Suicidal thoughts happened at least once a day in high school but some days they consumed me. It was all I thought about. Who would I leave letters for, how would it happen, where would it happen? So, I started with the letters. I’d obsess over them so much so that I rewrote them several times trying to perfect them. I thought about all of the ways I’d prefer to go. When my friend attempted to take her own life, it scared me out of doing that. It was devastating to know that my friend felt that amount of pain and in that moment, I knew I wasn’t alone.

I was 20 when I seriously considered it again. I wrote all the letters and this time I did my research online. There were so many ways. It was overwhelming. The trigger this time had been my “dad” showing up out of the blue after 14 years of being absent from my life. I had buried that abandonment wound so deep inside that I had no idea how much it actually bothered me still. I decided on ending it all with pills. I gathered as many as I could and planned the day out. Gramma was the last person I’d hang out with. And that’s all it took. My grandmother hugged me. I laid my head on her lap like I had done so many times in childhood, and she stroked my hair as she sang to me. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it to her.

This last time I attempted to do it because I was tired of life. Everything seemed to be going wrong and in that moment of weakness I decided that nothing was stopping me this time. I wrote my letters, sat on the floor of my kitchen with a bottle of whiskey and a knife. I drank to work up the courage because truthfully, I was scared. This time I had more to lose, and I wasn’t entirely sure dying was the answer but the inner pain was so fucking bad. I was texting with a friend and was intentionally being short because I needed her to leave, and it worked. As I sat on the ground with the knife on my lap, I couldn’t help but cry. Loudly. I took bigger gulps of whiskey. I finally picked up the knife and put it on my arm and examined my veins. Where would I cut? How deep do I go? Would it be instant? I made my first cut. It was a surface cut. I just wanted to see if I had it in me. As I cut the first time, my phone rang. Another text message…divine intervention, I guess. “I think I miss you.” I read that and it hit my heart hard. I ugly cried as I texted back. This friend hardly holds conversations and doesn’t do feelings, so it hit me so much more. She stayed up that night and we talked about things that are wrong, and all the ways I’m broken. I never mentioned what was going on in the background, but oh my goodness was I grateful for her in that moment. I probably wouldn’t be here it if wasn’t for her.

I’m in therapy now and I’m fighting to stay alive. I’m fighting to find my place in this world. It isn’t easy but I never wanted to die. I just needed guidance.  But just because I am in therapy, doesn’t mean I’m completely out of the woods. Not dying is a choice I make every day.

Moral of the story…It only takes one person to say the right thing, or one hug from literally anyone to make people feel that life is worth living.