It’s a warm day in April 2017. My day started as they usually do…wake up, shower, eat, pill. That evening was Easter supper at my aunts (a welcome break from being alone in the suburbs). My car was out of commission, so I rode my bike from my house to the train station. I remember feeling just fine at dinner – it was great to be in the company of family and people who care, and nothing was out of the ordinary. I would have never guessed that later on that night, I’d go through hell.
On the bike ride back from the train, I felt a huge wave of hopelessness set in. I got about halfway up the overpass near my house, and stopped. I felt like I couldn’t go on, both physically and mentally. All the negative things that I’d been through leading up to that point – the breakups, the fights, the car accident, asking my doctor for medication, the lack of direction I felt at my job – were taking turns flashing in and out of my head, and I felt an overwhelming urge to jump and end it all.
Thinking about killing yourself is a horrifying thing, and for so many reasons. I felt all the strength and determination I had previously built up over so long just wilt away, and my will crumble. I wiped tears and sweat from my face and I thought about just how I would go: I’d just leave the bike there and topple over the edge with my eyes closed. Would I hit metal or pavement first? Who would find me? What would my parents think? Would anyone else care? These thoughts and questions flew in and out of my brain at rapid pace, and I eventually physically crumbled as well. Feeling my legs give out from under me, I dropped to my knees and then just sat there leaning against the concrete barrier separating me from the fall. I spent the next several minutes convincing myself that I needed to press on, and that I wanted to live.
Talking yourself down from something like that, and having to convince yourself that you are worthy of living, is both a shameful and humbling experience. In what felt like the hour that had passed, I realized that I wanted so much more out of life. That there were so many goals and accomplishments left to achieve. That I wanted those dreams way more than I wanted it to end. I was ashamed that it had come to that point, but I felt proud that I had survived yet another low. With that, I dusted off my jeans, wiped the sweat from my forehead, got back on my bike, and pedalled home.
I don’t think I ever flat-out wanted to die before that moment, and I don’t think I really wanted to die at all. Rather, I just wanted the pain I felt to end. I once read a quote that suicide doesn’t end the pain, but rather it passes it on to someone else…someone you love, someone you care about. If you’re reading this and have been going through pain, I know it’s difficult to, but please try to reach out to that someone. You deserve to live.
I am happy to say that since this experience, I am doing well. Through a lot of hard work, a dash of therapy, and the belief that I can do better, I have been doing just that. If you are like me and aren’t currently struggling personally, but you care at all about someone else…check on them. Sometimes it’s the ones who seem the strongest that need it the most.
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