“The degree to which a person can grow is in direct proportion to the amount of truth they can accept about themselves without running away.”

Sometimes an awakening involves rainbows and glitter and unicorns. Sometimes it’s more like a kick in the gut. When I was hospitalized again in April I had one of those kick in the gut experiences, and I didn’t like it.

One of the counselors asked me whether I was still thinking about suicide, and I shared that of course I was. I always do. I think about suicide to some degree every day, and have since I was a little girl. Most the time the thoughts are manageable, but sometimes – like that month – it goes from just ideation to planning and behaviors. I had crossed the line.

This counselor challenged me to stop thinking of the crisis as the problem, and to consider the thought pattern an addiction.

I bristled. I’ve overcome real addiction, to alcohol and pills, and am in long-term recovery. But as she continued, I felt the thud of my stomach dropping. She suggested that my suicidal thoughts are how I deal with emotions I find difficult (which is nearly all of them) – that I react to feelings by thinking about dying. She also pointed out that while I may be sober 32 years, that apparently my addiction to suicidal ideation predated my problems with alcohol and drugs. I was six years old when I first attempted suicide.

I didn’t like the idea of an addiction to thoughts of suicide, but then I started journaling. I took an inventory of my history with suicidal thinking and behaviors, and the results left me in tears. Not only do I avoid my feelings with these thoughts, but when I compared it to my drinking history the motivations were much the same. When I started drinking it was mostly about managing my anger. When I think about suicide, it’s often to avoid feeling sad.

Sad. Ugh.

So I’m addressing this long-time pattern. I’m still not sure addiction is the right word, but I’m not sure what else to call it. Focusing on alcohol was not the solution to my alcoholism. Rather, it was finding some kind of Higher Power (for me, eventually, the love of the Universe). Focusing on suicide is not the answer either. I suspect it’s trusting that the Universe can help heal my grief. Right now that’s feeling like a tall order, but I’m moving toward willingness.

I’ve been running from my grief for my entire life. “I’ll give you something to cry about,” my father would growl, and he sure did. I learned that crying was dangerous – even life-threatening. But if I want to grow, it’s time to stop running, and stop contemplating death. It’s time to cry.