Trigger Warning: This article discusses a suicide attempt.
The morning began like any other, filled with the familiar scents of cigarettes and coffee, alongside the distant sounds of footsteps and hushed conversations. The sun had begun to rise earlier than I expected, catching me off guard with its brightness.
Of course, I didn’t witness the sunrise, as my room remained cloaked in darkness. The curtains were drawn tight, the lights were off, and I was still cocooned beneath my sheets. My head was buried under a cheap pillow, but that detail is inconsequential. It was a typical day—just another summer morning that I would later believe was going to be my last.
On that day, the final day of my junior year of high school, I had reached my breaking point. I felt trapped in a fog that made it impossible to think or breathe. At the age of 17, I genuinely wanted to die. I wrote a note, devised a plan, and decided how I would end my life. My thoughts turned to pills; it seemed like the most straightforward option.
I know what you might be thinking: Why would a young person want to take such a drastic step? Even now, years later, I struggle to comprehend it myself. What I do know—thanks to my memories and a collection of poorly written poems—is that I was in turmoil. I was grappling with severe depression that went untreated and unmanaged.
That warm June day became the climax of my suffering, and I felt there was no way out. However, as I swallowed the pills, a shift occurred. Before I could take the 30th one, clarity washed over me. I realized that I didn’t want to die; I simply didn’t know how to live.
This sentiment resonates with many who have attempted suicide—they, like me, often seek to escape unbearable pain rather than wishing for death itself. It may be difficult to understand, especially if you’ve never faced mental illness or suicidal thoughts. But suicide doesn’t always follow logic; it can be a chaotic and irrational response to overwhelming despair.
The desire for relief, to silence the incessant voices in my head, to regain control of my life—these were feelings that made sense to me. Even now, during particularly dark moments, they still resonate. Yet, despite my newfound will to live, I continued taking the pills. Then, 36 hours later, I woke up, still alive.
Initially, I was furious. I thought to myself, “What a failure! I couldn’t even do that right.” However, through recovery, therapy, and professional support, I discovered a path forward. Hope emerged, and it turned out to be more valuable than gold. This hope is why a significant 60–70% of suicide survivors do not make a second attempt.
While those statistics may seem encouraging, it’s crucial to take every sign of distress seriously. If you know someone exhibiting warning signs—talking about suicide, showing hopelessness, or displaying reckless behavior—take action. Speak to them, listen, and offer support.
Because I didn’t want to die, yet on June 19, 2001, I almost did. And I’m incredibly grateful that I didn’t.
If you or someone you know is experiencing suicidal thoughts, reach out for help. For more information on home insemination options, check out this useful guide on artificial insemination kits. Additionally, for those considering pregnancy through procedures like IUI, this article is an excellent resource.
In summary, my journey through despair led me to a realization: there is hope and help available, and reaching out can change everything.
Keyphrase: Suicide Awareness and Recovery
Tags: mental health, suicide prevention, depression, hope, recovery, emotional wellness, support