I’m having suicidal thoughts again. While certainly distressing to my family and friends, the increase in these thoughts is only partially distressing to myself. This isn’t to say that I’m pleased these thoughts have returned. Quite the contrary, my mood has been consistently below average for three weeks, and I’ve forced myself to step away from many loved, yet non-essential activities in my life to reduce the overall stress on my system. It’s a drain on my willpower to recognize these thoughts for what they are and do my work while engaging with those I love. Enough so that I cannot do all that I wish to do, which seems to be a quintessential part of the human condition — that is distressing.

It’s been a three week hike through the treacherous valleys of my mind that I hoped were no longer on my journey of life. At least this go around I know the terrain better than ever, and I possess a vast array of techniques and connections that make this venture considerably less excruciating than before.

A massive thank you to all of my friends who sent me texts, left voicemails, and connected with me on various social media to express their hope that I would get better. The outpouring of support and deeply touching anecdotes of my impact on their lives lifted my spirit beyond measure.

To allay any fears: I am not planning on harming myself in any way, and I am having thoughts of suicide. It’s a hard dialectic to grasp: that one can think of suicide but not really want to harm themselves. Nietzsche nailed it when he wrote: “The thought of suicide is a great consolation: by means of it one gets through many a dark night.” While not a long-term strategy, a cautious amount of indulgence in thoughts of self-destruction has been a way that I made it through some hard nights. More often it’s less thoughts of actionable suicidal plans and more of a wish for: “it all to go away,” or, “to just stop.” My mind just goes further and offers up unsolicited suggestions for ways I could control my end. These past three weeks I’ve relied heavily on a new usage of an old technique: daily reminders.

A quirk of my job is that I share similar-looking protective equipment with my peers. Hard hat, leather gloves, rubber overshoes. The list gets longer as the voltage increases. Many of my peers write their name or their employee ID number on their gear because it all looks the same and no one wants to grab the wrong sweaty hard hat after lunch. This struck me as a great opportunity to force awareness of concepts that I want to keep at the forefront of my mind, but tend to get relegated to less prime levels of awareness. I wrote philosophy ideas in Latin on my equipment to identify my stuff. Here’s what I wrote:

Each time I put on my hard hat I see Amor Fati, love of one’s fate, and Summum Bonum, the highest good. These ideals encourage me to focus on what is and to constantly be on the lookout for ways in which I can improve the world around me.

My current pair of leather gloves feature Memento Mori, remember that you will die, and Premeditatio Malorum, the premeditation of evils and troubles that might lie ahead. I find it helpful to remember that I will die one day so there is no pressing need to hasten that inevitable moment. I’ll agree that this thinking is morbid, but I use it surgically. I have no belief in any afterlife so a reminder that I will eventually lose the life I know I have is excellent motivation to continue living. The idea that I should consider future evils is just a more badass way saying I must always be hazard-conscious out in the field. There are plenty of ways to get hurt doing linework and a decent chunk of every job is staying aware of any evil that could befall myself or my crew.

My overshoes, which make walking decidedly more uncomfortable, proclaim Per Aspera Ad Astra, through hardships to the stars. Linework is accepting hardship (type of job, weather, hard ground, etc.) and still accomplishing the job. If I can go a step further and embrace the hardship then I can be fully invested in the work and my thoughts align with what I’m doing and not with what my depression desires.

Turns out, forcing these ideals into my mind doesn’t block out my suicidal thoughts, but I’m more able to blunt their impact. Physical movement, supportive connections, and a focus on philosophical virtue are the means with which I’m attending to this increase in thoughts of self-harm while I connect with a new psychiatrist about medication, sign paperwork at Emory to begin the evaluation process for maintenance Electroconvulsive Therapy, and regular check-ins with my therapist. I’m bringing all the resources I have to bear and I’m pleased to say I’m doing better.