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?