When I was a really old teenager, I wanted to die. I read up all the ways to get it done, picked my favourite and made a decision to just do it within the year. I then let myself do all the crazy things I never dared to do before, just so I could ‘go out with a bang’. I dropped out of college, moved in with a woman I kinda had a crush on and did whatever I felt like whenever I felt like. Guess what happened next? By the end of the year, I decided I liked being alive after all. I had figured out how to live properly, the way my body needed me to. I never wanted to die ever again and it hadn’t taken one antidepressant for me to end up that way.
Now imagine if I had taken antidepressants instead. I would have stayed as I was, probably, since my desire to die would have been ‘tamed’? I wouldn’t have done whatever because I would’ve been okay with what was? Years would pass that way—me living a life I hadn’t liked till medication made it okay. I would have built my career, social circle, intimate relationships, character and habits within that life. Now, guess what would happen if I lost access to my antidepressants? Or maxed out on the possible dosage then developed a tolerance? Or got pregnant? Or developed one or more of those really pesky side effects named ‘psychotic depression’, ’suicidal ideation’, or ‘homicidal ideation’? Would I be able to deal with years of excruciating withdrawal after never having dealt with any extreme emotional pain, you think? Would I be able to accept being in the life I was in—the life I wanted to get away from years before—without my medicinal crutch? Would I be able to just quit everything and start over now that I was a mature adult with hefty loans and responsibilities?
Or would I just be all the more determined to die then?
What if wanting to die is just an inevitable reaction to bad life situations? What if wanting to die is in essence no different from hunger or feeling too hot or that hair-tingling sensation you get when walking through a dark, quiet alleyway in the deep of the night? Your body’s way of telling you—hey not good here, do something about it? What if depression is just something you need to learn to cope with on your own—like learning how to walk, recovering from a viral disease or a bruise, learning how to cope after the death of a grandparent or getting over your fear of public speaking? How would muting your depression—and giving yourself new physical problems and painful withdrawal in the process—help you grow and cope in the long run?
What if it won’t?
What if all it took was thinking of wanting to die, not as a chronic illness that needs to be medicated, but as a physical state humans will find themselves in when things get too tough or unsuitable? What if every suicidal person realised their parents, friends, teachers had been there too at some point, and had eventually gotten over those extreme dips in happiness on their own? Wouldn’t that make them more likely to cheer up than the promise of a lifelong addiction to brain-altering drugs would? Wouldn’t that make them more willing to open up than a label that declares them physically defective would?
What if all that was needed to reduce suicide rates was not more drugs, not more attention to ‘mental health issues’ but less?
PLEASE NOTE: From what I’ve heard/read, antidepressant withdrawal is extremely difficult and comes with an increased suicide risk so please, please, please do not quit or reduce your antidepressant abruptly without getting professional help—ironic as that may sound. Also, when I changed my mind about dying all those years ago, I was not taking any form of medication whatsoever. I cannot promise the same outcome if you are on any type of drug—for sleep problems, migraines, chronic pain, ADHD, eczema, sheer fun, etc. All drugs come with side effects that may affect your brain’s natural ability to process situations and fix problems. Best thing is to never get started on long-term medication in the first place, is all I’m saying. If you’re already on something, your priority should be weaning yourself off those in a safe way, with some form of social support (you can talk to me if you really have no one else), before you go back to trusting your body to take care of itself. It will take time and will likely be painful—I know, I took more than a year to withdraw and heal from just five months of topical steroid use—but hey, so does everything else worth doing.
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