It’s recently really come to my attention that suicide is another of those extreme and taboo conversation topics. I guess it’s a bit like everybody walking on eggshells. People don’t talk about it, but you never know what’s going on behind closed doors, or how many people from that crowded room have attempted, will attempt it, or have lost a loved one. I don’t know exact statistics, but I know that suicide and attempted suicide happens a lot more often than people realise, and a lot more often than people would like to admit. Society always seems to throw shame and hatred at any attempts and I really hate that because it’s another one of those things that people don’t understand. There seems to be such little awareness that the majority of society becomes a bully, the second something is mentioned on the news. Most of the attempts or fatalities mentioned on the news or spread on social media never give the person behind it a chance to get their story across either because they’re too afraid of the hate they’ll receive or because they were successful in their attempt, so I’d like to share mine. I’d like to share one particular attempt I made a few years ago, in the hope that I can open up even one more mind.
I think the biggest question surrounding suicide is ‘Why?’ but the truth is, it differs for everybody. No two people in this world live the exact same life with the exact same life events and challenges, feeling the exact same emotions about it all. Therefore, there probably isn’t a simple answer as to why one single person in this world would want to end their life. I know that family and friends of a lost loved one often say that their act was nothing but selfish, but actually, I think that’s a comment from themselves being selfish and only thinking about how they feel now their sister, son, friend or cousin, is gone. I know there will be many people who disagree with me on that one, but I stand by my beliefs. Sure it hurts to lose somebody, but you have to be in a dark, dark, painful place to make the decision that you don’t want to live anymore.
Despite having been there myself, one of the hardest times of my life was trying to convince somebody I loved, that their life was worth living. I’ve been on both sides of a suicide attempt and neither are easy, but I can honestly say that living to tell the story and living to hear the story be told, is one of the best things you can feel.
As you know I try to be 110% honest here so I won’t leave anything out, but I will say, please don’t read this if you think it could be a trigger for you. I’m in a wonderful place in my life now and I would not be writing this is there was even a smidgeon of doubt in my mind that this would make me relapse in any way.
There’s one particular attempt of mine that I remember like it was yesterday. I wasn’t old enough to buy myself tablets so I’d spent the past few weeks getting them. Whenever I’d be left in the house alone I would go searching for more, and I hid them until that day. I must’ve had at least 40. I’d planned it all, I knew what I was doing and it was a day I’d been waiting for. I’d been in that dark place for so long and I didn’t see a way out. I was so ridiculously depressed and ashamed of myself and I felt so hated by everybody, that I didn’t even feeling like I was living anymore, I was just existing and acting. I felt like I had nothing, and like I was nothing. I honestly didn’t think I’d be missed at all. I thought that I was nothing but a burden to my friends because all I ever had to say was something referring to how bad I felt. I thought I was useless to my family because I was constantly moaned and shouted at, and I was the centre of so many arguments. I thought I could just die and my existence would disappear, so that everybody could be happy and live their lives.
It was somehow like I would feel so angry and sad and emotional, but at the same time I would just be blank and numb. I had so many self destructive ‘phases’ whilst I waited to have enough pills. I had such a hate campaign against myself because I had joined the bullies in the harsh things they said about me. Nobody could’ve said a worse thing about me than myself by that point though. I’d reached the stage that I honestly didn’t care about myself because I didn’t see a point to it. I’d planned to die anyway, so there was no need to waste the little energy I had in caring about things I did or said. I should’ve been hit by moving traffic, so many times.
Getting to ‘that day’, I remember sitting on my bed with tears pouring down my face. In those moments before swallowing I felt more alive than I had over probably that past whole year. I felt excited that I wouldn’t have to hurt anymore. I felt relieved that I wouldn’t have to face the bullies anymore. I felt free, in the knowledge that I could soon be at peace.
I cut myself first, because I felt like I had to let go of everything before I died. Dragging the blade through my skin again and again, I could let go of all the pain I felt because it wouldn’t exist before long. I pushed out all of the tablets from the plastic, one by one, letting them fall into a pile in front of me. I hadn’t felt the need to write a note, because I just didn’t have anything to say to anybody anymore.
I picked up a glass of water in one hand, and picked up 4 tablets in the other. I took some water in my mouth, before tipping my head back, dropping the pills in, and swallowing. I knew I’d taken the first step. I was so close to a world without pain. Again I sipped some water into my mouth, dropped more pills in, and swallowed. I was bad with tablets at the best of times, but with the result I thought this would bring me, I persevered. I remember being about halfway through and I felt so sick, but I knew I had to keep going. When there were 3 tablets left in front of me, I took them one by one. I wondered how long it’d take me to die, and I wondered what it would be like. I wondered if I’d feel anything before, or if I’d partially wake and know it was happening, or if my body would just shut down whilst I slept. I had no idea. I picked up all the empty tablet sheets and put them in the draw beside my blades. ‘I don’t need to hide them, they’ll find everything anyway’ I thought. Then I curled up in my bed, pulled the duvet over me, and let my eyelids fall shut. That was it, I had given up on myself and the world, and I had taken my necessary actions to let myself die. The world could finally be a wonderful place, and I could finally slip away from it.
So there you have it, suicide through the eyes of somebody living to tell their story. It’s not all black and white like the media make it out to be, and there will always be a story behind it. I'm sure if you've ready some of my previous posts, you'll know some of the factors that lead to my depression.
I’m grateful that I never died, and my scars, stories and memories are just proof of how strong I am to overcome ‘the dark side’ and to pick myself up from the gutter after trying to give up.
Looks can be deceiving. It’s astounding how easily people can hide their true feelings for so long. If you can save even one life, do it. Nobody deserves to hurt but sometimes people get things they don’t deserve.
Life is such a precious thing, please don’t give yours up.
Help somebody. Help yourself.
Do it now, before it’s too late.
Courtney’s Imagination★
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