CW: depression, suicide, self-harm

I try to stay on the lit path, but I can see that this patch of light isn’t going to last much longer. There’s more darkness coming up. I reach the darkness and look around me to assess my surroundings. I take a second glance over at the bush to make sure nobody is there. Okay. I’m good for now. There’s another patch of light coming up in a couple feet. I step into the light again. I notice something move out of the corner of my eye that makes my heart jump. I look over. It’s a shadow. I look over my shoulder. Nobody else is there. But the shadow remains. The anxiety remains. I check on the shadow every couple seconds – not recognizing who it belongs to, but knowing that it must be me.

I take a longer look at the shadow. I look deeper into it.

I see myself sitting in a room. My therapist is sitting across from me. It’s the Fall semester of my sophomore year of college. “What are your goals for therapy?” “I want help with my depression, dealing with my disability, and overcoming my social anxiety so I can get a job.” “Have you had suicidal thoughts?” “Well I often think about how much easier it would be if I was dead.” “We call those thoughts of death, not exactly thoughts about suicide.” “Oh.” “If you were thinking about killing yourself, who would you call?”

Fear overwhelms me. I look away from the shadow. I just look down at the lit path.

I see my friends and I in a mini van on our way to Ocean City. I hear us laughing. I hear us singing hit songs from the 2000s. I feel the water rush over me as I dive into another wave. I feel the sensation of the warm sand under my feet.

“Well of course I want you to call me if you ever think about hurting yourself.” “Okay.”

The shadow jumps into view again.

“Tell me more about your disability.” “It’s spastic left hemiparesis.” “What exactly is spasticity again?” “It makes the muscles on the left side of my body, specifically in my leg, tighter.” “Oh okay. But your disability hasn’t affected your visual spatial skills, right? Usually that’s affected when there’s damage to the right side of the brain.” “No, I don’t think so.” “Oh that’s good. So it seems like it just affects you physically.” … “Well I didn’t learn to talk until I was two, so I used some sign language.” “I just think it’s so adorable when I see babies using sign language.” Is she even listening to me? “Tell me again about your sister and brother.” Why is she asking me this again? She’s asked me this in two other sessions already. “My sister lives in… and my brother lives in…” Is this really what I’m paying over $100 a week for?

I step back into another dark patch, but I keep thinking about the shadow.

“What brings you here today?” “I want to get help for my depression.” “Okay. So we can start scheduling you for 8 weeks of counselling here at the Counseling Center on campus, but you won’t have the same counsellor every time. Or I can help you find an off-campus therapist to go to.” Really? How would that help to have a different therapist every time? “Okay, yeah I would rather get help finding an off-campus therapist.” “Okay, so go to [your health insurance’s] website and you can find a list of therapists that take your insurance.” “Okay.” Okay… That’s it? That’s all the help you’re going to give me?

The glow of another streetlight comes into reach. But the shadow looms even larger.

I feel warm tears streaming down my face. They are cooler than the shower water that rains down on the rest of my body. Why can’t I feel happier? Why can’t I get rid of this pain? If only I can make myself bleed just a little bit, maybe I’ll feel better. I pick up the razer.

My heart beats faster. I quickly turn my head, so I can no longer see the shadow, but I have to turn the corner. The shadow comes back into focus.

That’s it. I’m done. I can’t take it any longer. “Suicide Plan” appears on the screen.

I try to look away, but I can still see the shadow. I can feel it following me.

A blank document appears on the screen. The words “Suicide Note to Mom” appear.

I begin walking faster to try to escape the shadow. To reach the safety of my home faster.

“How was your week this week?” “Fine. I had more serious thoughts about death, but overall, I’ve been feeling better.” I lied. It wasn’t just thoughts about death this time – I planned out how I would kill myself. She told me to tell her if I ever had serious thoughts about killing myself. “Well it sounds like we are making some progress.” “I think I need to have an honest conversation with my mom about how I’ve been feeling.” “That sounds like a good idea.” “Yeah I think I’ll do it when I’m home for winter break.”

The shadow gets smaller again and I can focus on just the lit path.

I see myself talking with my friend. She mentions she goes to a church and invites me to the next night’s Bible study. I am now surrounded by a group of new faces. Faces that make me feel welcome. People who make me feel as if I belong. Now I see myself at my family friends’ house for Thanksgiving. I’m reading The Help on their sofa. I can smell the food cooking in the kitchen. I feel a sense of comfort.

The glow from this streetlight runs out and I am left in the dark again. I can’t get the shadow out of my mind.

“So what is it you wanted to talk to me about?” “I wanted to go over how I’m doing with my depression and tell you some things that I’ve been scared to tell you.” “Okay.” I hear myself telling my mom how I’m feeling. I hear myself telling her what my social anxiety feels like and what triggers it. I hear myself rambling on through my bulleted talking points while I see my mom’s eyes welling up with tears. I can see that what I’m saying to her hurts her. I can see myself holding back tears. I stop hearing myself talking. I see my mom and I hugging.

I am no longer picturing the shadow in my head. I step into the glow of another streetlight. The shadow is even smaller now. I can just focus on the light.

I see myself at my new church. I’m singing with my arms outstretched. I’m crying as someone prays for me. I feel myself smile and hear myself laugh as I recount the events of my week with my small group at Bible study. I see myself smile and feel the excitement wash over me after I get a summer job as a Kitchen Supervisor at Lutheran Outdoor Ministries of Indiana-Kentucky.

Now I’m only a few feet away from being home. Now I can see more clearly that the shadow is of me. I can keep my gaze away from the shadow now.

I see myself trekking through the feet of snow on campus during the blizzard. I see the carefree look on my face as I play in the snow with my friends.

I’m only a few steps away from my door now.

I can see myself walking through downtown Toronto with my friends. I feel the tears of laughter streaming down my face as I see my friend and I freaking out because we are surrounded by butterflies. I see my awestruck face as I look at the Niagara Falls.

Finally, I am home. I feel the comfort of being in a well-lit, familiar place. And yet, I know the shadow still exists. I know there is still a chance the shadow will consume me, and I will become the shadow yet again.

“Killing oneself is, anyway, a misnomer. We don’t kill ourselves. We are simply defeated by the long, hard struggle to stay alive. When somebody dies after a long illness, people are apt to say, with a note of approval, “He fought so hard.” And they are inclined to think, about a suicide, that no fight was involved, that somebody simply gave up. This is quite wrong.”

― Sally Brampton, Shoot the Damn Dog: A Memoir of Depression