Me, too. I agree with those that say time and meds get you out. I think I’m lucky, because I was down there for maybe three or four months. Then I started slowly swimming my way up. All the while, I never believed I would make it to the surface. In fact, it was over a year before I made it to the surface.
But some people have been living down there for years and decades. I have no idea how they survive. I know I thought about suicide, but I was always clear to myself that I wasn’t going to do that. But I thought about it so much.
It’s kind of ironic. Every time I go down, I feel like it’s my fault. But when I come out of it and look back, it doesn’t seem like it was my fault. It was just chemical and the meds brought me back alive. What’s weird is that sometimes I feel like I want to be where it can’t get any worse. I think it has to do with the hopelessness of it all, which lets me give up and just make things as bad as I can.
That never works because there are too many reasons to try to be well. It does make me feel guilty for wanting to give up. But sometimes giving up helps. When I no longer take on all that responsibility, then I don’t have to worry about things any more. I guess sometimes I need to stop caring and stop being responsible. Sometimes I am too tired, or so it feels. I never give myself a break, though, except when I’m ready to die. Maybe I should give myself a break a little sooner, so I don’t have to go so deep. What a scary thought. I don’t know if that is possible. It’s so, so hard to give up. I feel such guilt. But maybe it is necessary to learn how to do that.