I Survived Suicide by Journaling: Take Control of Your Mental Health by Putting Pen to Paper

My relationship with mental health is complicated.

Both sides of my family have a history of anxiety, depression, addiction, and other recognized DSM-5 disorders. I’m also a child sex abuse survivor. I’ve attempted suicide, have premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD), and was put on a cocktail of SSRIs, anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, and birth control during my teen to young adult years.

So basically, my mental health and I have seen some things. 

But inheriting and grappling with mental health issues early on made me start doing internal work (something we’re all called to do) sooner than someone who had more of a “normal” childhood.

So although I felt like a guinea pig with all the different medications I was put on as a teen and young adult, today, I’m a little over two years prescription free; that’s a fact I’m really proud of.

That’s not to say being on medication is bad, it just wasn’t right for me. From the age of about 13 to 26 years old, my developing brain wasn’t allowed to function on its own. So being able to get through life on my synapses, hormones, and chemicals swirling through this meat sack is something I’m really grateful for.

But although I’m drug-free, there are things in my life that I rely on like medication. Yoga is a big one. Linking my body and mind together, consciously breathing through the poses is incredibly helpful. They say movement is medicine, and that’s definitely true. I don’t like how I feel when it’s been more than a few days without a flow.

But it’s journaling that I’ve practiced since I was a kid. I’d stay up way past my bedtime, scribbling my thoughts, feelings and reflections onto the pages of various notebooks.

I didn’t realize at the time what an emotional release that was every time I put pen to paper. As kids, we just instinctually do what brings us joy and speaks to our souls. But in our teen and young adult years, we get separated from those innate truths and abilities, and then it’s up to us to find them again. 

And I speak from experience.

I was hospitalized for suicidal thoughts, OCD and just a constant crushing sense of dread three times during high school. The third and final time, I attempted suicide, taking a whole bottle of Advil in a clear cry for help. I remember lying down after, just wanting to go to sleep, when I heard a voice say, “Get up, get up, get up.”

I did and had to tell my Dad what happened. I can’t even imagine how awful that was for him and my mom, and I’m so very grateful for having such supportive and loving parents who stood by and continue to stand by my side through it all. 

After a night in the hospital, I was transferred to Four Winds, a mental health facility in Upstate New York. It was my third time there, and I was so over it. I didn’t want to go back, but I didn’t have a choice. I knew what to expect: scheduled days, lots of food, forced group activities, mandatory solo time in our room, and the occasional one-on-one therapy session. 

I felt hopeless.

But then, I had a visitor: the pastor of my community church. She hugged me, told me she and God loved me and gave me the greatest gift I ever received, a beautiful journal with an ethereal tree drawn on the front. As she gave it to me, she told me to make it my own. To fill it with whatever I needed to feel better, to pour my heart on the page and know God was reading and was there to help. 

It was because of that journal that I wrote myself out of Four Winds, able to work through the feelings and experiences that wounded me. I cut out pictures and words from magazines, writing how I felt about the snippings, and taped drawings, group assignments and notes from the peers I met through my stay. 

That journal was the medicine my soul had been craving. It let me unravel my innermost thoughts and turbulent emotions, unlocking an understanding about myself: I was ready to move forward.

I have a lot of thoughts about Four Winds and the way mental health is treated in this country, but at the end of the day, I was given the first step in my healing in the form of a journal.

A lot of life has happened in the past 12 years, but journaling has been a practice I repeatedly turned back to. It was instrumental when I recovered repressed memories of being sexually abused as a kid, and sanity-saving when I left an evangelical cult and got divorced at 25. 

And now, at 28, with countless journals filled with breakthroughs, observations, and reflections from a consistent journaling practice, I can’t imagine doing life without my pen and paper. If I go a few days without carving out that dedicated time for myself, that anxiety and depression like to wiggle themselves in. 

And that’s just not a headspace I can stay in. 

I was sharing my reflections about the vital role journaling plays in my life with my therapist of 16 years when she asked if I would be interested in teaching a course about the practice. I’ve felt a pull to help people tap into the benefits of journaling for a while but didn’t know how to proceed. So when she offered up her multi-purpose room, I couldn’t say no. 

On Tuesday, October 25, from 6 to 8 PM, I’ll be holding a workshop at True North at 499 Glen Street in Glens Falls to teach others how to incorporate this practice into their life. Participants will receive a notebook, pen, and guided meditation to get them into the zone of this long-practiced craft.

We all have days where life is friggin rough; getting out of bed is a challenge, and we don’t know how we’ll get through it. I still have those moments. Recently, I was out of work for a few days on sick leave, and after a few days of forced stillness, my brain brought me back to some dark places. 

But my journal is how I brought myself back and remembered who I am. 

I hope to see you there, and I can’t wait to share this life-affirming practice. Sending you all an abundance of love and light!