Sometimes, in my lowest or most anxious moments, I come to the edge. It’s the only way I can describe it.
Inside, I feel like I’m about to tip. I’m about to take that step. And what does that mean for me?
It can mean any number of things, depending on my mood and state of mind. It could mean suicide. It could mean the opposite. The opposite of suicide is not taking your own life, but taking someone else’s.
Scary isn’t it?
I’ve had those kinds of thoughts only rarely, but they still disturb me when they crop up. Usually they crop up when I don’t have my medication. Which is also scary – my mental state is completely dependant on my medication. They literally have control over me. It’s a good thing, in a way.
A couple years ago, I decided I didn’t want them to control me anymore. Despite the obvious fact that they were helping me! And instead of weaning myself off of the sertraline gradually (now I’m on citalopram – much better for me, and it doesn’t stop me from achieving orgasm, something which I think we can all agree is one of the most important things on Earth. On sertraline I could only cum if I FORCED it. Awful. If you experience this shit on antidepressants, I advise you speak to your GP) I decided to go cold turkey.
Day 1 was okay.
Day 2 was HELL.
Imagine standing in the middle of rush hour traffic. Beeping, the roaring of engines, Karens and Kens screaming at each other.
That was my head. That’s how it felt and feels during those minutes, hours, days, weeks, of anxiety overload. Your fight or flight system goes NUTS, which causes this vicious cycle:
And the cycle gets worse and worse and worse and you get more and more manic and less coherent.
During my time with this, I wanted to fight. I wanted to run from my house and attack some poor rando in the street. I didn’t, obviously. I did the sensible thing: I smashed up our sofa with my bare hands, and broke my glasses.
Yes, I know. Well done mate, you fucked up your sofa.
But in those moments of pure panic, of unbelievable stress, fear, and anger – you don’t think about “oh the sofa”, you don’t really think at all. All you know is that you must eliminate the ‘threat’ that is causing your body to react in this way. It’s really quite primal. Of course, there is no physical threat, but that energy must go somewhere.
For me, screaming into a pillow doesn’t work. I can only calm down once physical contact has been made. Punching a wall (as I did in my teens) to punching a bag (as an adult) to self harm. Which I don’t recommend, for obvious reasons.
A lot of people think the self harm thing is because you want to die. Sometimes, yes. Sometimes, no. Sometimes, biting really, really, really, hard into your arm just releases something. However, a less damaging option is to bite into a faux-leather bound book. I use these A5 Ryman sketchbooks. You can scribble in them, rip them up, throw them, and bite into them. It’s so satisfying.
So. Back to the point. The Edge. It’s almost like a point of no return. It’s like a switch inside your head. It’s like “once I flip the switch, once I step over the edge, my actions are going to have consequences”, either to yourself or someone else or both. It’s a scary edge. it takes a LOT to back away from it.
So how do I back away from the edge?
Honestly, I don’t really know. I lay in bed, in the dark. That helps sometimes. My edge is not about hurting others anymore, my edge is either hurting myself or having a complete mental breakdown. I’ve not been near the edge in a short while, which I’m glad of.
But there’s some days you feel that edge approaching, and it’s 100% okay to do whatever it takes to stay away from the edge. Reach out to someone if you can. Eat something. Masturbate. Watch your favourite movie. Listen to your favourite music. Lay in the dark. Workout. Have a bath. Basically:
~*~ Treat yo self ~*~
A combination of treating thy self and checking in with thy self is a good start to recovery. Because no one wants to be stuck with depression and anxiety forever.
Back away from the edge.
Treat yo self.