Open Space: On firewalls and diving helmets

Magazine Issue Views November 14, 2012

In four weeks, and against odds that would drop Lance Armstrong, I will complete my Associate Degree in creative writing. Not bad, considering for most of it I was also suicidal.

My secret? I used a magical, invisible diving bell helmet, of course.

Depression had stalked me for years; wanting to die was just the icing on the cake. Initially, I tried all the conventional avenues of relief: GPs, psychiatrists, and provincial programs. I researched. I planned elaborate exit plans. I drank.

When those methods either didn’t work or made things worse, I turned to non-profit societies. There I found instant relief from a wealth of resources. Slowly, the clouds began to part.

What I didn’t know was the mix of meds I had been prescribed was a toxic time bomb waiting to go off. Insidiously, a dark night of chemically induced madness closed in on me. Defeated, I retreated to my couch and planned to die.

Then chance led me to an intro to psychology class at Camosun. And a kick in the ass from God got me off the pills and booze. I stumbled into the counselling department and the women’s centre. Slowly, my mental-health metre began to once again rise out of the red.

Logic rode in on a white horse. The way I figured it, why not learn how to save myself? It was another pivotal moment in my climb back to sanity, my first step away from victimhood and towards learning how to draw a line.

A boundary keeps negative forces (including people) out while letting positive ones in. In the early days, before I learned how to do this automatically, I imagined I was wearing an invisible diving bell helmet. It was a kind of healthy, imaginary firewall. It was also the single most powerful step I took towards preventing my own suicide.

When I look into the future I see light and promise where there used to be only a terrifying pit of darkness. I know how to protect myself. More important even than hope is the belief I now hold that whatever comes, I can handle it. Maybe not perfectly, but good enough for me.

We can all learn this, just as long as we keep our magic diving bell helmets nearby.