11/30/25

(31, F) Today I had a big conversation with my parents.

I’ve been spiraling for a long time, reaching new lows and starting to crawl back out only to fall into a new hole. Three weeks ago I hit bottom again. The suicidal ideation was coming to a point where I knew I was near to real danger. I was crying uncontrollably every day at work (something customers don’t like hah who knew).

What’s new about this low is that old coping mechanisms no longer worked for me. Escaping myself via relationship was not an option, after my committed partner of 10 years left me three years prior and I had exhausted my options with other exes by doing a horrible back and forth for so long. Drugs were not an option as my body has become so broken that I physically become ill at first ingestion (grateful for this at least, a silver lining of disease). And I live over 2,000 miles away from any family. I found myself in this abyss, just me and my own self loathing and the excruciating thought of every day of the rest of my life coming towards me like a threat.

While awake there was almost no relief, and having lost a grandfather and close friend to suicide, I had always been hell bent on not putting anyone else through it, but the hole through which I saw the rest of my life was becoming smaller and smaller and smaller. I had to make a big change or I was headed towards a major breakdown, I knew it.

A year prior to this, after a bad self harm and drinking episode, which prompted my then partner to tell me he didn’t love me anymore because of what I had done, my therapist had suggested I check myself into an IOP program (intensive outpatient therapy, a step below partial hospitalization which is a step below residential). I abhorred the thought and told nobody, so ashamed. And four weeks ago, so afraid I could not even hear myself speak, I told her that I needed IOP, and by the following week I had a two week leave from work and found myself in the lobby on the third floor of a little stucco building by the sea.

I’ve spent the last three weeks doing 3+ hours of intensive therapy daily. When Thanksgiving rolled around and I had nobody to spend the day with, instead of spiraling and spending the day paralyzed and hating myself, I took my dog (my lighthouse) on a five mile hike into a canyon and then ordered kung pao and took myself to a movie alone, amazed that in 31 years I had never been to a movie alone! I have also been off Instagram or any social media except Reddit and YouTube for about a month now.

Since staring this program, I’ve cried in rooms full of people, I’ve shared things that left my whole body shaking and been met with love and understanding, I’ve started a new medication (Wellbutrin), I’ve learned how to find the space between “I’m experiencing a negative emotion” and “I hate myself”, I’ve danced with my body in the mirror and I’ve started to dream about my future again.

Which brings me to today, talking to my parents. We talked for two hours, I told them about my dreams and they gave me their blessing in my pursuit of them. I felt empowered and terrified by this. Telling people you’re going to try to live your life is almost as scary as telling them that you don’t want to (live). It’s vulnerable and feels foolish to a mind that closes every door just as soon as it opens.

I guess what I want to say, aside from telling part of my tale, is that professional help is, shockingly, helpful. Nobody at the program has made me feel ashamed, in fact every single staff member has had their own crises of addiction or mental health, so they truly have been there. If you are struggling, take this piece of advice from someone incredibly stubborn and guarded: swallow your pride and ask for help. Feels like shit, but it’s worth it. Maybe try IOP if you have a local program.

Let’s stop abandoning ourselves.