I am a humble survivor. I never intended to share my struggle with suicidal thoughts, but lately I've been thinking about it a lot. I haven't been thinking about killing myself. I've been thinking about how one day I came so very close and looking back at it, I'm amazed to realize that it was the last day that I ever felt suicidal. I was trying hard to remember the date because at the time, I wasn’t aware of what was occuring so I didn’t note it. The date wasn’t stuck in my mind. Then today, for no particular reason at all, I decided to look through my documents and writings. I write so many things that I never share. I felt like there was something in there that was ripe for sharing with you all… and there it was. I had forgotten that I wrote an essay titled “Suicidal Ideation.”
Over the years, I would struggle off and on with suicidal thoughts and fantasies. It was always tucked away like a skeleton in my closet. I could even compare it to a security blanket. Every time life got hard, I took comfort in the fact that whether or not to commit suicide was within my control. The last day of my life that I felt suicidal, I decided to write an essay to myself about it. I wanted to get to the bottom of it; to understand it. I wanted to leave something behind that would help people understand should I happen to give in to the urge unexpectedly. Without knowing what I was doing, I healed that day.
I was always sure that one day, I would just do it on a whim. Like, one day I would just have had enough and I would just do it. Finally. Get it over with. Fuck it. There are times when my own grief drops me to my knees in despair. But as sensitive as I am, more often there are times when another person’s grief will drop me to my knees in despair…and I’ll mistake it as my own. When I’m struggling with something, it’s like it makes my soul porous and I absorb the same emotions from others until I literally collapse under the weight of the world. But I won’t know I’m taking this on from others because I have my own struggle so I just assign the heaviness to that. I used to berate myself for it – it’s not that bad! Snap out of it! Other people have it much worse than you!! This is how I was taught to deal with depression. This is what was said to me by people who didn’t know what else to say. And it made sense!
After I wrote my essay, I read it from the eyes of the one who would find it because I knew I was going to do it. I was so relieved to have made the decision. But when I read my words through another’s eyes, I sobbed with compassion. I remember talking to myself that day, all day, and instead of shame, anger, contempt, regret and fear, I was compassionate. I was outside myself looking in until finally, from the inside something shifted. I want to live, and not for the one who would find my essay, but for myself. No matter what it takes, I want to live. I have a purpose for being here, for everything that's ever happened to me. I wanted to live because I fell in love with myself; with my strength; with my fortitude; with my love.
I've faced death in other forms - illness, injury, and I've even had a gun put to my head more than once. During those times, I survived by telling myself that if I was going to go it would be on my terms. I was tough! I was hard and cold and calculating. I decided to live because if anyone was going to take me out, it would be me. There was a part of me that knew that the biggest enemy I would ever face would be myself. I always knew that, even as a child. I never let anyone close enough to really know me. I was a mirror to all except myself. All of the near death experiences I've had have increased my psychic abilities exponentially. There’s something about a brush with death that heightens your awareness.