My Story- Suicide and Depression

Five years old. That’s how old I was when I first thought about suicide. I was sitting in the car on the freeway and thought, “if I open this door and just fall out of the car, it will all be over.”

Twenty years later, I still have the same thoughts. “If I just turn the steering wheel, it will all be over.” “If I just use that knife or take that rope or walk off a cliff or loosen my seat belt on a rollercoaster, it will all be over.” I know it’s faulty reasoning. I could miraculously survive one of these methods of suicide, or if there is life after death, it may not be over. It just seems like such a good option sometimes. It seems like the only escape.

I don’t remember when I first felt depressed. Much of my childhood memories are flashes of pictures, glimpses of what may have happened with some vague feelings attached to them. I know that I cried a lot. I remember crying in bed nearly every day from elementary school through middle school. I remember the loneliness was so real that it felt like an extra layer of skin too tight for my body, suffocating me daily.

Therapy seemed useless. How can you cure loneliness? Drugs seemed useless for the same reason. In fact, no one even knew. So there was no way I would have gotten help anyway. I couldn’t tell anyone I wanted to die. Telling someone would make it real. I was afraid of it. I was afraid of the feelings, afraid of the thoughts, afraid that if anyone knew, it would give me a reason to follow through on those thoughts.

I wasn’t always depressed. In fact, I was usually pretty happy, at least with the people who would notice if something was wrong. That was part of the problem. Why would anyone believe I wanted to die when I smiled so much? I had no good reason for wanting to die except for being bullied and not having friends and not being able to communicate how I wanted to and stresses at home and difficulties in school. But I knew I had things good. There were lots of people who were worse off. At least I had a good family and freedoms and God. Life couldn’t be that bad. So I convinced myself to keep living, and I did, and I did a pretty good job of it until college when I started my first suicide attempt.

I practically begged to be heard. I blasted loud music in my room with lyrics about suicide. I wrote Facebook posts and notes stating how much I was hurting and how hopeless I felt. It wasn’t fair to my roommates to expect them to save me, but I didn’t know what else to do. I was drowning and had no where else to turn. I wanted someone to blatantly ask me if I was going to commit suicide because I had a plan and I needed help, but I needed someone to recognize how serious it was because I didn’t know what else to do.

I did end up going to a therapist, which helped minimally, and I attempted suicide again when I returned to school after summer break. It was a slow downward spiral with little hope of changing. Of course, with the periods of happiness and hypomania, it still didn’t really feel serious. I made it through college though and moved back home for a while.

The thing is, the suicidal thoughts never really went away. I took medicine, I went to therapy, I did everything you are supposed to do to feel okay, but I was still broken. I had one year of happiness. One year where I felt so happy that describing the feelings produced happy tears of gratitude and appreciation. There were still dark moments, but they were few and far between.

I became depressed again, plunging into the same cycle of suicidal thoughts and darkness of the mind. I finally found a therapist that helped. I finally had hope.

I have hope. I still think of suicide. I still get depressed. I don’t think people realize the extent of it. How can you take it seriously when you know I’ll never act on it? Or at least will likely never act on it? Even though the threat is minimal though, I sort of wish it was acknowledged more.

I don’t want people to worry, but I do want them to know. I just want positive thoughts, understanding, prayers. I mostly just want to know that I’m not alone, that I don’t have to do it alone. I have accepted depression. I have accepted that the suicidal thoughts will likely never go away. I just don’t want to do it alone. I don’t want to face this alone. You don’t have to understand, but please just let me know I’m not alone.


6 thoughts on “My Story- Suicide and Depression

  1. So much of what you write here, I experience myself or have experienced, it’s uncanny! Since I was very young, I was only able to go up to four months every now and then but usually not even that long, without serious suicidal urges and thoughts. I tried so hard to go a whole year without them but never could until October 2012 til May 2014 when I had a bad relapse and became dangerously suicidal again. Sometimes when I feel suicidal thoughts and urges or a depressive episode about to hit, I can keep it under control but not always. I receive professional help and have helpful self-help techniques and habits. This all helps tremendously in general but nothing cures it. I mostly have come to accept that. I know what it’s like to have those suicidal thoughts like “if I do this….it will all be over…” I even have them on some days when I’m mostly happy. Even on truly happy days, I can have moments of despair. My episodes of depression can last minutes to months. Everything I look at becomes a potential weapon I can use against myself to end it all, when I’m like that. They aren’t always serious like I’m going to act on them. It’s less common that I truly think I will make an attempt. Also, I know that suffocating loneliness so well. No matter how many people are near, that loneliness is impenetrable. I’m not always lonely but I sometimes feel that loneliness like it’s squeezing the life out of me. It’s so true what you say, it’s like another layer of skin. It’s like another world where I can see out and others can see in but we can’t touch. There were some points I had no friends at all except in school and that contributed to my depression and other points I had good friends but felt like I had none. It helps to have good friends but like I said, nothing cures it. Things just help. I can relate to so much of what you write. Thank you for sharing. I understand so well. I hope you will keep holding on and keep shining your light onto the world even when it’s hard. I just keep thinking of all the ways I can help others, even the most simplest ways like a smile or hug or random act of kindness, a sweet compliment, to brighten someone’s day, and bring beauty to the world even when it hurts so desperately and it keeps me going. Love & hugs to you. ❤ I'm sorry for your suffering but I'm happy I found you here.


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