It just so happens that today is the shortest day of the year. That's a good 8 hours difference to the longest day of the year, 21 June, when there is much more light. Fortunately, today, 21 December, represents a turnaround, and from now on there will be a little more light and sunshine every day.

However, the "bloody days" in the title of this post have nothing to do with today, which I'm only mentioning for current events. I haven't been very active here on the blog since July. The reason is what I call the "bloody days", which I experienced almost out of the blue around 4 July.

I also need to explain something about myself so that you can perhaps understand it better. I have become more and more accustomed to depression and the "blues" in almost 50 years of life. But this event of the "bloody days" has taken me to a new level.

I didn't actually feel depressed at all and was proud that I had my "black dog" reasonably well under control without medication. But I was proved wrong.

Two or three hard knocks from life, and without really realising it, I had reached the limit of what I could bear. My energy was at the end.

How do you realise when your energy is running low? You might ask yourself that. I'm happy to tell you how it is for me. Slowly and gradually, over a longer period of time, more and more bad feelings come up. At some point, you have such bad feelings in the morning that you don't feel like getting up at all. The next step is then: suicidal thoughts come up again, and the downward spiral continues step by step until a line is reached - and this can trigger "bloody days" or even worse.

Well, my "bloody days" were bad enough and I don't want to keep you, the reader, in suspense any longer: What happened?

I had received some bad news. But that's very subjective and also depends on how much energy you still have, how much this message weighs. But when it arrived, I switched off my mobile phone and said: enough is enough, I don't want any more, I've had enough and I'm calling it a day.

I started planning the best way to slit my wrists so that I could bleed to death and simply leave this incredibly difficult, evil world behind me and return to my true home. In my childish imagination, I thought that after some blood loss, I would slowly fade away, leave my body and return home.

I then drove to a shop and bought a good knife, almost like a scalpel, from the DIY store. Back in my garage, I parked my car in reverse, prayed another Our Father, apologised to God for not being able to finish the task of life, and then I set off.

It wasn't my first suicide attempt. I therefore already knew enough that you shouldn't cut across and just go for it. You're more likely to do that if you're under the influence of alcohol or trying it for the first time and don't understand exactly what the anatomy of your arms and hands is like.

So I deliberately started to cut a hole above the pulse artery, where you can sometimes see the pulse, in order to get the blood flowing properly.

I very carefully went deeper and deeper and managed to hit the main pulse vein on my hand properly. The blood wasn't spurting like you might imagine from films, but it was starting to bleed very well.

I was really happy. I thought my plan would work and if only enough blood had been drained, I would be able to leave my body and disappear towards home.

At this point, however, my childish, misconceptions were separated from reality, and everything turned out differently, firstly, and secondly, than you think.

I fell unconscious several times and came round again. The body is not made for suicide. It tries everything to save a life, even if you try. The artery starts to retract and the bleeding stops on its own.

I was in a blockade: I had lost too little blood to die, but too much to simply carry on. Suffering set in and I could neither go forwards nor backwards.

I put myself in the worst position I've ever been in and had to make a decision: suffer for a long time - without knowing how long - or seek help immediately to get out of this terrible situation.

I was sitting in the driver's seat of my car in the garage with the door closed and thought I would be undisturbed. But then, with the last of my strength, I opened the automatic garage door, started the car and drove to the car park of the doctor who could have helped me.

I made it as far as the car park. But when I got out of the car to walk ten metres to the surgery, I collapsed powerlessly and lay on the floor. I was seen relatively quickly by someone who immediately called the emergency services.

I wasn't unconscious, but I could hardly move. I was loaded into the ambulance and flown to hospital by helicopter shortly afterwards.

The bleeding had already stopped at this point. But from the decision to seek help, I was powerless but fully sane.

When I arrived at the hospital, I naturally had to tell them everything 15 times. I was then operated on and was told that even if the bleeding had stopped, everything had to be stapled together properly.

I still remember when the doctor told me after the operation that everything had gone well. I thanked him and said: "I think my arm is probably the least of my problems." You can't cut away problems, especially severe depression, with knives or strong medication.

I was then asked what I had in mind. As I was known in my family as someone who struggles with depression and hereditary stress, I had never had psychotherapy before. The help I had received so far was limited to a packet of antidepressants - and that was it. I told the people at the hospital that this was the extreme and that I really needed help from specialists.

They kindly found me a place in a closed psychiatric ward on the same day, and I was taken there by ambulance without knowing what to expect.

So, at just over 50, I made it to the place where the film One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest was shot. I actually spent a week in the closed ward and a week in the open ward, but it often felt exactly like the film. However, the people I asked were not familiar with this famous film. My sarcasm was probably a bit too much - but I haven't lost my sense of humour.

During the initial discussions, it quickly became clear that the specialists mainly wanted to know whether I would still do something to myself and what I was planning to do. I was able to make it clear that suicide was no longer an issue for me. Those "bloody days" were a great lesson for me and helped me to recover a little as far as suicide was concerned. However, the depression remained and I was able to agree a course of medication with the doctor, which I then accepted.

I then instinctively did the right thing. I was extremely anxious and didn't really know what to do next, but I dutifully went along with it and swallowed everything I was given. Fortunately, I know an antidepressant that works for me, but I also knew that it needs patience and only takes two weeks to take effect. They also wanted to give me anti-anxiety medication. However, I was smart enough not to take such strong medication, even though I was wetting my trousers almost every day. I realise that these can be addictive, and then you can quickly switch from depression to addiction. My wish not to take tranquillisers was accepted, so now it was a matter of waiting and hoping that the antidepressants could work their magic.

I've experienced this several times and I'm still afraid it won't work. I also ended up there voluntarily. If you're perhaps violent or completely out of control, you have to take the strong stuff until you calm down or become dependent. You then have to get rid of this dependency later in therapy. But then the inpatient stay doesn't last two weeks like it did for me, but many weeks or even months. Sometimes those affected can't get out of their addiction and their problems.

Fortunately, I had God. And although I behaved very wrongly, I felt that He was there and that I shouldn't worry too much. I also prayed beforehand and was always in contact with Him in faith. But this illness, as I know today, is strong and requires help from outside.

If there is one thing I have learnt in the most intense phases and in my life with God: Antidepressants were made by humans to greatly help people like me.

Grateful for this, I have made it my mission never to stop taking this medication.

That was the biggest mistake of my life. And I was never well advised. In hindsight, I clearly remember going to church once and asking God for help. It was years ago and I still thought: "I hope something happens now." But I left that church and was actually disappointed.

Three months later I realised that after this exercise I had actually made the decision to see a doctor and get help.

That was the first time I came into contact with antidepressants and I should have stuck with them. But it was always the same game: I got better relatively quickly and at some point I had the feeling that I no longer needed the medication. After a few months, the whole thing started all over again: back down in the basement full of anxiety and worry and then waiting for the medication to work. I think it happened three or four times before my bloody days.

This event, as bad and wrong as it was, finally taught me what I needed to learn. If someone has type 1 diabetes, no one discusses whether you should inject insulin or not. You either take it or you die from hyperglycaemia in your blood. With diabetes, this happens very quickly, so you realise it immediately and have to react if you want to continue living. With my type of depression, it's actually exactly the same, except that it happens gradually and much more slowly, but ultimately with the same result.

How many people lose their lives in this way without realising that it is an insidious disease.

Intuitively, when the bloody days happened, there was something inside that told me: everything has to be the way it is.

It's hard to understand, but I really had the impression. Today I also realise that I didn't want to learn beforehand how important antidepressants are. So I had to learn the hard way.

Anyone who thinks that you have to get high for the rest of your life is wrong. For me, the minimum dose of an active ingredient is enough and I am stable and far away from this illness.

I see it as important today to tell people that antidepressants, used correctly, are a gift from heaven. And heaven, of course, is even more important. You need both, and you shouldn't confuse this with strong medication, which is actually dangerous.

I would also like to briefly mention this: There is no such thing as a happy pill that makes everything good. It is more of a support. But if you don't start showing gratitude to God in prayer for everything, the antidepressant won't work either. I think the way is to do one thing and not let go of the other.

I can hardly imagine that anyone has read this far. But if you have, I hope that the content has helped you a little or changed your perspective enough for you to make better progress.

If you have any questions on this difficult topic, just send me an e-mail. I would be delighted to hear from you and wish you a healthy and pleasant time.

May no more bloody days ever come.

And hopefully I'll feel like writing in my blog again from now on. We'll see. Thank you for your attention.

Damian Maxson
on 21 December 2024
Grächen, Switzerland