⚠ Trigger Warning: this post discusses depression, anxiety, and suicide. ⚠
This past March I tried to kill myself and only four people truly knew about it.
Philip. My sister. Her husband. And the police officer who visited the house -after my sister called them that night. That's it.
It wasn't glamorous, it was ugly. It wasn't embellished with positivity afterward, it was forgotten, not discussed, taboo or shameful to mention.
So, we don't bring it up. The four of us who know what happens behind closed doors have been hush-hush. Because, you know, life can be crazy, hectic, downright miserable for those of us, like me, who suffer anxiety and depression.
I tried to slice my left wrist in our guest bathroom in March. Standing at the sink, looking at myself in the mirror. This was not the person I wanted to be nor the person I'm supposed to be. And yet, this was only around a month ago.
I put a kitchen knife to my wrist and punctured the skin with the slightly bent serrated blade, dead center in my heart tattoo on my left wrist. This was not really intentional but slightly symbolic in hindsight. The knife went in easier than I thought and I remember being shocked at how easy it was, in that moment I was more intrigued than frightened. And that terrifies me.
In these moments I do not think I want to die. I really do not want to end my life. I do not want to be gone. But I also don't want to feel this way.
I don't want to constantly feel on edge. I care too much about others opinions and yet I don't care at all. I don't want to worry that I've done something wrong or that every whisper and glance is out to hurt me. That every person will leave me. I don't want to have the pessimistic outlook, but my feelings are something that I can't help.
I don't want the anxiety that keeps telling me to apologize for anything and everything. I don't want these negative thoughts running wild on my emotional wellbeing. And just when I feel okay, I also feel abandoned, lost and unwanted. These thoughts should never enter someone's head, but they do. I don't want these thoughts or feelings, what good are they? But I do have them. I don't have a choice.
In these moments I'm hopeless. I'm negative. I'm so down that really nothing brings me back. I have to go to sleep, avoid people and conversation, talk myself out of whatever mindset I'm in.
In these moments I do not see the good. I do not see my future. I do not see myself wanted. I do not see me happy.
In these moments, this permanent relief would break me free from being a stressor. A burden. A problem. A hassle for my friends and family to deal with.
Philip stopped me that night and I assured the police officer that he would not have to come back. He made me promise him as I showed him my bloody wound that I had already attempted to cover with a bandaid.
I made it beyond that night, the wound still trying to heal on my wrist. I look at it and I am ashamed but I also look at it and I feel nothing.
The next few days it was extremely bruised. Shockingly bruised, really. The wrist was swollen and puffed up, I was almost afraid I had done real damage, but for now, it's okay.
Sadly, I will forever be reminded and relive those nights, again and again, flashbacks and PTSD from these emotions and memories of mine. I cannot explain it if I tried, the painful feelings of hate and guilt toward yourself. They're damaging thoughts that come often for me.
The hate and constant doubting, the overwhelming guilt that leads to constant unneeded apologies, the self-pity, and feelings of absolute worthlessness, I feel this almost every day. Every hour. Every morning when I wake. Every evening when I try to sleep. Every night that I get insomnia and I'm up until 7 am, lonely, heartbroken, self-loathing and more judgmental of myself than anyone else could ever be. All the time.
People assume I am this bubbly and spunky person, and that I am, but I also have unexplainable pain, both physical and mental. I cannot be the Spunky Groovy Mary all the time. No. I also have the bitchy, the hurting, the complaining, the ever pessimistic side.
It changes you as a person, each 'bad night' you have to suffer. It has been a recurring problem for me, with suicide being brought into my head more than a handful of times each month. Yes, this is happening constantly for me. This year has been painful.
I know this isn't healthy. I cannot help the way I feel. I hurt. I cry. I scream. I break down and throw a fit and I want to just quit, give up, be gone. No one wants to deal with this. Not even me.
And why am I telling you this? Why now? Why even bring it up? Because sometimes life is a trigger. Because suicide, the negative thoughts, the pain needs to be discussed, talked about, out in the open. This is the only way to get better. To get help.
Sometimes life makes you crazy, hurt, angry. Sometimes life gets to you, but life also goes on, and something so heartbreaking and dangerous could be happening to someone right before your own eyes, and yet, we see past it. We ignore the warnings, the threats, the reality that this just doesn't go away on its own.
We have blinders that prevent us from seeing those hidden emotions - but we have to try to fight that, to help those bubbly personalities who are also hurting on the inside. Like myself. Those of us who need the help and support of others to get beyond the bad moments to see another day.
For me, the week after, the month after, and every day since has been a struggle, a fight, a battle of myself against my own mind and the feelings that don't belong.
So there you have it. I'm trying. I'm dealing. I'm fighting my daily battle.
But, It Could Be Worse.
- All Images by Timothy Goins -
Suicide Prevention Hotline: 800-273-8255
Veterans Suicide Hotline: 800-273-8255
Domestic Violence Hotline: 800-799-7233