How a field of dandelions saved my life

Content warning: mental health, depression, suicide

I spend a lot of time on Twitter. Too much, honestly. I’ve formed an emotional attachment to my morning/afternoon/evening/bedtime doom scrolls. One of the common themes I’ve found in serious commentary and shit posts alike is depression. I think it’s a rule actually, they don’t let you have a Twitter if you don’t post at least once about your ~mental health~.

This is both good and bad, I think. Good, because it’s becoming much easier and more “normal” to share about how we’re really doing. There’s generally a feeling of more societal acceptance and willingness to address mental health, with a lot of popular accounts openly talking about depression, anxiety, PTSD, etc.

On the other hand, it starts to feel like *everyone* is depressed (or your mental illness of choice), and talking about it is both cringey and pointless. It’s so prolific in our Very Online World that it’s almost insignificant.

So, the other night, I came a little too close to unaliving myself, as the kids say.

The thing is, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. After all, I had thoroughly Googled it, thank you very much, and intentionally took less than a dangerous/fatal dose of my prescribed anxiety meds. So, I didn’t actually try to die. I just wanted to not be around/awake/conscious. I should note that it didn’t even work. In fact, I was very lucky that pretty much nothing happened at all.