I distinctly remember the first time I truly wanted to die. I was applying to borading school and in order to be allowed to go, my doctor would need to talk with the nurses there to make sure they knew what my deal was.
I was a recovering anorexic.
I hated this. This made me want to end my life. The fact that I would never be able to wipe the slate clean on my past made me want to kick and scream.
I wish I was dead. That’s what I wrote in my journal that day. And then I gave up on going to boarding school until I could go without needing to inform the world of my problems.
Looking back now, obvously, this doesn’t seem like a big deal. I’ll tell anyone who is interested that I used to have an eating disorder. It’s not shameful anymore. But back then, when I was still suffering in the stigma that surrounded anorexia, this was a big deal. I had no desire for anyone to know my secrets.
From this point on, I began to think that suicide was a valid option to get rid of my pain and sadness. I would teter between days of being motivated to live and then days where all I wanted to do was die. It was a constant roller coaster.
One I could never get off.
I think when people know someone is suicidal, they assume they’re holding a gun to their head, when in reality (and in my case), we are not actively trying to kill ourselves, but we wouldn’t necessarily be disappointed if we died.
Up until this spring, I refused to wear my seatbelt in hopes we would crash and I would not make it. (I only wear it now because our new car beeps outrageously). I remember driving back home one night, crying, tears rolling down my face, and all I could think of was how much I wish I could just swerve and hit a tree or something. I wanted to end everything because then people wouldn’t have to deal with me.
I also stopped looking whenever we crossed the road or train tracks, in hopes something would it me. It was okay to risk it because, best case senario, I would die. And the worst thing? I stopped caring about using sunscreen in the hopes I would get cancer and eventually die.
These things are terrible, and it’s hard to even write it down. I feel like a such a horrible person voicing these thoughts out loud, but honesty can be freeing.
My journey with suicide continues today. It’s a constant battle and they days seem to be more bad than good, lately. It comes in waves. I can be fine for weeks, then fall apart for a couple days, or be happy for a whole day, then sad all night. It scares me sometimes because, lately my first reaction to my pain is that everything would be better if I just wasn’t here anymore. And this shoulnd’t be my first thought.
It can be terrifying, even to myself, how my brain works. I have a hard time controlling my emotions and most of the time feel as though I’m drowning and I can’t breathe. That is not something you want to feel. It’s a feeling of too much pressure. Like all your bones could snap at any moment, and your heart might burst.
How I’m dealing?
To be completely honest, I haven’t really been dealing with anything very well lately. Usually, my coping mechinism involves talking with my Mom, but I haven’t wanted her to worry, so I don’t say anything. And that does not help. Talking about our feelings is always okay, even when you feel asamed or unworthy. You are allowed to share your pain with others without being judged.
I have been trying to push everything down, put on a happy face and act like everything is fine. Especially at work. The other day, I cried on the whole drive to work, but upon getting there, I wiped my tears, smiled, and pretended everything was fine. The day went surprisingly well. Sometimes you just need a break from the thoughts, and some good laughs.
My favorite method of enduring the pain is a simple saying: This Too Shall Pass.
Simple, yet completely true. Everything eventually passes, and until it does, we must be gentle with oursleves. Beating myself up for feeling a certain way only makes things worse, so I try to remind myself that this too shall pass, and focus on something good.