Suicide isn’t Selfish – In Light of Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade
I could tell you every single time that I had contemplated suicide. And every single time that I attempted suicide. I don’t know life without depression, I don’t know life without suicidal thoughts.
The first time I contemplated suicide, I was 12. I had been asked out by a boy in my class, only to have him turn to his friends and laugh as if they all knew some joke that I wasn’t in on, and I suppose they did. A boy on the bus spat on me and called me a beached whale. After that I was terrified of riding the bus.
Everything seemed to hit me at once. Everything was too big, too much, too painful.
Every day felt like a personal affront against me. I just wanted things to be over. I wanted the pain to end but it seemed to just pile on, endlessly.
The second time I contemplated suicide I was 14. My friends and I were fighting and none of them were talking to me. I remember sitting in the library after school writing to myself, as if I was writing a letter, so it looked like I had something to do while all my friends that were there sat at another table, gossiping.
I remember feeling completely and utterly alone. The people that I was supposed to be able to count on and confide in were the same ones making me feel like I was worthless.
The third time:
I tried to overdose.
I took so many pills that I lost count and washed them down with alcohol. When I woke up, I was devastated. Having failed was more painful than wanting to end things in the first place because it meant I had to keep on fighting. I had to continue enduring a pain that never lessened.
That entire day is a blur. I know I went to school, but I couldn’t even begin to tell you what happened, I don’t think I made it through my first class. Everything was fuzzy.
I remember stumbling around my house for days, as if I was constantly drunk.
I tried again when I was 16 (I haven’t been able to swallow pills without gagging ever since). Making it to my next birthday seemed like an uphill battle and making it to my 18th seemed impossible.
I was broken:
I had so much hate for myself and my body, and so much pain that I had no outlet for, I just wanted it to end.
The pain inside kept building and building until I felt it would burst out of me. I hated myself with every fiber of my being and hurting myself seemed like the only option. There was a weight pulling me down and every time I tried to stand back up it would knock me down again.
I was told that I was selfish for wanting to die. By my guidance counselor, by my family, and even by my friends. But no one ever stopped to ask me WHY I wanted to die. They never asked me where my pain was coming from. Or why it was insurmountable.
I was hurting myself in so many ways that behind my smiles and laughs I felt dead inside, empty. I had nothing left to live for in my mind. Nothing that I looked forward to. Nothing to make me want to stay. I was standing at the edge of a cliff trying to force myself to step back.
My entire being felt broken beyond measure. I was fractured in so many places that I thought I would never be whole again. I was drowning, and I didn’t think I’d ever reach the surface.
My descent into madness:
In the span of a year I was sexually assaulted two separate times by two different men. I felt disgusting and like it was my fault. Like I deserved this, deserved to be used, deserved to be hurt. Maybe then I could find a reason for my pain.
I remember waking up in a puddle of my own. My arm was still bleeding, and I could barely stumble the 10 feet it took to get to the bathroom before violently puking again then passing out with my head on the toilet.
I remember thinking that this was the end. That my pain was finally over. That I no longer had to put on a brave face every day. That I would finally be at peace. But it didn’t work out that way.
When I woke up later that day I felt pain like I had never known. Emotionally and physically.
I was so close to finally not dreading every single day. So close to not feeling as though I was a burden to my loved ones. To just being free. But instead I was still caged. I just wanted this pain to end.
I was sure that I was being punished. Like I must have done something very wrong in my life to deserve this much pain, and, clearly, I deserved it. I remember sobbing all day that day. Big, heart wrenching, ugly crying. All the pain I had been feeling for so long crashed down on me at once and I felt helpless.
Nothing and no one could save me, how could they if I couldn’t even save myself? It was this moment that I realized I needed help. That I couldn’t do this alone anymore.
You never would have seen my pain or knew of the battles that I was fighting by looking at me. I had mastered the art of appearing happy, but I don’t think that I even remembered what it felt like to be happy anymore.
So many people go through everyday feeling these same things, fighting these same battles. 123 people commit suicide every day in the US. This means 123 lives were lost. 123 people had no more will to fight. Nothing left to give.
There were 123 people who felt that the world would be better off without them in it. 123 stories that ended abruptly. I beg you to please look beyond the hurt of those left behind and try to imagine for one minute that pain that someone would have to be in to see ending their life as the only option.
Imagine feeling that helpless, that alone, and the broken. Then you will realize that suicide isn’t selfish. Suicide is a means to an end. A way for someone who’s pain is so big, and so deep, and so vast that no matter what they do they cannot see beyond it, to finally be at peace.
If you’re contemplating suicide:
Please do not be afraid to reach out for help, to anyone. I promise you that there are people in your life that care about you. That would miss you, and that would be willing to help you fight these battles.
Also remember you are:
And most importantly:
- You are enough
You don’t need to be anything more than who and what you are to be worthy of staying here. I know that it’s not easy and I know that there are days that you feel you just can’t go on. But I promise you that your life is worth living! Fighting isn’t easy, but I know that it is worth it. Your story is worth telling and it’s worth sticking around to find out how it ends.
National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255
Leave a comment below:
And tell me about your experiences with suicide. Have you contemplated suicide before? Have you attempted it? And if so, how did those around you make you feel about these thoughts and/or actions?
Do you know someone that died by suicide? And if so, how did that make you feel, did you find it selfish?
Let me know!
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