Somehow, I’ve always known I’d die of suicide…

It’s part and parcel of having crippling depression. Oh, did I not mention I have crippling depression? Well, I do.

It’s one of the reasons I started this blog: to be me; to tell the world how I see it. Also, I’ve been told I need to stretch my writing muscles, and since my abs aren’t doing any stretching right now, I might as well give it a shot.

For those who don’t know me:

“Hi.”

There . . . we’ve met.

My name is Kiko Kiera Garcia. I’m trans, I’m overweight, I’m cute as a button, I’m pretty good with makeup, I have a FANTASTIC attitude (not being sarcastic, I really do!), and I have crippling depression.

Wait, I hear you ask, how can someone have a good attitude and crippling depression? Well, swallow that flat, warm Coke you just shoved in your face, because I’m about to make you do a spit take; for you see . . .

1. DEPRESSION HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH ATTITUDE

It’s one of the things us folks with depression get tired of hearing over and over like the song list of Power 96.5 Springfield, Missouri.

“It’s all about attitude! Just find something that makes you happy!” Look, I appreciate the help, but that’s not how depression works, not for me anyway.

Depression is like this dark cloud that won’t go away. During my happiest times, it’s still there, lingering like some shadowy figure, weighing me down. Let me give you an example: I just had one of the best vacations of my life. A bunch of close friends, my girlfriend, and I went to Las Vegas. We partied by the pool, we played some games, we walked the Las Vegas Strip: it was amazing and we’re already planning another trip in the future. I had fun. . . . but the cloud; it was still there.

What is the cloud, you ask? It’s different things for different people; for me it’s the thought that no one REALLY likes me; that everyone is just BEING NICE. It’s not a voice, or anything like that. It’s a feeling. And it’s real; the FEELING is real, not what it stands for. Is that confusing? Good, welcome to my world.

Let me make it easier. I know the thought that everyone doesn’t like me is bullshit. I know its bullshit, because reality says otherwise. I hang out with my friends all the time and we always enjoy each other’s company. I love my girlfriend and she loves me by showing our affection towards each other. Nothing has changed about any of those things as far as what I’ve experienced in life – but, the feelings. The feelings say different. The feelings say that when I text my girlfriend, she rolls her eyes out of frustration and contempt. The feelings say that when I’m hanging out with my friends, they’re constantly trying to find ways to split. The feelings say that no one really likes me; quite the opposite – everyone is trying their hardest to stay away from me. They ignore me at worst and tolerate me at best.

By the way, if any of my friends is reading this, I want to reiterate something: I know that those thoughts are bullshit! But that doesn’t mean the feelings are. Do you remember that scene from the movie “Hannibal” where Anthony Hopkins cuts off the top part of Ray Liotta’s head, revealing his brain? And Ray Liotta is all happy and drugged up? I don’t either, so let me find a better example: remember “The Animatrix”? Yeah, you do. There’s a scene in the first short film where robots are poking around people’s brains, causing them to laugh or cry uncontrollably: that’s what it’s like; and it can come out of nowhere. One second you’re all happy eating Doritos, then the next second, out of nowhere, a gut feeling strikes that you are truly alone and nothing you do, or have done, or will ever do, matters . . . eating Doritos.

Hold on a sec, I hear you say, wiping that warm sticky Coke from your face, why can’t you just tell yourself that the feelings aren’t real?

Haven’t you been listening? –

2. THE FEELINGS ARE REAL

Still got a mother? Good. Now imagine she just died in a horrible accident. I’ll even let you pick the accident. Maybe it was a car crash. Maybe she fell off a balcony – she always partied so hard. And if your mother is already dead . . . I don’t know, pick someone who’s close to you and imagine they’ve been in a horrible accident. Really, imagine it; try hard to imagine it. Imagine getting the news of their death by a phone call. Imagine not knowing what to do next. Imagine crying in the corner as you try and gather your thoughts.

Pretty dark huh? I mean, can you imagine? How does that make you feel? Sad? Depressed? Well, I got news for you: it’s not the same as how I feel, not by a long shot. Here’s the difference: you can imagine these feelings, and sure, it makes you depressed for a while, but they were still triggered by a thought. You had to imagine your mother dying. It’s something we all think about all the time. How awful would it be if (insert close relative’s name here) died? And it makes you sad.

But, what if those feelings happened apropos of nothing? Nothing triggered them, they just happen. It’s SO hard to explain you guys. Feelings are not thoughts. They are not images, they are not memory, they sure as shit aren’t attitude; because those things aren’t real.

Feelings are real.

Feels are realz – (meh, worth a shot)

When your heart sinks into your stomach, when you’re short of breath, when your hands shake, when your mind becomes dull and numb; those are real. Let’s not forget the sadness; the pure, black sadness. The dark cloud that follows you into the sunniest days. The Shadowy Friend that always wants to hold your hand and lead you to the abyss of the dark, black nothing. The sadness is fucking real.

Now, imagine these feelings popping up at a friend’s birthday party. You’re having a blast, shooting the shit with your besties; then your other friend shows up, your Shadowy Friend, the Sadness; and she wants to hold your hand.

And you do.

You are surrounded by the people you love the most. Your friends are there. Your girlfriend is there. Some family may even be there. You’re surrounded by the most loving, supporting people anyone could hope to have in their lives . . . .and you’ve never been lonelier.

Hold up there, you say as you drop the bottle of warm coke on the carpet floor out of sheer bemusement, I have seen you at several parties. In fact, I see you all the time. You’re always in a good mood – always joking around, always making people laugh.

*sigh* . . . at this point it’s almost a cliché isn’t it? Some of the happiest, funniest people end up killing themselves. The reason why is because . . .

3. YOU LEARN TO LIVE WITH DEPRESSION (UNTIL YOU DON’T)

What? Did you think this all started months ago? A few years back? Sistah, please – I’ve had these feelings, this – depression since before grade school, since I was a fucking child!  Almost since I’ve known I was trans; which has been all my life. Did they grow together hand in hand? Perhaps, but that’s a goddamn book for another time right there.

My point is: like anything you grow up with, you learn to deal. How did I deal? I didn’t want anyone to know I had it (very typical with crippling depressed people), so I made sure that no one had to feel what I felt, so I projected the exact opposite feelings onto society; simple yes? I felt (For Real! Remember?) lonely, extremely lonely; I made sure that no one I knew felt as I did. I made jokes, I began writing, I joined the media club, band, speech and theater. If there was an audience, then I was there to entertain.

I was pretty good at it too. Still am, really.

But I told no one about my feelings. My feelings were sacred; locked up in some metaphysical box. My Shadowy Friend was my secret, and my burden. And when she wanted to come out to play, whenever she reached out her frozen, bony fingers, I had to oblige and hold her hand: welcome to depression.

And it worked! Making people happy made me happy (genuinely, it did! Remember, I am a happy person 90 percent of the time . . . make that 70 percent . . .do I hear 50?).  I continued media and writing throughout college and even into my career for a little while. I’m even doing it right now. Yes! I am writing this for people to read and, hopefully, enjoy!

Yet, those feelings of sheer loneliness; my Shadowy Friend. Somehow, she got stronger through the years, as I’m sure she does for most people with crippling depression. It’s why I call it “crippling,” it bears you down with dark, slimy weight over time. Pretty soon, writing wasn’t enough to keep her away, so I dropped it all together, except for some extra-long Facebook posts here and there. I lost my motivation for a bunch of the things I used to genuinely enjoy. I still had the will to keep people happy though, so I became an amazing listener and conversationalist. People tell me stuff all the time that they wouldn’t tell God, and he can hear their thoughts! To be honest, I can feel my motivation even for that drifting away as of late.

It’s like you’re born at the bottom of an hourglass and the only thing that falls through the crevasse are tiny droplets of dark, thick oil; maybe a droplet every couple of months or so. You learn to step aside as the droplets fall, but that gets tiring after a while, so you occasionally let a droplet hit you on the shoulder as you rest. Of course, the droplets keep coming, you can’t stop them. After years and years, you’re knee-deep in it. It’s so thick, moving around becomes exhausting; yet you still try to carry on. Years later, the oil level surrounds your neck; it’s hard to move, or breathe. With all the frail power you have left, you make your way to the center of the hourglass, look up, and finally embrace it. You close your eyes as you feel the oil splash on your forehead. After all these years you finally get a sense of relief as the oil level rises above your nose. At that point, the people you loved most, your closest friends, your family; will wonder why they didn’t see it coming.

Jesus Christ girl, you say as you wipe the coke from the carpet with a cold wet rag when you should be blotting the coke with a warm wet rag you animal, that’s fucking dark! Why have you never told me this before today?

Look, I understand this is a lot to take in if you’ve never suffered from depression before. But it’s about to get darker, so buckle up.

Here’s a picture of a puppy to soften the blow:

 

 

I’ve never told you because, in my mind, if I were to tell anyone, I was certain that . . .

4. DISCUSSING DEPRESSION CHANGES EVERYTHING

I mean, how could it not?

Let’s say you get a text from that one friend who’s always been happy; always had a good attitude. You two meet at his place, and he tells you he’s suffered from depression most of his life. What do you do? What is your reaction? Do you run the other way as far as you can? Do you tell him that you’re his best friend and that you’ll always be there for him? Here’s a doozy of a question for you though: can you honestly see him the same way you did just 5 short minutes ago before he told you? It’s almost impossible isn’t it?

I can’t speak for others like me, but that’s what I’ve always feared: that our friendship, that our dynamic will forever be changed.

And it shouldn’t! Look; to all my friends and family: the person you have known, Me (Kiko), has always had depression. I had it before I met most of you. So, the person you see when you see me, has grown up with it; it’s part of me. I wouldn’t be the person you know if I didn’t have depression. I would be completely different!

The person that changes the most will be you, to be honest. Suddenly, the truth about this someone you know comes out; how can you not act differently? To you (some of you anyway), I am now a different person than I was before you read this article.

But I’m NOT!

I grew up with these feelings! I am who I am because of these feelings, not despite them! I wouldn’t know how to act, how to behave, how to tell a joke, how to listen, how to write without my Shadowy Friend holding my hand. At this point, I wouldn’t know how to live without her.

I don’t want your pity, I sure as hell don’t want your admiration or reverence. I just want your understanding.

I need you to understand.

Because there might be a day when my Shadowy Friend wants to hold hands, and she’ll hold a little tighter; and she’ll refuse to let go. The day I finally look up and embrace the falling black oil. There might be a day when you’ll see a sign on my bedroom door that says: “Don’t Go In. Just Call the Cops.”

For me, for most of my life, that day has been an inevitability. I can’t see it ending any other way. As I get older, that day feels sooner rather than later; and it scares me.

For God sakes don’t call the cops yet!

This isn’t a suicide letter. Y’see, this is what I was talking about. Now you’re all worried about me and shit. Believe me, I’m fine. Remember, I have lived with these thoughts and feelings since I was tiny; I wouldn’t be the person I am without them. Still, people kill themselves over this shit all the time. I guess that’s why I’m trying something new. I’m letting you know; letting you in. I want to give you a sense of understanding.

Wow, I hear you exclaim as you wipe your tears away with a cold, Coke-riddled rag, I feel like I should do something to help. What can I do?

Not much really. Mainly because –

5. HELPING IS HARD (BUT DOABLE)

How many times have you seen or heard the friend or family of a suicide victim say, “If they only would have let me know. I could have been there for them.”?

Is that really true though?

You have a busy schedule. Some of you have kids. Can you really fit “being there” for someone you love at a moments notice? It sounds like a mean question, but it’s an honest one. Depression isn’t on anyone’s schedule, especially the victim’s schedule. It pops up when it wants to; for me anyway. There are times when several months pass before my Shadowy Friend appears; and then she’s gone half a day later. There are times when she sticks around for weeks. She comes and goes – she’s crazy like that.

So, eventually,  the cares of friends and family go from “being there” to “let them know”. You hear it all the time when someone has died – “Listen, Malachi. I want you to know that if you need anything. You just let me know.” Poor Malachi just lost his whole family to rabies and now his friend has placed the burden of help on him. He has to let them know if or when he needs help dealing with such a tragic, foamy-mouthed loss.

Please don’t do that to me. Don’t ask me to just “let you know” when I need you. It makes me feel like a burden; like I’m taking time from your busy schedule to drop everything and come over. It’s no different than asking to borrow your car or help me move out.

So what should you do to help? Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve been on my own with this burden for so long, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Actually, that’s not true: I’ve written a blog about it. That’s a beginning, I guess. “Why didn’t they tell me about it?” – It’s a question friends and family of suicide victims ask all the the time. Well, here I am. I’ve told you about it. Now what?

But hey! It’s a start right? Don’t look so glum. Look at me! I’m smiling! 😀  See? Now you give it a try. I know I’ve talked openly about my depression; discussed my suicide, compared my feelings to a shadowy figure I keep referring to as my “friend”: but, try and give a smile for ol’ Kiko:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There it is!

 

Look, depression isn’t the easiest thing to talk about. But it’s something that should be discussed openly, freely, and safely. Too many people have died because they fear what will happen when they talk about their depression with friends and family. They fear that the dynamic will forever be changed; that people will look down on them with pity; or even the opposite; they fear that people will look up at them with admiration for their “bravery”. I’m not brave. I’m also not pitiful. I’m Kiko. I’m the same Kiko now as I was 5 short minutes ago. Like I said, I don’t know how you can help, but listening would be a good start.

Listen and understand. Try your hardest to understand. You won’t get it right off, and you may want to give up in frustration, but try to understand. That’s all I ask. And once this topic can finally stop being so taboo, then maybe the death toll will drop. Hopefully.

If anyone reading this has depression, crippling depression, I want you to know that there’s at least one person out there like you. And when your Shadowy Friend, your feelings, start to get the better of you, know that I’m also holding her hand. And one day, when she wants to walk you to the abyss; by talking it out, you may find the right amount of strength to pull back.

Speaking of which, as I sit by myself in the dark, writing my first blog; I can feel her approach, like a gust of wind in my mind. She makes me doubt writing this article. Makes me think that my friends will run away after reading it. That my family will look down with pity and disappointment. Remember, these feelings are real. I can feel them. Here’s hoping I have the strength to publish . . . .
– Kiko Kiera Garcia