my thoughts on suicide

Wrote this one half asleep. Feelings remain the same even if the grammar isn't always accurate.

When I was growing up-

No, scratch that.

Until a few months ago, I believed that suicide was the easy way out. I was told (and convinced) that the ones who did decide to commit suicide were weak. That they weren’t strong enough and chose to go out the easy way.

I’m at a point in life where I have been considering this alternative for a while, and I have been told my entire life that I’m strong. What am I meant to believe, then?

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I can’t even begin to imagine what my family would go through if they ever read this blog post. I think they would implode, honestly.

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Suicide is not easy. Do you know how difficult it is to overcome the fear of hurting yourself? Because of evolution, our brains are naturally wired to make sure that we are always safe. The reason you feel anxious is that your brain perceives said activity as a threat, and is trying to keep you safe, emotionally and / or physically.

That is when it comes to external factors, though.

Now, what do you think happens when you are the threat to yourself? The brain that is trying to protect you is also, at the same time, asking you to hurt yourself. Do you see the irony?

You have got to be in a really, really bad place for your brain to give up on trying to protect you. To say, “Fuck this shit, man. If you wanna cut yourself, fucking do it.” That’s what trying to self-harm is like for me. The barrier of our skins is very, very strong. It is not easy to accidentally cut yourself. It is much, much harder when you are trying to do it on purpose.

My life is passing me by in a flash and I'm paralysed. | T8, on my way to Minto.

A knife in one hand. I pick it up and angle it. Precision is important; that is the difference between life and death, although, to a suicidal person, that does not really matter. Cold stainless steel against my warm skin. I press into it to see if that is indeed where I want to make my mark. Too high, and other people see it. Too low, and the skin is too thick to even be able to cut through. This spot, though, this is good enough.

And then I pull the knife against my skin as quickly as I can. It burns and tingles, and I can see a little blood come out. Yeah, I deserved this one.

It isn’t that bad, though. The wounds are never too deep and there’s never too much blood that comes out. Anaemia, you know. I need to be careful.

The scars always fade away as well. I wish the feelings would, too.

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Self-harm is the only way I can feel something that is not emptiness, guilt or sadness. When I am depressed, these are the only emotions that I can really feel. When I hurt myself, I actually feel happy. There’s a bit of pain, obviously, but that’s physical. It does not matter.

The pink and red of my skin make me happy. The tingle calms my soul. I am punishing myself for sins I have committed. I am getting what I deserve. This is good. This is fair. This is justice.

The jump from that to suicide is quite difficult if I’m being honest, but not impossible. All it takes is one bad day, one wrong comment, one terrible move, and that’s it. You’re gone.

The doors are closing. | On a metro to Chatswood.

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Suicide is the hardest thing to do in this life. It is not easy to go against that primal instinct of protecting yourself and then hurting yourself despite it. To put an end to it all, that requires guts. That requires courage.

The people who do end up going through with it, God rest their souls, have been through, relatively, the worst possible shit that one can ever imagine. They are the strongest people to ever have graced this planet. To have fought their demons for so long, almost always all alone, until they couldn’t anymore. Do you know how much strength that takes? I hope you never have to find out.

And I hope that they finally found the peace that their souls so desperately wanted and needed. I hope that, Heaven, Hell, or suspended midway, wherever they are, they are able to finally rest. And I hope that they are finally happy.

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Death is coming for me. I can feel it in every breath I take. My days are numbered, and someone’s counting them down. Patiently waiting to take my soul. But I don’t think I am scared anymore. I will be sad, and I think it will hurt, but I’m okay with it. Okay with dying.

I’m just waiting to make that jump.

Bless my therapist for setting this up. I owe my life to you, Daniel.

The Looney Bin. My next stop. | Prince of Wales Hospital, Randwick

I owe my life to the friends and family that I have in my life. I don't know what I did to be blessed with this group of people, but their love and concern for me are really what keep me going. I am still pushing through because I don't even want to imagine what they'll go through if I off'd myself. Every single time I have spoken to them about my feelings, even when they didn't quite understand the gravity of my situation or how I am feeling, they have done all they could have to be there for me and keep me alive for just a little longer. The tension and worry are visible on their faces. I do not mean to burden you with all of this, but I do not know where else to go. I love every last one of you with every fibre in my body. I wouldn't be here today if not for you guys.

I promise I'll do better. I promise I will be better, only for you guys.

We will all be okay.