There's a Mark on the Kitchen Cupboard

There's a mark on the kitchen cupboard.

It's small and brown and probably could be scrubbed off or painted over, but no one has gotten round to it yet. It's not the first thing that people notice when they come to the house– in fact, most people never notice it at all. They're more likely to notice the amount of empty wine bottles and pizza boxes, or the fact we really need to give the place a Hoover once in a while.

But the reality is, that small mark on the kitchen cupboard is the only evidence that remains of my suicide attempt last year.

I'd been numbing my brain with sleeping pills and wine for months because my anxiety meds weren't working and I didn't want to face the nightmarish "reality" that I'd convinced myself was my only option. "Get a new job?" How could I do that when I was so rubbish at the one I had? "Pour out your soul into writing and art?" How could I do that when it seemed so much effort to even pick up a pen?

Depression and anxiety often manifest themselves to the outside world as laziness and irresponsibility, but we manage to convince ourselves that it all makes complete sense.

"I have a one to one with my manager today." "I'd rather not go because talking to people at work terrifies me, and besides, I don't want to hear about how bad at my job I am from someone else."

"I have to meet potential clients later this week." "What's the point? They're only going to be bowled over by how amateurish and unprofessional I am."

When every situation seems to have a back-handed answer, isn't it natural to want to suppress the fear rather than deal with it head on? That's what the world seems to want us to do. "Get over it", "it can't really be that bad if you can still go out and be social", "I can do it so why can't you?"

So, for a while, it seemed to work. My magical concoction of antidepressants, diazepam, and alcohol seemed to lift me up to the productivity level of "normal" people like the jetpack I needed. Depression already makes you feel so insignificant to the outside world that you're certain that none of them will notice your vacant expression and dilated pupils, because you simply don't matter. Of course, they notice– it's just that so many people feel uncomfortable talking about it.

But that discomfort is what led to my chair falling horizontally and smashing into the kitchen cupboard on New Year's Eve, with my body still attached to it. I was one of the lucky ones, with a kind, caring flatmate who saw what was happening and came straight to the rescue. But not everyone is that fortunate.

I'll reiterate something I read (paraphrased as I can't find the original for the life of me) that resonated with me after the suicides of Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain:

"Depression and anxiety often make it difficult for sufferers to reach out to you. It's your job to keep an eye out and reach out to them."

Which is easier said than done, I know. But even just a text or meme sent in good spirit is better than the self-inflicted isolation that anxiety and depression create. I'll leave you with a silly end note causes it might make it easier to remember: look out for your friend's kitchen cupboard.