Trigger Warning: This post contains descriptions of a suicide attempt.
It started as an ordinary day, filled with the familiar scents of cigarettes and coffee, the distant echoes of footsteps and hushed conversations, and the early morning light streaming in. I mean, who wakes up before 6 a.m. to a bright sun, right?
I didn’t actually witness the sunrise since my curtains were tightly shut, the lights were off, and I was cocooned under my blankets. My head was buried under a flimsy pillow, blocking out the world. It was just another typical summer morning — or so I thought.
But that day was meant to be my last. On the final day of my junior year in high school, I felt overwhelmed. I couldn’t think straight, I struggled to breathe, and I truly wanted to die. At 17, I was convinced it was the only way out. I penned a note, devised a plan, and settled on the method: an overdose. Pills seemed like the most straightforward option.
Naturally, you might be wondering why a teenager would feel driven to such an extreme decision. Honestly, I still grapple with that question even after 17 years. What I do know, through my memories and a collection of poorly written poetry, is that I was in deep emotional turmoil. I was grappling with untreated depression and the pain was unbearable.
On that warm June day, everything came to a head, and I was resolute. But as I swallowed my 20th acetaminophen, a shift occurred. Before I could take the 30th, clarity struck: I didn’t want to die. (I genuinely didn’t want to die.) I just had no idea how to live.
Many who survive suicide attempts share this feeling; they don’t actually wish to end their lives but are instead seeking relief from their suffering. This may sound perplexing, especially if you haven’t faced mental health struggles. But let’s be real: depression can be irrational and chaotic.
The idea of silencing the pain? Gaining control over my uncontrollable life? Now that was something I could understand. Even now, in the depths of a depressive episode, it sometimes seems like the only solution.
Despite my newfound desire to live, I continued taking pills. But then, something unexpected happened — 36 hours later, I woke up. Alive. I was filled with rage. “What a failure! I can’t even end my own life correctly!” I thought.
However, after seeking therapy and receiving professional guidance, I discovered there was a way forward. There was hope, and that hope was invaluable. This notion of help and the reality of not truly wanting to die is why a significant percentage of suicide survivors never attempt again.
That said, we must take every warning sign seriously. If you notice someone talking about suicide, expressing hopelessness, or displaying extreme personality changes, don’t hesitate to intervene.
Because I almost didn’t make it. On June 19, 2001, I came dangerously close to losing my life, and I’m incredibly thankful that I didn’t.
If you or someone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts, there are resources available. Seek help and remember, you are not alone.
For more guidance on family health and well-being, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination, or explore toddler CPR techniques from an authority on the subject.
Summary:
This article recounts a deeply personal experience of a suicide attempt by a teenager who didn’t truly want to die but was overwhelmed by untreated depression. It emphasizes the importance of recognizing warning signs in others and seeking help, showcasing that many who struggle with suicidal thoughts are looking for relief rather than an end to life.