Hanging on by a Thread

So here’s the deal. Here’s how I’m feeling these days.

I am a failure.

Why? Because I have sought help for the depression. I’m doing the talk therapy. I’m taking the pills. AND.IT.ISN’T.WORKING.

I am not “better.” I continue to battle the depression. I continue to fight against falling deeper into the black hole. I continue to have days where every damn thing seems hopeless.

Do I want to end it all? NO!

Do I want to live? YES!

The thing is though that I am not living. I am breathing. I am going through the motions. I am keeping it together the best I can so that people don’t see that I am not living and so that N is none the wiser. I keep on putting up the front, but that’s all it is. . . a front. I am not living.

Sometimes putting up the front is so hard it makes me wonder just how long I can keep it up. It makes me wonder if someday I will be so tired and so weary and so unable to carry on that death will look like a relief. That’s what I see when I read of others’ suicides is that they were so tormented internally that they eventually got to a place where the only relief to be found was in death. I don’t want to get to that place. I don’t. I want to find the help that will bring me back to life, to make life enjoyable enough to sustain me rather than drain me. I just don’t know where to look.

I’ve been to several different therapists and counselors. I’ve seen two different psychiatrists and tried different combinations of prescriptions. I’ve even asked about being admitted as an inpatient on a couple of different occasions but have been turned down as I am apparently not mentally ill enough for it. (Apparently, one must be currently suicidal to be admitted, and that I have not been and am not now. It just scares me that I have made the turn to seeing it as a possible future outcome if something doesn’t change. Apparently, that is not enough to qualify one for inpatient care.) There just doesn’t seem to be the right cure for me. I just can’t seem to find the key that would unlock the door that would allow me to live again.

Over and over again I hear after someone commits suicide “If only they had reached out. . . “ or “If only they had asked for help. . .” What about those who do reach out, who do ask for help, and yet can’t find the help? What about people like me? What is there for us? At what point is it okay to say “Enough!” and accept defeat and accept that there just may not be a livable solution? At what point is it okay to say “I’m tired of asking for help and not finding what I need”? And if there isn’t ever a point when that is okay, then what? Where does one turn when they feel they’ve exhausted all options?

Truthfully, I was more hopeful before I sought help because I truly felt that if I sought help I would get better. Now, after seeking help for several years and not getting better things feel much more hopeless.