You may have seen the story. It's about the meaning behind semi colon tattoos. A woman who lost her dad to suicide started Project Semicolon as a way to bring more awareness to suicide. It has grown to include anyone who wants to show support for all mental health issues. Survivors of failed suicide attempts, people who have lost loved ones to suicide, people who suffer with depression or even just have loved ones with depression, I suppose if someone is lucky enough to not fit into any of those groups, it would also apply to people who just support removing the stigma associated with mental illness.
I was just going to get the simple semi colon but a google image search showed many creative ways of incorporating the semi colon into a tattoo. When I was researching why she chose the semi colon I realized it was relevant to me in other ways. To quote Amy Bluel (the founder of the project): "A semi colon is used when an author could've chosen to end their sentence, but chose not to. The author is you, and the sentence is your life."
For me the sentence is both my life and my marriage. I have chosen not to end either. So I found an image of a heart with a semi colon as it's side (photo at bottom, not mine, it's still wrapped in the plastic bandage...I was thinking I'd be writing this in a few days when I had off work and the bandage would be gone but it's raining cats, dogs and everything else here in the Coachella Valley and I couldn't make it to work due to flooded roads, so here I am!).
I thought it was especially fitting being the day before Valentine's day. I think the past--how many months has it been? guess it's a good sign I don't count any more-- anyway the fact that I am here and still trying (both in life and my marriage) is a sign that I am committed to continuing to fight, but I am hoping in the dark times it can serve as a visual reminder--that I am not alone in my fight, that I am a fighter and that somewhere inside of me I know I don't want the sentence to end.
In the past week I came to a realization that is going to probably sound hard to believe. I am an educated person, with some psychology courses and tons of self help books and years of therapy.,
I know a lot about depression. But just this week it hit me. There is no cure for depression. Just as there's no cure for alcoholism. It is treatable but not curable. Why have I never thought of it that way? I mean I knew it...but somehow I never considered what that meant.
I first started with suicidal thoughts back in about the 5th grade. But from what I can remember, it wasn't because of depression. I don't remember feeling sad either. I just hated being alive. I had lots of faith back then. I had so many conversations with God, begging to know why there had to be so many things wrong with me. Why did he curse me with so many faults? Red hair, freckles, glasses, pimples, yellow teeth (ok that was on me) and being scrawny for my age. The only thing going for me was that I was smart. And in middle school that is not an asset. To add insult to injury, my younger sister was everything I wasn't. Boys fell all over her (yes even in the 3rd grade). In the 9th grade my confidence grew a bit when a coach "discovered" some running talent, but that was short lived when I started developing thighs. At least by that point I had a boyfriend. I don't remember being depressed in high school or college, but I wasn't happy go lucky. My self esteem took a hit when a new boyfriend constantly told me I could never do better than him (and he wasn't all that) and I ended up overlooking his infidelity and marrying him. I had a diary from those years and I would definitely say I had started suffering with depression, but didn't know it., I blamed being married to a depressed man. It was only after I left my husband that I would be diagnosed and it was kind of implied that it was a post partum thing. I was on antidepressants for years and in therapy for years. Again blaming something other than myself. Once I was finally able to leave my career I thought I was "better". I was happier and learning to be less cynical and to even be optimistic. I had bad days, but I blamed them on the perimenopause. I told myself once I was in full menopause all of that would go away. But I now realize that is highly unlikely.
I realize that all of those time frames from my younger years that I believed to be situational depression were probably chemical imbalances, out of my control. I have been denying that this is part of me. That most likely I was born this way. I can't outgrow it, I can only manage it.
It was very sobering to realize I can live 50 more years and I will never be "over depression". It will always be there, like a dormant virus, waiting to be activated. Maybe I will go months, maybe even years but it will ALWAYS be there. I use Rick Springfield as an example. He's 69 (yeah..still looks great!) and he STILL has suicidal thoughts. He is as self aware of his problems as you can be. It doesn't matter. Knowing you have the potential to fall into the pit, doesn't help you at all when you start to slip. It's so frustrating. I guess I shouldn't say it doesn't help at all. Because of how aware I am, I know to let people know I have this disease. The more people who know the less likely it will go unnoticed if I start to fall too far. That's what this disease needs. People on the outside watching out for us. For the times we can't help ourselves. We won't ask. And that's why sharing 800 numbers isn't enough. YOU...YOU need to ask those you know that suffer. Really ask. If they don't look alright, if they act a little different..and not just sad...maybe they are TOO happy. You can see the changes if you look. If it feels off, it probably IS off. The right question, the persistent question could save their life.
That's another reason I got the tattoo. I want others to know they can share with me. I am an ear, I am a shoulder. I also plan to point to it if another person dares to tell me to smile when it's all I can do to breathe. I will point and suggest they google the meaning.
As for the pain...none. Electric fences are more painful. I know I tend to have a high tolerance for pain in some situations and I guess tattoos are on that list, because it seriously was less painful than a dog collar shocker thingy (don't ask). It was quick so I am sure that helped, barely 15 minutes, if that. It's the size of a nickel and on my inner right wrist.
As always, thanks for reading!!
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