The Difference A Year Can Make

Trigger Warning: Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Harm



A year ago today I messaged my best friend to say I was suicidal. To say I couldn’t keep spending the day waiting to fall asleep again. To say I couldn’t keep fighting my destructive urges.



I’ve been living with depression since 2014, but this was the worst it had ever been. I hadn’t left my flat in three days, I hadn’t spoken to anyone (in person or via messages) in close to two, and was consuming about 600 calories a day. It can be easy to hide the details behind euphemisms, or even romanticise depression. The reality was waking up and wanting to be tired enough to fall asleep again, it was constantly fighting the urge to drink until I passed out, it was trying to stop myself from self-harming just so I could feel something.


Two days later I’d spoken to my tutor and my GP, and made the decision to go home to stay with my parents for a few weeks. This was in part because I couldn’t look after myself. Over the past year my life had changed a great deal. I came out as trans, I lost a number of friends, gained many others, and threw out many of my plans for the future. It’s been hard, it’s hurt, but mentally I’m in better shape than I have been for years.



Thank you to the friends and family who’ve been there for me. Who have supported me and helped me when it’s been hard, and ugly, and painful to care for me. Without this support I honestly don’t think I would have survived, much less be doing as well as I am now.



Why am I writing this? To give thanks. To process what I went through. And to fight the stigma. It shouldn’t have taken me until I was suicidal to seek help.

Published by QuenbyWrites

I write about whatever captures my attention, focussing on my personal experiences. I'm mostly interested in gender, sexuality, and mental health. My experiences are shaped by being pansexual, polyamorous, non-binary, depressed, an intersectional feminist, and active in the BDSM community.

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