Looking back I believe firmly that I had no power in that moment. I was not in control. But I got lucky, SO very lucky, and it didn’t happen to me.

Why didn’t it?

No sooner had the plan sprouted in my brain and taken over my existence (the whole planning your suicide thing takes mere moments, folks, this literal life-or-death decision though I hate to call it that, took a split second) and my little brother, for whatever reasons pipes up and announces that when it’s time to drive the friend home he’ll come with me to keep me company.

And my brain just says “oh, well, I can’t take both of her kids in one night” and shrugs it off, and away we go.

Never to be thought of again.

At least not like that.

I have no idea what possessed my brother to volunteer to go with me that night. Since coming to understand what had actually happened in my head in that instance I have always believed it was the Lord looking out for me – it wasn’t time for my story to end yet, for some crazy reason. My brother may not even remember this happening because for him it was just a silly night of innocent shenanigans at home. I honestly don’t know if I’ve ever told him this from my view. I bet if I asked him he’d shrug and say he wanted to go for a drive.

Thanks for saving my life, Jon. I learned later that you probably LITERALLY did that night.

Why do I tell you this? Please know it’s not for you to pity me or feel bad about lost little 18 year old Rebecca or whatever other weird gushy feeling hahaha (I’m still working on the emotions thing – I’m getting better. It takes PRACTICE!!) No, I want you to know what happened to me so you can MAYBE understand, just a little bit better, that if you’re not there on the ledge with us you have NO idea what you’re talking about. And to that end I am FULLY cognizant that my experience PALES in comparison to those of you warriors who have LITERALY been on the ledge, please don’t misunderstand me. NO ONE can judge your struggle. Not a single person.

So please, please don’t assume. Don’t judge. Don’t label the victims of this insidious illness with anything other than their true selves. They may not be selfish. They may not be hopeless. They may not be SAD. There just really and truly may not be another choice available in that moment in that time no matter how hard they are looking.

Every war recruits warriors, and some of those warriors end up on the losing side. It doesn’t make their battle any less of a battle, their efforts any less important.

War is hard.

Guys, if you’re someone reading this and you don’t have a brother to accidentally save you, let me know – I’m easy to find on Facebook and Instagram – I think there’s a contact on here somewhere?? You are NOT alone, just like I never have been. But if you can’t see it and you need me, I understand, and I’ve got you.

We can fight the war together, and we can WIN.