Trigger Warning: Thank you for taking the time to read my blog post, please keep in mind that below, I talk about death, depression, anxiety and suicidal ideation. I want you to only continue if you feel you are able to. Be kind to yourself always.
When I heard my friend was sick in the beginning of September, memories of May 2017 flashed through my mind like the bright headlights of passing cars on a dark long stretch of road. The feeling was overwhelming, I felt my chest tighten- more than tighten- it felt like someone twice my size was sitting on my chest. Immediately, I pushed the memories and comparisons out of my mind. And just as I did four years ago, showed up. I busied myself with tasks and activities that would make me feel like I was helping, like I was repaying the years of friendship and support. With both friends, there was no room of doubt about how we felt about each other, how much we appreciated each other and I was able to say goodbye, to each, in my own way.
2017 was the first time I was faced with the sequelae of death of a loved one. When it happened I felt confused, angry and heartbroken. It’s hard to describe the tearing, crushing, heavy and tight feeling I had in my chest. I clutched my heart as I cried, almost hugging myself as I rocked my body back and forth almost as if I was soothing myself. It was a wave of emotion I had never yet felt and even with all the preparation and understanding of medicine, it wasn’t enough.
I remember when my friend called and told me that night in May, I threw on my medical uniform and ran from my room on Towers- where I was living at the time on the University of West Indies Campus- straight to the Critical Care Unit (CCU) at the University Hospital of the West Indies. Breathless, I went inside and asked the nurses “did xyz really die?” Honestly I don’t remember what they said, but I remember feeling brushed off and dismissive so I left.
When I exited the ward I stood outside the door and thought “am I really going to make this be how it ends?” I turned back and walked back inside and asked, with my voice shaking, if I could go inside her room. They said yes. I sat by her bedside and cried into her chest, screaming at her angrily for dying. The small CCU area was silent, except for the gentle beeps and whirling of the machines helping to keep the other critical patients alive. The conversations and laughs of the night nurses had died down, I suppose maybe they realised that this wasn’t a patient I was checking on but someone who I loved and had lost. I don’t remember how long I stayed there, crying, questioning, cursing, but I remember being left alone and as I was leaving I mumbled thank you without really hearing what was said back.
Over the following months, I would feel the waves of sadness hit me, unable to control the swelling of tears in my eyes. I kept my feelings to myself and within the four walls of my room. Over time I had boxed away the emotions and tucked them into a corner of my mind, thinking I had dealt with them. Eventually, one of my best friends pulled me aside and told me I needed to speak with someone and get professional help. By the time my friend had died, all my emotional reserves were empty. I had been ignoring other problems and pouring out of myself faster than I could replenish it and eventually I just shut down. I got diagnosed with bereavement, which is defined as the period of grief and mourning after a death, and after a few months of working with a therapist, provided by the school, I was diagnosed for the first time with Generalised Anxiety Disorder (GAD) with depressive features. GAD is a disorder characterised by excessive or unrealistic anxiety about two or more aspects of life often accompanied by symptoms such as palpitations, shortness of breath or dizziness (got this from google). We were working together so that I could be better. We went through all of the “superficial” issues and now were at a box I had hidden in the crevices of my mind for years and kept stuffing more and more feelings and issues I ignored. When we reached that box I quit. It was too much for me, I had been through too much and felt too weak, too alone and to afraid to open that box.
Some of my best and worst decisions came after that. Putting them in such binary terms doesn’t seem to define who I became after appropriately. I worked on my confidence, I tried new things and had a stronger drive and discipline to accomplish my goals and become the person I wanted to be. I started to believe that everyday was a new opportunity to try again. But I also covered up the feelings I was running from with relationships and behaviours that would distract me or numb me. I never faced my feelings and more importantly I never felt them, instead I self flagellated, punishing myself in ways that would distract me, cripple me and limit me ultimately keeping myself in this cycle of avoidance.
Fast forward to 2021, now faced again with loss I am forced to confront my initial experience with grief, I feel very similar emotions with anger being predominant. My last therapy session was the day before I wrote this, and we spoke about my anger and that anger is often hiding another emotion. I reflected on the moments I felt angry. Each time, I realised there was something else beneath the anger- frustration, disappointment, pain, sadness… fear. Anger was a great distraction from the other feelings. I told her I was afraid to feel the sadness and grief because I felt transported to 2017 the start of a cycle of destructive behaviours and that big, box that was bursting at the seams and couldn’t fit anything else inside.
In my mind I can see the box, a box that has been there before 2017, a box I had all my life that whenever I felt disappointment, hurt or fear I would put it in that box. All 2017 did was make me hyper aware of the feelings I had been ignoring, and the continuous cycle of finding different ways to simply not feel or deal with difficult emotions. There are many times in my life where I prayed that I wouldn’t wake up, or had thoughts of stepping into traffic or driving into a tree. These intrusive thoughts worsen whenever I feel overwhelmed or anxious, I feel my chest tighten and my throat get dry… for years I have had moments like this, that last from days, weeks, months to sometimes years, where I just want my it all to stop. I sheepishly admitted this to my previous therapist, almost ashamed to do so because I never considered myself suicidal but I did have an overwhelming feeling that I just wanted to die and would picture my life over and over and over as being better if I were dead. Honestly, since talking about it, the thoughts have lessened, and I have been better at avoiding my anxiety- I wanted to write managing but I have realised that I’ve also gotten better at identifying triggers, and shoving them into the box.
But it’s not 2017 anymore, and the box is about to burst. I reached a point in my life where I was faced with the undeniable truth that I could let this destroy me or I could face it, with help and support. I have decided to face it. Even though I feel afraid to spiral out of control, afraid to feel vulnerable, afraid to face myself and all the trauma and pain I thought I did so well to ignore, now more than ever I realise this is something I need to do. Rationalising and intellectualising your feelings doesn’t make them go away, that’s not experiencing them. Feelings are illogical, but they hold meaning and clues to the person you were, are and can become.
Honestly, writing about this entire journey has been so difficult, but writing has become a way for me to let some of the pressure be released in a controlled way. For so much of my life I have felt lonely and a big part of that reason is because I keep anything and anyone that can hurt me at arms length so while I might be avoiding all the negative emotions- or so I think- I also close myself off and avoid all the positive emotions that life has to give.
It’s my time to break the cycle I started and have lived repeatedly for all of my life.
Love, Samantha.
