There have been so many times in my life where I have had thoughts of suicide.
I remember begging God to die.
It actually scared the shit out of me.
I remember the pain. The pain of what it was like to die.
In the wake of all these suicides, I’m reminded of how dark my thoughts were at one time.
I had been sexually abused by my babysitter when I was three.
My parents got divorced shortly after this and I hadn’t even told them about the abuse.
I remember falling asleep to the constant beatings of my mother from my abusive step-dad.
I remember dating emotional, verbal, and physically abusive boys and men.
Repeating the pattern my mom had in her life.
The same ones. Repeating them.
I remember imagining my death in multiple ways – cutting my wrists, car accidents, hanging myself, overdosing, jumping off of tall buildings and plummeting to my death.
I wanted it so badly that I started to feel like I was dying.
It scared the shit out of me, but it didn’t stop the thoughts.
I remember going through break ups that broke my heart into pieces so much so that I thought I shouldn’t even be alive.
I remember my heart hurting, my chest closing.
I didn’t want to trust anyone. I didn’t want to trust myself. I hated myself. I hated that no one could love me. I hated that I couldn’t love myself.
I blamed my skin color. I blamed my fat. I blamed my dumbo ears. I blamed my bow legged legs. I blamed my hair. I even blamed my height.
I blamed my parents. I blamed the perpetrators. I blamed society. I blamed my race. I blamed God.
I kept repeating these patterns and my thoughts of suicide became more and more elaborate. The worst the pain, the more elaborate the visuals.
I went through massive depressions.
The kind where you don’t get out of bed for days.
When you feel so heavy you can’t move. It feels like a chore to get up.
Where you dream about dying every day, but for some hellish reason you keep waking up to the reality that you can’t die. That you’re just wasting away in bed.
You stop eating or you eat everything in site.
You lock yourself up in your room–the safe place–away from anyone who could bring you out of your despair.
You stop answering your phone.
You don’t respond to texts or messages of any kind.
You hope that one day, maybe just one day, you wont wake up and it will be all over.
I’ve been there. It’s not a glamorous place. It’s not something you want to share with
anyone because how could anyone understand what the fuck you’re going through. And even if you let them in–all they would do is judge you.
Judge you for wanting to die.
Judge you for being awkward.
Judge you for not wanting to talk.
Judge you for being so quiet.
Judge you for being pathetic.
Judge you for being the scum of the earth.
Judge you for being alive.
Judge you like all your thoughts constantly judged you.
Judge you because you fall under the category ‘mentally ill.’
If I’m mentally ill that means there’s something wrong with me.
If there’s something wrong with me that means I need help.
If I need help that means I don’t know how to be human.
If I don’t know how to be human, should I even exist?
Of course this would mean it’s all true. Every single self defeating thought — true.
So what’s the point in letting anyone in.
They would just confirm what you already know to be true.
Enter all the horrific scenes and thoughts of suicide.
Every scary movie you could possibly think of.
Every murderous scene you believe you deserve.
This is what suicide looks like; a sum of thoughts that completly take over your entire reality.
It took me years to realize none of this was true.
It took me years to stop all the self hating thoughts.
It took several revelations to realize that I was the creator of my reality.
It took deep diving to stop all the patterns.
It took courage and humility to take radical responsibility for my existence.
It took me realizing that I’m the one who needed to love myself, not anyone else.
I didn’t need anyone elses love. I needed my love. That’s what I needed.
It took me realizing that it’s no ones fault but mine that my heart closed.
It took me becoming vulnerable and expanding my heart to attract the reality I truly wanted and deserved.
It took me surrendering instead of trying to control every aspect of my life.
It took me understanding that I’m an energetic being.
It took me trusting that this universe is a loving, abundant, prosperous, compassionate universe.
It took me believing that what I think, feel and speak into my existence — I attract.
It took one mentor telling me, “existence would not be complete without me.”
It’s my new mantra. The mantra I tell anyone who gets down on themselves.
The mantra we should all learn at birth.
The mantra for anyone who believes they are a failure.
The mantra for anyone who looks like they’re down.
The mantra for anyone who has suicidal thoughts.
The mantra you should tell everyone you know because you never know what they could, have or are going through at any given moment.
Tell them because they deserve to hear it.
Tell them because they need to hear it.
Tell them because you could be the reason they decide to live.
Tell them, “existence would not be complete without you.”