It's been over three years since I attempted suicide.
I'm not usually that blunt about things in my writing. I prefer my tough truths to be masked in metaphor. But I am finding no other words for this part of my life. It just simply is a reality. And there's no shying away from it.
I know that everyone who has experienced suicidal ideation comes at it with different reasonings and justifications for or against the act itself. I don't claim to "know it all" when it comes to the inner workings of others on this subject. But one thing I can do is understand the point of desperation that so often occurs. I can at least sympathize, very intimately, with the level of pain that one has to reach to get to this state.
For me, it was never about love. I knew (and still know) that my family loved me dearly and would be grieved if I were to take my life. But there reached a point in which even that knowledge couldn't hold back the waves of pain that crashed against my consciousness.
I know now I was going through mood swings associated with my bipolar disorder. Additionally, I was working through a cancer diagnosis and praying for good test results. And as if all that wasn't enough, I was dealing with the loss of my idea of what my future would be as my then-fiancé decided to call off our wedding and sever our relationship.
At the time, I had felt overly dramatic. I told myself often that I shouldn't be affected by these circumstances. I told myself to "get it together" and "hold your head up" and "you'd better not start crying in front of people." I've since come to realize that anyone would have been overwhelmed by these circumstances, and I wish with everything in me that I had shown myself some understanding and grace in the midst of so much pain. But the fact of the matter is, I didn't.
One of my sisters in the convent once said concerning water bottles, "You have to pour out the water or it starts to stink." As you may suspect, she wasn't just talking about water bottles. She was painting a picture for the bottling up of emotion. In the past, I have too easily sealed volatile emotions away from the world until I'm "safely" able to process and analyze those emotions later on my own. The unfortunate part about the time in my life I mentioned above is that I wasn't giving myself grace and permission to feel the full depths of my pain. I was locking it away, sealing the lid, and never, ever pouring it out.
I didn't ask for my mood to be like walking on shifting sand. I didn't ask for my body to start experiencing disease in a way I had never experienced before. I didn't ask to spend countless hours in therapy. I didn't ask to be submitted to surgeries and radiation. I didn't ask for my future husband to abandon me. I didn't ask to have my dreams ripped from my grasping fingers. I didn't ask for any of the pain that was so present in my life. But despite the realness of my heartache and anger and confusion, I refused to allow those emotions to surface in their fullness. I believed I would be weak if I were to allow those emotions to exist fully in my heart.
But those emotions of hurt and despair and rage, like that water bottle my sister talked about, began to make their presence known despite my best efforts. They began to stink and fester. And before long, I could no longer hide my pain. I couldn't run from it anymore. And despite knowing there were people who loved me and people I would be hurting through taking matters into my own hands, I could see no other way to avoid feeling the immensity of emotion. Desperate times call for desperate measures, after all.
Three years have passed and a lot has changed since then. I've graduated from seminary with my Master of Arts in Religion. I've had scans come back "all clear" after my last surgeries and radiation. I've thrown away gifts and love notes that I had kept from my ex-fiancé. I have acquired a whole host of healthy coping skills with the help of brilliant therapists and psychiatrists. I've left the job I thought I would have for years, worked odd jobs here and there, and now have given up paychecks entirely to live a life in the Order of Saint Helena to continue discernment on my calling to the religious life.
Sometimes I imagine going back in time and telling myself three years ago what I would have to look forward to if I'd just hold on. Would that have stopped me? Would I have changed my mind? Would I have started to extend grace and kindness toward myself and dared to hope in having a future?
In all honesty, it's just a daydream. There's no going back and telling my past self anything. But three years later, after time and medicine and therapy and a whole lot of hard work, I have to say I am happy to be here. I'm happy I'm alive. No, I'm not living the life I imagined I would be living three years ago. But somehow, I'm okay with that these days.
I've started, ever so tentatively, to learn how to safely and healthily take the lid off of my emotions and truly feel them instead of locking them away. And, you know what? My sister was right. Pouring out the water, getting that emotion out from inside the swirling vortex of your mind, is the first step in healing. If you're reading this, and you are like I was three years ago and wondering what in the world you're doing here on this earth, I won't offer you some overused platitude about how "Time heals all wounds" or anything like that. But I will ask that you give yourself the grace to feel the fullness of human emotion. Yes, even the emotions you'd rather not feel. I ask you to lean into hope. I know, goodness do I know, how hard that is to do. But, dear one, it is so worth it. You are so worth it.
I know life is hard. Though a lot has changed in three years, I still have days where despair and anger well up within me and rear their heads unbidden. But I am doing my best these days to live erring on the side of giving grace to myself. I am doing my best to speak gently to my spirit and remember hope. I am doing my best to love even the rough patches of my soul. And through it all, I can honestly say I'm just happy to be here.
There is always help available if you or someone you know is in crisis.
Please reach out to the trained and caring professionals at one of the following resources:
The National Suicide Hotline: 1(800) 273-8255
Crisis Text Line: Text HOME to 741-741
Trevor Project (LGBTQ+ Affirming Hotline): 1(866) 488-7386
Trevor Project (Text Line): Text START to 678-678
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