I am a survivor of suicide. Many years ago my life and emotions had forced me into a place where death seemed to be the only real door to freedom. As I sat on the bathroom floor slicing my arm over and over again, I was sure I would never feel this pain again. Little did I know the pain would set me free.
The path I followed to reach my breaking point is a sad self-involved one. Trouble at home, trouble at work, trouble within my own mind led me to choose death over life. To understand suicide one must think with true imagination.
As life gets harder and harder, the thought of suicide enters the minds and hearts of many. At first, the thought is a fireball in your mouth; much too hot to leave in on a constant basis. Just as with the fireball, when things get a bit too intense we take the fireball, or thoughts of suicide, out and regain our composure. Soon afterwards we give that hot, sweet ball another try and find that it is not quite as hot the second time as it was on the first try. Over time and with multiple tries the fireball eventually turns into a simple sweet ball of candy that is no longer hot to our mouths. Suicide is this fireball. When I hit rock bottom, I had just chewed the thing to bits.
Oddly enough, having OCD or Obsessive Compulsive Disorder saved my life. I was set to make 10 cuts into my arm, the last one ending at my wrist. Once cut for every year of life with my spouse. I managed to reach 9 when my husband walked into the bathroom.
Years later, just as with any addict, I am reminded of where I was during that point in my life. The nine perfectly straight scars will always faintly show the life I once lived and tried to escape from. Though I managed to cover most of the scars with a large tattoo, I know why it is there. My husband has even tried to ease the pain of the past by having the same tattoo placed on his arm in the same place; scars tattooed in to show it will be okay. But after all of the turmoil, where am I now?
After attempting suicide the fireball does not even come into the equation. There is no real need to ease into the thought of suicide; in my mind I have already overcome that fear. I will always have to live with the thoughts of my death gone awry. Every time I am too stressed to breathe, every time I need to run from life as I know it and every time I wake up just not wanting to breathe on that day, I remember that the escape route has already been opened. Not a single minute goes by that I do not remember why I attempted suicide and the only reason I am alive to this day is the fight in my heart.
The fight I live off of is the need to be the best at something. If I can overcome the need for death everyday, I will inevitably be the best person I could ever have become. Yesterday I woke up and convinced myself to live; tomorrow I will wake up and convince myself to live, today I write before because I convinced myself to live.
