Ending It

Author's note: this subject is heavy. What I'm writing is my experience and opinions. This isn't advice.

Today is World Suicide Prevention Day. I cringed when I read the words but looked it up anyway to see what they would say about it.

Here is what they said:

- The 2024–2026 triennial theme, “Changing the Narrative on Suicide”, aims to shift from silence, stigma, and misunderstanding to openness, empathy, and support. It encourages:
- Open, honest conversations about suicide and suicidal behavior.
- Challenging harmful myths and reducing stigma.
Systemic change through public policy prioritizing mental health, evidence-based strategies, and improved access to care.
- The slogan for 2026 is “Start the Conversation”, urging individuals, communities, organizations, and governments to engage in dialogue that fosters understanding and support.

I was pleasantly surprised. Being honest, speaking up, telling the truth of what happened to me is what a large portion of my writing is about. I know my experience isn't unique, but I also know it's not openly spoken about. In just the US over 48,000 people died by suicide last year. Did you think that number was high? I did. And it's because this has barely been part of the conversation.

I've been suicidal since I was 6 years old. I can't remember a day where the thought didn't come into my head at one point. And I never told anyone. I'd written it in my diary, which my mother read, and she said, "don't do that". I tried to tell a friend when I was a teenager and she said, "It's just looking for attention and a call for help." Yeah, it is a call for help. They aren't looking for attention; they are trying to find a way to stay alive if they are telling you. I would not even bring it up in therapy as I feared being committed. I've also realized recently that it wasn't just the thought "I should end it" but there was micro planning involved. I'd be on a nice hike and look over the edge when I got to the top and think "I should jump". If I got narcotics for some pain or injury, I'd wonder how many it would take to OD. I'd brush knives up and down my inner arm to see what it felt like. 

I almost killed myself last year in December as the night rolled into the winter solstice. I'm surprised the neighbors didn't hear my wails and sobs as I typed into the darkness to a robot. Even thinking about it chokes me up as I recall how much pain I was in. If there had been an instantaneous way to do it, I fully believe I'd be dead. Now after 6 months of ketamine treatment, I'm still sad and hopeless, but I'm back in the land of the living. 

It's humiliating that people know. I am so raw and most everything said to me hits me sideways. Having people say some really thoughtless shit just adds salt to already agonizing pain. It's hard to see a way out of always being seen as that person. I have a lifetime of being the strong, resilient, and tenacious one. Now I feel like there is a scar across my face saying all that happened and now this is all I am. Yet I still believe that in sharing this, in opening my wounds and weaknesses for all to see, that it is the key to saving others. 

I won't put a cherry on top of this. Some of us won't make it. Can you release the stigma? Can I? Can any of us?

You're not getting a ring

 "Just so you know, you're not getting a ring."

It was close to Christmas and he randomly told me he wasn't proposing. I hadn't even considered this and didn't understand why he felt he needed to say it. I nodding in understanding and he said so sincerely, "but I would marry you....". The words hung in the air. Multiple concerning incidents had happened at this point, I didn't feel safe to be myself, yet suddenly this carrot was dangling in front of me...and I wanted it. Though I didn't actually believe this was possible or real. 

Rings are a difficult subject for me. When my ex husband proposed to me he didn't even ask me to marry him. He asked what I wanted for Christmas and I said, "an engagement ring". He wasn't making much and had bought a $99 ring. The diamond was barely a chip, likely something that fell off while cutting a big beautiful one, but the ring was dainty Instead of getting down on one knee he handed me the box and stood across the room biting his lip. No words about loving me. But I had the ring. It was cute and still more than I ever thought I'd get. I proudly showed friends and one said snarkily, "Wow! It's so big!" and everyone laughed. I held back tears and smiled. The thought of getting a huge ring, something I wanted, something to show off, was beyond what I could fathom. No special band, no sizing, this was it. I was being mocked and laughed at but I still felt like I was somebody to finally have someone that wanted to be with me. The tiny diamond fell out at a Christmas Eve church service and all my past trauma said, "of course". 

We had a trip to Las Vegas planned for New Year's Eve. He again announces, "Just so you know...you won't be getting a ring. Just want to make sure you understand that." Again, had zero expectations but now this need to say this to me each time was getting to me. I even had a fantasy that he was saying it again to surprise me. That night he was not winning at his gambling, and me feeling like if he couldn't win and be happy then everything would be ruined. I started putting my own money into slot machines. More than I'd ever spent as I typically gave myself a $20 limit and I was putting hundreds in. Money I didn't have. I didn't care about me winning. I just wanted him to be happy and to have this New Year's Eve moment I wanted so desperately. It felt like everything was slipping through my hands. I was drunk and high and by the time we got back to the room I'd crumbled to the bed sobbing "I tried....I tried so hard...". He didn't talk to me the entire flight home. No ring. 

Our first and only Valentine's Day came, and things were shaky. Another statement about me not getting a ring. Then a Facebook post saying how much he loved me and how happy he was to be with me, but it also included terrible pictures of me. A picture of my ass from behind crawling up the stairs drunk. One picture was me about to have surgery with no makeup, a hairnet and mask on, and hospital gown. Here were these words I'd wanted my whole life yet I also felt I was being made fun of. I ever so carefully asked, "Hey...why did you post those pictures?" after thanking him profusely for the post. He said, "Oh I just grabbed some pics." We had a ridiculous amount of pictures together. My Facebook page alone had so many pictures. It was purposeful, and I knew it, yet here were those words that I'd never heard and longed for my whole life. 

Days after Valentine's Day, where the day after we had a massive fight about my concerns over his feelings for his ex-wife who he never shut up about, I had a big gig days later where my mentor had given me a performance challenge that was a stretch goal to say the least. And I nailed it. I came back to his place excited, happy, and proud of myself. Giving myself credit and being happy with myself isn't something that happens for me. It was a big deal in my little life. He congratulated me and as I was going to the kitchen he says that a friend of his just got engaged and they'd been together less than we had. I said that's nice and went into the kitchen to pour a wine. I come back out and he brings up one of my best friends getting engaged. I again smile and nod, but now I'm seeing I am not giving him the response he wants. He reiterates again how they've been together less than us, and now my friend was engaged too and did I hear him say all this. I said, "What are you trying to say?" He changed subjects but my personal win was no longer part of the conversation. I didn't understand it. It felt like he was trying to hurt me and upset me. Another thing to stuff down.

One thing is for sure...I didn't get a ring.

Intermittent Reinforcement

"Intermittent reinforcement is the unpredictable cycle of affection, attention, or relief mixed with cruelty, rejection, or withdrawal. Because the good moments arrive inconsistently, the brain becomes fixated on earning their return, strengthening the trauma bond."

After a 24 year relationship, 22 years of it married, and 6 years of horrific dating experiences, I'd given up on any chance of love and was mostly numb to it all. I'd gotten a girlfriend because men had been so awful and I thought I'd just try something else. She was married in an open relationship where he also had a girlfriend. We were adorable together with my pink hair and her light blue hair, but there was never an emotional connection. I quickly learned I wasn't as bisexual as I wanted to be but went along with it because I didn't know what else to do. 

We met through Facebook where we had mutual friends and he'd been watching me. There was a lot in common so when he saw I was in Los Angeles, one of his favorite cities, seeing Ghost, one of his favorite bands, he decided to message me. Over the top charming but in an easy going way. I looked at his picture, and not my type, but I thought why not. We had a call the next day when I flew home and though initially were going to meet that Saturday decided we couldn't wait another second and planned a date for the next night. I don't recall the conversation, but he knew how to play it up and I bought it. Kissed me barely 15 minutes into the date and would later imply I was a slut because I'd kissed back. We made out in my car in the middle of the street and it felt wonderful and romantic. I thought driving home could this possibly be the miracle I didn't think would happen?

Our second date was two days later. We had sex and it was terribly embarrassing as I started bleeding profusely. I was mortified. Yet he said he loved me. He made some bizarre statement about how if the first time you have sex is awkward it means it's going to be a great relationship. I smiled and nodded while thinking this was weird, and yet here was finally a man that seemed to care. Went to his house the next day to hang by the pool and he said, "Should we do a life event on Facebook?" I had no idea what that even meant as I came onto there married. He said, "put that we are in a relationship". I froze. It hadn't been a week. Red flags and sirens were going off in my head yet here appeared to be someone that wanted to be with me. I wouldn't be the sad alone one anymore. The one no one wanted. The one no one would stay with. The one everyone fucked and walked away from. It was right there so I said yes. The post blew up, as I'd never done this and he noted it but didn't seem to believe my explanation. 

It all became a whirlwind of things I'd never done, and it felt like a lot, but he had very firm things he felt had to be done in a relationship and I just went along with it. A joint Google calendar was created so we knew everything the other was doing. I had access to his garage and house. He brought toiletries to keep at my house. I was seeing him every day with him saying each time how he loved me. I was called beautiful and pretty lady and all the things my husband never said. I told a friend that I was scared I was being love bombed and she said, "Or maybe it's true love and he loves you!" I wanted it so desperately.

My cat had been eating my hair and chomped off a huge piece leaving me with a layer barely two inches long. We needed to cut my hair shorter, which I hated, to make it look blended and allow it to grow back. My hairdresser had been taking classes for extension and needed a model where the process would be for free and you buy the hair. I decided to do it and was so excited to have long hair again where I'd feel like I looked nice. I gushed about it for weeks. I was thrilled with the extensions and was sure he'd like me more and be even more attracted to me. He said they looked nice but I didn't get the compliments I'd hoped for. A few days later while driving after dinner he turns to me and says, "You know I like women with short hair." I gulped. I felt nauseated. I was holding back tears and stared at him. He then says incredulously, "Why are you acting this way? It's just an opinion." We'd been together 5 weeks at this point.

This was the start of the intermittent reinforcement that continued the entirety of the relationship and many times after. It wasn't not thinking before he talked. It was rather calculated and cruel. Many times I'd see a smirk on his face when I started crying after what he'd said. But then days later the compliments, the I love you's, and we are perfect for each other came back and I stuffed down the pain. I didn't see hope for anything else.

That pattern didn’t end when the relationship did. My brain still returns to every contradiction, every tender moment beside every calculated cruelty. trying to make it all add up, still trying to solve what was designed to be unsolvable. From the outside, it may look like an inability to let go; from inside a trauma bond, it is a brain still trying to resolve the confusion that created it.