*Que the Bee Gees stayin' alive as background music*
I'm twenty years old (I'll need to pick out a nursing home so recommendations would be greatly appreciated). I cannot believe I made it here. Five years ago if you had asked me where I thought I'd be now I'd probably just cry, I'd never say it by my answer would be six feet under.
I remember when I got to my sixteenth birthday party I had the thought "I'm so glad I didn't kill myself." I still struggled after the fact, but I made it. Which is a little terrifying, for so long I didn't know if I could handle another week on the planet, looking years into the future is really intimidating. But even if I spend the rest of my life accomplishing nothing but eating chicken nuggets, it'll be a life worth getting through. (Money can absolutely buy happiness, has anyone had honey mustard before?!)
There were days where I would cry myself to sleep knowing I'd wake up in the morning. Even breathing would ache. Every day I'd wake up and stumble through the endless hours. I didn't ever tell anyone, although looking back I was basically the sophomore version of a Taylor Swift album so someone probably caught on. Because I was afraid. I knew if I told my therapist they were legally obligated to act on it, I knew if I told my mom I'd end up in the hospital and I'd only be further behind in a life that I hated. I couldn't bear the thought of catching up when I could barely live in the moment. I didn't say anything because I didn't want people to treat me differently. I just didn't want to be me anymore, but I knew perfectly well I couldn't be someone else.
Although I have taken steps to deal with it, my PTSD has caused me to have nightmares for years. They're a lot better now, or at least I've adjusted to them. I used to be actually afraid to go to sleep. I'd tell my family good night and go down to my room only to sneak back upstairs to the kitchen and silently sit on a chair watching the oven clock tick by until three or four in the morning when I would actually start to involuntarily fall asleep. I'd dream things that I'll remember for the rest of my life. All of the my worst fears realized over and over again. Seeing absolutely everything I cared about crushed into dust while I had absolutely no control, and no matter how hard I tried I could never change anything. I didn't know what sleep paralysis was at the time, so I didn't know what to do about these 'real' experiences. The worst episode I ever had ended after I had clawed my throat in my sleep until it was raw and bled. I was so shaken up I didn't dare leave my bed or turn off my light. I sat against my headboard for the rest of night waiting for hours so that morning would come and someone could come rescue me.
For countless nights I tried to rationalize my pain by asking myself "Is the worst thing that could happen to you waking up in the morning?" my answer was always yes. I'd try to reassure myself and every night tell myself "Ask yourself again tomorrow." I to reminded myself what it was like when someone I knew died from suicide. I tried to fight the feelings of worthlessness. Every night at bed I would write a letter to someone I loved explaining why I had to go. I didn't want to leave anyone with questions, or why's. I started writing to people who had influenced me and people I barely knew. I don't know how many months I kept this up before I decided I couldn't take it anymore. I went up into the kitchen in the early morning and poured all my sleeping pills into my hand. I got myself a glass of water and recalled what the past years had been like. What I might miss. Then I thought about how I would just go to sleep, how there wouldn't be another thing to bother me. It sounded like bliss.
Then I thought of my wonderful brothers. What if my mom tried to get me up and sent down one of my little brothers to get me up? What kind of trauma would they deal with for the rest of their life that I had selfishly caused them? I considered walking up into the foothills, but it was freezing. I didn't want to die uncomfortably. My mind told me "You're even to cowardly to kill yourself, you deserve every second of suffering you have. You can't even end it." I cried as I put the pills back. The hardest decision of my life was marked solely by an almost inaudible clicking as the capsules fell back into their plastic tube. I went back to bed, because even though I hated myself I decided to stay alive for someone else. I felt like I had already died inside. Things couldn't get worse and I had gone this long already.
I decided to get through it. Maybe I could do something right and stick around so I wouldn't mess anything else up. I kept writing letters to people around me, it was incredibly painful but it also helped me realize who I might effect, who might miss me. I'd write about how I hoped they'd end up. That they should name one of their kids Bruce. How I knew they would make other people laugh. That I was proud of the person that they were becoming. After that I could see why I should stick around to tell them all of those things in person, and not let them guess about what might've happened. I still have most of them tucked away in a journal. Right now they're to painful to look at, but I'm glad that I have them. The thing that kept me going was realizing I had a lot in my life to value even if I didn't value myself. On the flip side I've kept every nice thing anyone has ever given me, It was something physical I could see that people spent time to think of me. I finally got rid of the notes my friends gave me in junior high this year. They gave me something to hold on to, to love the people around me. Without writing and receiving those letters I really don't think I would be here.
I'm 100% sure my life will never be that hard again. Now I know I can get through anything, because I have (that doesn't make me sound cliche or like an arrogant jack-ass at all...). I was able to make it passed the things I thought would destroy who I was. Things I didn't want to make it through. Times where I felt completely alone. That doesn't mean life isn't hard. That doesn't mean I don't have really bad days where I want to hurt myself again. That doesn't mean I'll ever sleep easy. What it means is that I'm always going to be able to see something that's worth sticking around for. Because no matter how I feel about myself, or what my depression tells me, I'm going to be able to look around me and see goodness in what's around me.
Gaining that perspective is how I make it. I feel like that's how most people who consider taking their own life make it. Seeing the value in others eventually lets you see that you have value as well. Realizing people care slowly opens your eyes to your own strengths (Jack Black impersonations, it's my calling). So write down the reasons you have to be happy and grateful. Even though I don't want to say anything remotely mushy (or most the time even nice) I'm going to make sure that I have a reason to consider them. Even though that's seriously gross it keeps me going. For as terrible as the world around me is, there is always a reason to love something about it. That's worth fighting to stick around for.
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