The Bravery in Seeking Help

So, I just had a shitty week. I was struggling mightily with the Beast which is my suicidality, and I was on the losing end.

Now, there are two important things to note: first, after thirty-odd years of fighting the Beast, I know to ignore what the Beast's whispering in my ear – second, I also know I am in dangerous territory when the Beast gets louder, screams, and if the Beast starts shrieking, I need to get help immediately, regardless of how much I want to give in just to stop all the noise in my head.

My treaters know well the sliding scale I use to describe my dance with the Beast:

• "Dull Roar" – the constant but tolerable amount of noise in my head wherein I am a party to the strange tango that is the dance between the two of us are in a delicate balance.

• "Yelling & Screaming" – when the delicate balance of the Dull Roar has been breached. Originally, I would go from zero to 60 and completely miss this step. Now, this is a place I can exist by working hard – very, very hard – to keep my head above water until the crashing waves that are the Beast start to recede.

• "Shrieking" – my treaters know this territory well and are versed in how to proceed when I am in the belly of the Beast. This is an especially nefarious state of being because my fear of the Beast is suddenly gone, and I am in the throes of its siren song. Oh, the allure of the Beast when it is shrieking!

So, what happened to warrant feeling as though the Beast was shrieking, warranting my desire to give up? (Disclaimer: not everybody experiences anniversary dates as traumatic events – my mom, for instance, is simply not fazed by them; she is essentially trauma resistant. I, on the other hand, am greatly affected by anniversary dates).

For me, the summer includes several past events that are traumatic to me – all sexual assaults, the last of which left me pregnant with the child of a monster. I don't think I was ever more certain of a decision in my whole life; I feel no guilt or shame over ending that pregnancy (don't get me started on my reaction to Roe v. Wade – had I not had access to a safe and legal abortion I wouldn't be writing this).

Now, when I was recently amid the Beast's shrieking, I lost my footing: everything felt raw, like a giant case of road rash. I berated myself for ending the one time I was ever pregnant (note: I did NOT feel guilt for the abortion – instead, I felt sorrow for never having a child – an important delineation).

So, why did I not fall under the Beast's siren song? A simple but powerful strategy: I paid heed to the adage: "striking when the iron is 'cold'." I made good on a promise to myself and my treaters: when things are above a dull roar, I have a conversation with those who know the level of professional support I need – including, in this case, hospitalization. It is interesting that I (YES, ME!!) l lobbied to go inpatient, and my psychiatrist agreed. As always, he walked me down to the ER and made the whole process feel like a positive move to keep the Beast at bay. It was the right decision, as the next day, I awoke to powerful suicidality – the kind that washes over you like a warm blanket and is powerfully alluring.

So, what is my point? I argue that one of the most important things to learn about the Beast is its appeal when things are going less than ideally. My point is this: do not let it overcome you – it is much easier to cope with if you have family, friends, and/or a mental health professional who can help you beat back the Beast. There is NOTHING to feel ashamed of in seeking help, NOTHING. What would be a true and utter shame would be for you to give up, give in to the Beast's lies. We've got this, you and I.