Recently I’ve been thinking a lot about suicide.
I think it’s probably because I’ve been thinking about a story that I wrote a couple of years ago after B died. I’ve been adding to that story and have found myself thinking about death- and about her.
I’m glad that I never managed to finish the job, I’m glad that I’m still alive now- and I don’t think that there’s much that could change my mind about that.
Whatever the future brings me, I think that I’m strong enough to make my way through it without turning to suicide or self harm. I look back on the things that I experienced with a feeling of horror. I know exactly how unhappy I used to be, and now I know that there are things I can do to help myself.
I know what to do when I feel down, I know my options and who I can talk to without judgement. I know what help is available and how to get it.
When you’re a teenager you know enough about the world to be unhappy, but not enough to do something about it.
My life in the last couple of years has been a steep learning curb. I didn’t go to university like most of my friends. In fact, I think I’m in the extreme minority of not just taking a gap year, but taking two years out before university.
Now, I should qualify this by saying that I’ve spent these two years working my arse off studying to be able to go to university this September to do a one year top-up degree course. However, I’ve spent the last two years working entirely under my own steam.
I’ve faced a lot of challenges and I think this has given me real world experience in dealing with my emotions.
Sometimes it sucks to be an adult, but the things that made my life a misery four years ago have vanished, and I’m left with a lot of independence. My parents always told me that if I screw up, it’s only my life I’m screwing up.
I miss B. I miss the life that she could have had.
I always try not to think about stuff like that, I hate that approach to suicide… but there’s a tiny part of my mind that keeps wondering whether or not she regrets it.
Most people who survive suicide attempts report feeling regret, of wanting to live. I know I regretted it.
It’s the kind of thought that can slowly drive you mad; it’s been years since I last really tried to end my life, and I’m glad that I failed.
’til next time,