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I’m going to tell you guys a story. It’s a sad one but I’m telling it from the other side. CW: suicidality
My freshman year in college, I wrote a suicide note. A large combination of things lead to its writing. My relationship with a longtime friend had fallen apart. My roommate moved out. I was away from my family for the first time. I was falling out of love for the first time.
As far as my feelings and emotions went, they were all bad. Out of order, borderline nonsensical. I was constantly doubting the love of the people around me, assuming that any praise, compliments, or validations that I got were out of obligation or pity rather than genuine care.
It’s a thought process that’s proven hard to shake. The love I get from people now—my family and my friends both—I know it’s real, I know it’s genuine and true. But it’s been fucking HARD to accept that. I think my brain has a hard time wrapping around being loved. But anyway...
...one night I broke down. My new roommate was completely passed out. I was just sobbing and I felt like I was just full of something that wouldn’t stop pouring out of me. I went to the laundry room in the dorm and I just wrote. I don’t remember exactly what.
What I do remember though, is that eventually the note turned into a list of people I was apologizing to. It was my family, people I’d met recently, people I’d known for several years. Even the friend I’d lost most recently.
The list got so long that I got tired. I’d been crying for about two hours straight by then too, which takes a lot out of you. I wish I could say I had a come-to-Jesus moment right then, but fuck no. I finished it up and went to bed. I felt like shit. Less than shit. Nothing.
That night, laying in bed, I hate to say it, but I thought a lot about it. I had a couple bottles of pills. I had belts. I knew when my roommate went to class. I don’t want to get into the details. It was four or five in the morning. I eventually fell asleep.
Getting better was weird and gradual. Some days were better than others. The thoughts themselves never really did go away, but my support system grew as I reached out to more people. My friends helped by listening. I went to therapy. I tried to go outside more. That summer...
...I went to work at Cedar Point. I met a lot of great people and made a ton of money but it was a huge fucking mistake. My whole life became pressing buttons and putting my thumb up. I didn’t read, I barely wrote, I stopped drawing. My mental health DROPPED. Tasha kept me going.
And then my grandma died. And then I went home, then back to Ball State. I went to therapy. Eventually I started taking Citalopram. I started actually reading for class, and writing more. I did slam poetry. I got off Citalopram. The headaches sucked ass.
And I’m gonna fess up, the suicidal thoughts never did and never really have went away. It’s gotten to the point where I can go a day or two without them. Some days are actually fucking great. I’m getting married. I’m getting an MFA. People who love me are a text, a call away.
But even though there’s still this impulse in the back of my head, even when I genuinely actually thought and think about something unspeakable, I am so fucking glad I’m here right now. I’m getting married. I’m getting an MFA. People who love me are a text, a call away.
All this, this whole story, is to say—I will never know what you, whoever you are, I’ll never know what you’re going through. But if by some far-off chance that I do understand your feelings, or that maybe we’ve felt the same way before, I am begging you, please please please
...to not do it. Please, there is so much life to live. I promise you that the world would not be the same without you. Shit is bad, really fucking bad a lot of the time, but it would be far worse if we lost you. Somebody said that to me, and I don’t believe that every day, but..
..I believe it for everyone else. And you know what? I’m worth it too. If I am you are.
This was very long and a bit hard to say. I want you to know that I’m okay. I’ve used a lot of the resources that are out there, and if things are dark for you—hell, especially right now, with all this distance between everyone—I encourage you to use them too.
The suicide prevention hotline number is 1-800-273-8255. They’re available 24 hours a day. I called them at 4 AM once. It helped.
Your friends are there, too. If you have family you trust and love, so are they. Whoever you have, hold the fuck onto them. I swear to god...
Your friends are there, too. If you have family you trust and love, so are they. Whoever you have, hold the fuck onto them. I swear to god...
...you’re worth the time. You are, you’re a human being with a soul and dreams and ideas that are important. The world at large takes that for granted, but the world is what’s wrong. Not you. I hope that changes. Please fucking stay.
If you read this whole thread, thank you. I don’t talk about this much. Not enough, and I want to change that. If you need anything, I’m definitely going to be up a bit longer. I’ve got some Mountain Goats to listen to and some things to draw. Please message me if you do.
