Finding the ‘Will’ to Live

I was rooting around in my old handbags looking for some spare change for ice-cream, when I came across papers titled ‘Making A Will’. My mind instantly went back to that day in an old, dusty solicitor’s office. But before I could think too much about it, I heard a voice from downstairs, “Muummm, did you find any?”.

The little person who blazed the centre of my mind when I walked into that office to arrange appropriate guardianship after my death, now just wanted to walk to the shop for a 99 cone with me.

This was too poignant to reflect on while ice-cream was on the agenda. So, I shoved it all back into the cupboard and shouted, “yeah I found €2, put your coat on”.

Later though, I pulled the papers out again and allowed myself to be transported back to a time, a few years previous. It shakes my entire being when I think back to how certain I was, that death was the only way to end the cycle of misery I found myself in. For the most part of that year, I was plagued by relentless thoughts that my failures in life were burdensome to others. To my friends, family and mostly to my child. I wholly believed I was a failure as a person, and I was a burden in my entirety.

I wasn’t employed. I was still not finished with college. I was still relying on welfare for the basics. The rented house we lived in was cold, dark and damp; without any tenancy protection. We just about covered the necessities every week.

I felt so isolated. I was away from my hometown, so I very rarely had visitors. And as a young parent, my life was very different to that of my peers, so it was very difficult connect with new people. I used social media in attempt to grasp some sense of connection with others. But this served only to highlight the things I was missing out on. Posts and photos of travel, promotions, success, events and fun from others my age.

To cement the bad feelings about myself, there was always a news article about social welfare recipients; with barrage of hate-filled comments underneath. I always felt compelled to read those comments and internalise them. Confirmation that I was indeed a failure, who possessed nothing useful to give to society; merely a drain on the state.

The sense of guilt was unbearable. Depression and anxiety had taken over the steering wheel of my thoughts. Past traumas were reluctantly becoming unearthed. My whole body and mind was on alert. Others could feel this exuding tension and began to avoid me as a result.
That feeling of darkness and loneliness is something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

Then one day the scariest thoughts came into sharp focus; “If I suddenly died, who would actually miss me?”, “People would be sad about the situation, not the actual loss”, “Can a person really be missed in death, if they weren’t missed in life?”.

Thoughts like that came hot and heavy, every hour of every day until I was certain that my death would be a sweet relief for everyone.

It seems bizarre to think back on now, but I truly believed that once the burden of my existence was out of the way, ‘better’ people could step in to give my child the freedom to grow up with greater opportunities and a better quality of life than I could ever give. I loved my baby with every fibre of my being. I so badly wanted to provide a good life, full of good things. But I also felt that I was the biggest threat to that good life. It seems counterintuitive now but at that time, it felt that the most selfless thing I could do was to give up my own life so my child could be free to live without my burdens and failures.

I spoke to a solicitor about putting my wishes into a will. But as it turned out, I couldn’t even afford to pay him for a will – even more depressing! So instead, I just wrote all my thoughts on a page in a notebook and hoped it would hold up.

Later that day, as I sat thinking about my next steps, an otherwise very busy person suddenly stopped his fast-paced stride to ask me how I was doing and to invite me for a chat. It caught me off guard. This small gesture on his part, was akin to a lit match in a dark well.

Suddenly, the sense of loneliness that my plan needed, was no longer lonely enough. Someone saw me, in a moment that I felt invisible. Someone thought I was worth stopping for, at a moment that I felt worthless. Someone was willing to give me time in that exact moment, without me having to ask for it.

That was enough for me to cling on to. I knew at that moment that I had to do whatever I could, to push through this horror, and just survive. I deserved another chance to try.

I spent the next few days with a friend by the beach – where I slept, was served food, watched the waves and regained some energy for the turbulent road ahead.

I knew then that I needed help. I knew this couldn’t be normal. Theoretically, I should have realised it sooner. I had helped other people in this position before in my previous work and training. It should have been familiar territory.
But now I know it’s so much harder to see the problem, when you’re in it yourself.

There was no “Eureka, I’m cured!” moment. The next few months were equivalent to being on a rollercoaster – feeling so guilty for even considering the things I considered, relieved that I was thrown a lifeline, wanting to fight for my life while still struggling with loneliness.

Counselling put me at a greater financial disadvantage. Free services were too far away or had year-long waiting lists. I needed immediate help. The entire situation got worse before it got better. I had left pride to the side and committed to do whatever it took to survive. I had to become very open and honest about the whole situation, which was much easier said than done.

My honesty wasn’t welcomed by everyone. I had done such a good job of masking my struggles until that point, and that was difficult to come back from. The happy picture I had painted of my life over the years, served as a barrier to people believing I was genuinely struggling.

But luckily, good people came into my life in the most unexpected and supportive ways, which hugely outweighed the negative.

Within a few months, I was in weekly counselling. I managed to get out of that unsafe house and settled somewhere brighter and warmer. Friends and some family helped to their best ability. They helped with practically with childcare. They encouraged me to exercise. Some were brave enough to allow me to discuss my thoughts and feelings without feeling judged. Others simply kept me company.

Over the next few months, the darkness started to lift completely.

I took up exercise classes a few times per week, which completely changed how I felt in both my mind and body. I switched off any social media feeds that made me feel bad about myself. I was honest with the friends and family who I knew would be supportive. And I stopped giving weight to the opinions of people who didn’t make an effort to help (which incidentally took away the feeling of being a failure). I lay in the grass with my young child, making plans for our future. All of that little person’s plans and wishes included me at the core. Of course they did. No matter how I saw myself, I am needed.

But mainly I started to have more compassion for myself. To stop trying to live up to societal standards. To remember that I am only a person, and no person is infallible. To realise I didn’t need to be Supermum to be a good mum. To know when to let go of the plans and the people who serve only to make me feel bad. To acknowledge the good things in my life and to invite more of those things as often as possible.

My life is entirely different now. Sometimes I find it hard to believe I ever felt that bad.

But at this time, every year, I am thrown back to that stage in my life due to annual prompts for events such as Darkness to Light, and the Green Ribbon Campaign. And I am thankful for the reminder to reflect with immense gratitude for everyone who played a part in walking with me from my personal darkness into light.

I have a few hopes for sharing this story.

Firstly, I hope it highlights the power of truly showing up for someone and the power of connection for someone in despair. Simply instructing me to leave the ‘darkness’ of my life and walk in ‘light’ by myself, would never be as effective as walking into that ‘darkness’ to meet me and walk out of there, by my side and at my pace. It requires courage and patience to go in there and leave the judgement outside. But this journey is incredibly difficult for the sufferer to go through alone. People need people. Be there. Show up.

Secondly, I hope to highlight how a lack of affordable access to appropriate support services can be the making or breaking on that road to recovery. It’s important to take part in these symbolic events and displays of solidarity this month, but it is also so so important to call for greater mental health resources for the more rural counties. Timely, easily-accessible and affordable access, to good support, is vital during a crisis. I hope the awareness-raising stays afloat for the rest of the year too.

Third, I’ve learned that people portray their lives online in ways that may bare very little resemblance to how things really are. It is important to remember this when comparing your life to others. And when you’re using online activity to see how loved ones are doing. See how they are in real life.

Finally, I hope that the message in my story reaches even just one person who may be feeling that life will never improve. Please know there is potential for improvement from even the darkest of times. Please, please cling on to any hope you find anywhere. Be as honest as possible with someone trustworthy, about what your thoughts are. They can’t help if they don’t know. It will be a hard process, even after you ask for help. But better times will come. You’ll look back on this someday in awe. It is so worth another push for survival.

Your friends and family will not be better off without you.

The part of your mind trying to convince you of that, is wrong.