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I probably have another post floating around out there starting out with the words 'depression sucks,' but depression sucks. For those of you who do not know, I was clinically diagnosed manic depressive with subsequent obsessive compulsive and panic disorders in 2013. I am immensely thankful to be able to manage my manic and mania well enough I am relatively unmedicated.

I never like to admit I am part of the statistic of people who has suffered from self-inflicted injuries or even attempted to go a step further and not just injure themselves. It is still difficult to say, even now, there have ever been times where I have taken steps to kill myself. It's been a while since I have, but not as long, as I'm sure many of you reading this may assume. For full transparency, I consider the times where I've 'prepared' myself to go through with it as an attempt to commit suicide as well. 

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) refers to a suicide attempt as a "non-fatal, self-directed, potentially injurious behavior with intent to die as a result of the behavior; might not result in injury." I suppose this is similar to my own definition. Either way, it is still difficult to talk about and something many people don't know about me. Even those closest to me. 

Growing up, I once privately shared I wanted to kill myself and was told it wasn't 'funny' to joke about such a sensitive topic. Saying I was extraordinarily young when this thought crossed my mind is no exaggeration. I was in seventh grade, but knew every bit of what I was talking about. I had felt a dark cloud hanging over me for years at that point, and it felt like the only way to find relief from a negative situation. While some people who know me may read this and think I was never bullied, children growing up were mean. I vividly remember walking out to my usual lunch table and the girls I had been sitting with having removed my seat. I was forced to eat by myself that day. That was when it all started, and it seemed like every day got worse and worse for me. The bullying eventually stopped toward the end of the school year, but pieces of me never fully recovered.

Looking back, I wish adult me could have hugged poor, brace-faced me with her bushy, unwaxed eyebrows and told her she would go on to be a beautiful human being on the inside and out and to not let the words or actions of these people bring me down. For too long I let their words shape me. Even now, I struggle with living in the truth of being fearfully and wonderfully made. 

Today, I got a reminder my story does not have to end regardless of how many attempts there may be in my lifetime, and I accept fully I have jumped on a bandwagon. Being manic depressive, or as society would say bipolar, I will have good days, bad days, good months, bad months, good seasons and bad seasons, so being able to look down and see something to tell me this is not all there is to this life will help. To say I have been stressed recently is an understatement, but having good, supportive people in my life has made it much easier to cope.

This was originally posted on my blog #MadebySEC 3/13/19. An adapted version was later shared as part of a blog with my company's Mental Health affinity group.