How To Save A Life: Suicide Prevention Day, 2018

September 10, 2018November 15, 2020 ~ Lorelei Savaryn ~ 4 Comments

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255

Donate to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention: https://afsp.org/

Grieving Suicide

Grieving my 47-year-old aunt Jeannine’s suicide has been different than any other grief I have experienced in my time on this earth. It is heavy, it is dark, it is slow, it is hard.

179215_10150133498660815_7861219_n — Me and Neen before.

She left so many things behind. Family, friends, loved ones. We all must live now with a story that ended in a nightmare. We hurt for our grief, but we also hurt for the pain Jeannine felt in those final minutes. We want the chance to go back in time, to take some of that pain off her shoulders. To write a different ending.

Sometimes suicide grief is weird. I’ve had so many thoughts and emotions. Anger, compassion, pleading, confusion, an insatiable hunger for answers. I’ve been mad at the inanimate objects that were in her apartment because they witnessed her die and did nothing. I’ve had to think long and hard about which of the items that were in that room I wanted to keep. A million weird things have passed through my head as I frame our life ‘after.’

She left so many things behind. Her gemstones, her clothes, her records, her movies, her furniture, her art, her jewelry, her dishes, cookie cutters, board games, pictures, books.

And journals.

We have an abundance of journals. Part of my grieving process has been, in small pieces, to read her heart on those pages. At first, I wanted answers. Sometimes, I was mad. Now I am trying to understand.

You see, to many who knew her, Jeannine was a bright spot of sunlight on a cloudy day. She paid attention to the little things. She saw people, and helped make their day better. She cooked delicious food, and baked, and made her own amazing chocolates. She loved being silly. She planned elaborate trips for me and my friends on multiple occasions to visit her in NYC. We laughed a lot. We had deep conversations.

I, like many others, had no idea my aunt was chronically depressed.

But there it is, on the pages of her journals. She wondered what was wrong with her, why she was always so tired. She thought cruel things about herself and her self-worth. More than once, she considered ending her life.

And no one knew she was depressed. Not even herself.

I haven’t read a page yet where she connected her struggles to depression. She wanted to snap herself out of it, she felt like she was watching her life go by, she was really, really sad a lot of the time and thought it was because something was intrinsically wrong with her. But, except for to a very few people on extreme occasions, she put on a smile and lit up the room.

My Why

I’ve journaled in the past, on and off, but particularly when I’ve been going through a struggle. When I look back on my journals during those difficult times, I am struck by how similar her journals sound to mine. Like, eerily similar.

And it’s hard not to wonder what the difference was, that I came out of it okay and Neen lost her life. Was it that I identified it as depression? That I had someone close to me who saw the problem? But I isolated myself and put a happy face on plenty, too. Was it that my depression was more situational/hormonal, and hadn’t been following me for decades? That I had years of relief between relatively short depressive seasons and for her it was relentless?

In the end, for my aunt, we know it was the perfect storm of trauma on a terrible, awful night. All the wrong pieces came together in the absolute worst possible way, and she was left without hope.

In light of this, or, perhaps to try and make some sense of it, I’m going to briefly describe my own experiences with depression in the hopes to shed some light on the variety of faces depression can take. No matter how many pages of journal I read, I will never have all the answers about why my aunt didn’t survive her depression. But I can work to understand my own experiences, and be a voice that breaks the silence.

Depression Three Times

In my adult life, I have had three seasons of depression. As mentioned above, mine have been either circumstantial or hormonal/body chemistry related. Here is a summary of what those seasons looked like form me.

1- Between the ages of 20 and 21, I worked at a small company in a small office with three men. The owner of the company was also a man, and the only woman I interacted with there was his wife. The three men who worked in the office asked me inappropriate questions about intimate things, and joked about inappropriate sexual things while I was working, or eating lunch with them, or whenever.

I scheduled a meeting with the boss and his wife to share that the work environment had gotten uncomfortable for me. They listened intently and I left that meeting believing I now had some advocates on my side.

The next time I went to work, the men apologized. But only days later, I got a call from the wife of the boss telling me I was being let go.

The quality of my work hadn’t changed, and the company was pretty busy, which was why they had hired me as extra help. The only thing that had changed was I spoke up about their inappropriate sexual comments at work.

After that, I suffered low moods, some hopelessness, and feelings of being helpless. Within a couple of months, my life had moved onto other things, and there was much in my life that was going well, and the depression subsided on its own.

2- After giving birth to my children, I had mild to severe postpartum depression, and it was a bit different with each child. It varied from low mood and pervasive sadness after Felicity was born, to very, very scary thoughts of self-harm after August was born. I felt like I was watching my life through a pane of glass and couldn’t get in. I didn’t think I was good for my children. I thought the world would be better without me.

After we diagnosed the postpartum depression, I took Zoloft for approximately 6 months in combination with therapy, and reading books about postpartum. I followed all the directions for how to take care of myself and I began noticing an improvement after I had been on the medication for 2-4 weeks. Things started feeling better, I was able to smile and enjoy my children again, and I knew I would be okay. I wrote in detail about my experience with postpartum depression and anxiety here.

3- Three years ago, a woman broke into my home while I was alone with our then two children. I was on the phone with 911 for just under 6 minutes before they arrived, hiding in an upstairs bedroom as I watched this person peep around my backyard and ultimately gain entry. When they police came, she was in my kitchen. To this day I don’t know what her intentions were, but I do know that I was home alone with my young kids, without any means of defending myself while someone who was drunk, or high, or both was in my house.

After that happened, I exhibited many symptoms of PTSD. Functioning at work became difficult. Seeing an unfamiliar face in my neighborhood caused a panic. Unexpected loud noises did the same. I slept better once we installed a home security system.

I ended up having to leave a job that was highly-stressful even when I was functioning at 100%. It was hard to leave. I felt like I was letting a lot of people down, and that didn’t help. My thoughts, for a time, grew dark and scary. We were going to buy a gun for home protection. I told my husband not to. I was worried about myself with a weapon like that in my home.

As weeks and months passed from the traumatic event, my depressive symptoms again subsided. Besides that very unique traumatic incident that I couldn’t have controlled, our life was in a very good place. I was able to weather the storm of acute stress probably in part because of that. But, having experienced scary depression prior with the postpartum issues, it was a very unwelcome return to that place for even a relatively short time.

The Other Side

Writing a lot of that feels very weird now, because I am in such a different mental space now, and in general. I’m not someone who struggles with chronic depression, but I have struggled at different times, and in different ways each of those times.

But I am so thankful I survived, because it wasn’t a guarantee. And I now understand what depression is, so even when something happens that is triggering, I can label what is happening and I know where to reach out for help if I need it.

And I wonder how many people could be saved by having access to tools to help them identify what is happening?

It’s been hard not to play the what-if game with Jeannine.

What if she had understood that her depression wasn’t something innately wrong with her as a person?

What if she had been able to put a name to all the things she was feeling and was able to get help?

What if she had taken an anti-depressant?

What if people just simply talked about it more so she would have had a chance to recognize the overlap between others’ experiences and her own?

Walking Wounded

For those of us who have suffered a suicide loss, we walk this earth wounded every day.

I did keep some of her personal belongings, and they now sit in my home. I am thankful to be able to remember her with those items, but I often think how they don’t belong here. They belong with her, in her apartment, with her there to look at them each day.

I’ve also been appointed the personal representative of her estate. There are a lot of things to do with that. Legal things, tax things, things that remind me daily how I wish things had turned out different. I even play out different scenarios in my head while driving or sitting after the house has gone quiet late at night. I imagine what would have happened if I had seen her deactivate her Facebook page the minute she did it and called to check in. If she had answered her phone. If there could have been a different ending to this story.

Jeannine walked wounded every day, too. It’s there, plain as day on the pages of her journals. And so many of us here also walk wounded because of depression.

Breaking the Silence

It’s so important to break the silence. Breaking the silence is a way to start a conversation, to end stigma, to open up avenues of support. And maybe, a way to save a life.

-Lorelei

Purchase Lorelei’s Books Here:

Walking Through Lent During A Time of Loss

March 10, 2018November 15, 2020 ~ Lorelei Savaryn ~ 14 Comments

It’s been a bit quiet over here on the blog for the past few weeks. A great sadness entered into my family’s life on February 4th, and it’s taken me a while to figure out exactly what I wanted to say. It didn’t seem right to write about anything else besides this, and I felt stuck until I could find the words. But I think I might have some now.

I had a very cool aunt named Jeannine. She used to live in New York City. She was 47 years old. And, due to a very tragic mixture of difficult circumstances and struggles, my very cool aunt chose to end her life on the evening of February 4th.

There has been an ocean of sadness as our family copes with this loss. I have never been so closely touched by suicide, and I hope to never experience this pain again. I know in time the acuteness of the suffering will fade, but the struggle and sadness from this loss will last a lifetime.

We’re left with so many unanswered questions. We know she struggled with addiction, and mental distress, and that she searched for good, but lost herself sometimes along the way. We just never in a million years would have expected it to come to this. We will deeply miss the beautiful person she was, and mourn the memories that will never be made.

Right now, I’m thankful for the moments of good. The snuggles from my kids. An evening eating chocolate and watching a TV show and talking with my husband. A moment at work where I am helpful to a teacher. Writing words.

But in it all, I have not felt close to God. And I think it’s important to be honest about that, because it is the reality of my current situation.

How odd this is all happening during Lent. I told a friend recently that I identify more with Jesus’ 40 days in the desert now than I ever have. Lent feels like a desert to me. Dry and barren and merciless. I see mirages in the distance. Moments when I forget this happened, and imagine my aunt is still out there, somewhere I could visit or give her a call. But, like mirages, the moments fade and in the sunlight, our new reality is blindingly clear.

I may not feel like God is near, I may not feel close to Him. But that doesn’t mean He isn’t there. God doesn’t exist or not exist depending on me.

So, right now, I’m going to Mass. I’m saying prayers. And none of this is because I feel it is true. It’s because I believe it is true regardless of how I feel.

I look forward to the day when I’ve emerged from these tumultuous seas. But it’s a process. And I trust my God is patient. And there. Whether I feel Him or not.

He doesn’t change like I do. And I know He won’t let me go.

On Easter Vigil, I will be at Mass, standing with my mother as her sponsor as she is confirmed into the Catholic Church.

And oh, I hope and pray that the power of Easter Sunday breaks through me. That it finds its way past the numbness and the anger and the pain. That the power of the hope of all things one day being made right will reverberate inside me and settle in my soul. For my aunt, and for us all. The hope that she is at peace, tucked safely in the arms of Love Itself. And that those of us left reeling from this loss will find our way back there as well.

-Lorelei

Purchase Lorelei’s Books Here:

The Invisible Struggle: My Journey Through Postpartum Depression and Anxiety, Then and Now

February 25, 2017November 15, 2020 ~ Lorelei Savaryn ~ 3 Comments

One of the biggest things I’ve learned through my own journeys through postpartum depression and anxiety is how good we humans can be at looking like we are okay. That’s partly why if I know you, and you have had a baby recently, there’s a good chance I will do my best to check in and ask you how you are doing. And, based on my own history, I might ask you more than once to make sure things haven’t changed, or to give you another chance to tell someone if something is wrong and you’ve still been keeping it to yourself. And if I’ve missed any of my friends because you seemed to be doing fine, I’m sorry. I know better.

And that’s also why I feel it’s important for me to be honest about my own experiences. I hope that women will be able to talk about postpartum issues easily and without shame and get the help that they need before things get too serious.

You see, this isn’t my first time at the postpartum depression/anxiety rodeo. But, there are some very significant differences in how things are going for me this time, versus how they went for me before.

The first time I had significant postpartum issues that required intervention was after the birth of our son, August. The second, right now, after the birth of our little Mary.

Then,

I stayed silent. Even after I knew something was terribly wrong, I kept it inside for weeks.

Now,

I started seeing a psychologist 2 months prior to Mary’s birth. She taught me strategies for dealing with depressive feelings and anxiety that I could later put to use if needed. I knew I had a significantly higher risk of dealing with depression/anxiety this time because I had experienced it before. I didn’t want to be silent if it happened again.

Then,

Postpartum anxiety and depression hit me like a freight train. I was having panic attacks, which I had never experienced before. I was driving erratically.I felt like I was stuck behind a wall and couldn’t access my own life. I was spending time thinking about the least traumatic ways to make myself disappear. All very abnormal for me, and all very scary. And I didn’t see it coming.

Now,

We knew exactly what to look for, and didn’t take it lightly. JP and I monitored my mental state regularly after the baby’s birth. I kept my counselor updated. I was honest. When, early on, I had some depression, and now, when I’m still dealing with anxiety, the conversation had already been started.

Then,

My treatment plan included me needing to take Zoloft for approximately 6 months. I also did every. single. thing. that I was told would help me recover. I saw a counselor, I exercised, I made myself shower, I started eating right, I let family help. Looking back, I don’t think if it were up to me doing it for myself, that I would have had the strength to do what I needed to do to heal. But as I read about depression, I learned about the effects of a depressed parent on her children. And so I took the medication for their sake. I did what I was supposed to do to recover for their sake. And, after a few weeks, little bits of my normal self began to peek through.

Now,

My treatment plan started before Mary’s birth with developing a relationship with my psychologist. I still see her regularly. I also began implementing all the things I learned the first time around, and the new tools I’d acquired as early as I could. I’m using a light therapy box and taking extra vitamins. Once I was cleared to exercise, I started to exercise. I journaled so I could track my mood and anxiety levels right from the get-go. We hired a postpartum doula to help with cooking, cleaning, laundry, and baby care. My mom comes to help for 3 days every other week. And when I started having symptoms, I put into place the strategies I learned from counseling. I wasn’t hit by a freight train this time around. I knew what to do, and was already getting the support I would need. So, overall, things have been less scary and less severe.

Then,

I considered myself fully recovered by the time my son was 7 months old. I put a lot of hard work into that recovery. And, thankfully, postpartum depression and anxiety is not a chronic issue. It might be reoccuring, depending on whether or not we have any more children, but it is not something you live with forever. And I held on to that hope that first, long, dark time through. Thankfully, it was true. I was totally back to my normal, functioning self. Morning had broken.

Now,

I don’t know how long I have until I will be fully recovered. I’m hopeful that based on the timing of my recovery the first time, that my body chemistry will level itself out by mid-summer, maybe sooner, especially with all I’m doing to help the healing process. I’m managing right now without medication, but I’m needing to keep things really simple. I know from experience that if I try and do too much on a given day, my anxiety will be worse. I know if I don’t get enough sleep, or can’t make up sleep with a nap my anxiety will be worse. I know if I don’t exercise, it will be worse. And, because of how I’ve been able to manage my symptoms much more effectively this time around with this treatment plan, and because we know that pace of life is a huge contributing factor in how well I do on a given day, we’ve had to make a difficult decision to extend my leave from work while I make sure I continue to recover well. This time I’m able to know that I want to recover fully and as soon as possible not only for my children, but also, for myself.

Beyond The Surface

Having postpartum depression and anxiety has helped me to desire to look more deeply in situations where people that might otherwise appear to be fine. We often put our best face forward for the world to see, and that best face can hide some deep pain or struggle underneath. I want to give a couple of personal examples of that, in the hopes that it can continue to remind me and others to extend compassion, and to encourage vulnerability.

Anyone who spotted me driving in the car last week with the kids would have seen what appeared to be a woman, simply driving. But they wouldn’t have known that I overscheduled myself on that day, and we were running late to get Felicity to theater class. In reality, we were going to be 2-3 minutes late. Which for normal Lorelei wouldn’t be a huge deal. But the hustle of trying to get there on time when I had attempted too much triggered my anxiety. I was working very hard to stay calm with the kids, but I assigned more blame on their lack of speed getting ready than I should have. My mind was racing as I tried to utilize the strategies I had learned to keep from panic taking over. And someone looking very closely would have noticed that as I drove, my hands were shaking.

Also this week, friends of mine on Facebook would have seen this picture of JP and I waiting for a concert to start:

16681836_10100652365133687_428422449057818422_n — Don’t we look so happy and excited?!

Cute pic. But what this picture doesn’t show is that not even ten minutes later, one of the opening acts came on, and the way the music was mixed was very heavy on the bass. It was so much bass that my insides were shaking. And my thoughts started racing… I thought the building was going to come down, or that something inside my body would stop working from all the shaking. There were people on all sides of me and I felt trapped. I tried to breathe, and tried to ground myself, and stick it out, but I just couldn’t.

None of those thoughts were rational. But that’s how anxiety works. So I used another strategy. I removed myself from the area, and sat out that act’s entire set in the concourse where the sound was much more muted. I told JP I was worried if the main act had that level of bass that I would struggle to be in there during their concert. Thankfully, their sound mix was very different and we were ok. But… the point is, that picture of me didn’t tell the whole story of the night. I didn’t put nearly running out of the area in a panic as my Facebook status for the evening.

I hope to be able to continue to be honest about what I’ve been through with others. Perhaps it will help someone feel less alone. Perhaps it will help someone make a decision to reach out. Because postpartum stuff is nothing to mess around with. Suicide is way up there with other leading causes of maternal death. But, taken seriously, it is so, so very treatable. And you totally get yourself back after you’ve done the hard work to recover, whether that be taking medication for a while, or excercising, or therapy, or any combination of the many, many tools available that help you get yourself back from the darkness.

Other Resources

Below are 3 resources I have taken advantage of at different points in my own postpartum journey, and that I found to be very helpful.

This Isn’t What I Expected. This is an amazing book that helped to normalize my experiences, and start me on the path of having tools to recover. It also has a whole chapter devoted to helping husbands know how to help their wives.

Postpartum Progress. This website contains stories from women about their postpartum experiences. It also has articles and links to resources for help.

Postpartum Support International. A hotline that connects women to resources for help.