Suicide Prevention Month – My Story Pt 1

I am 13 years old.  I’m in 7th grade.  I’m on the bus, and I have the asshole kid in front of me reminding me how fat I am.  He’s added, now, to close my legs, because I smell like fish. My stomach crawled in my throat, and my heart is desperately trying to plug my ears.  I’m home now.  I picked a fight with my mom and stormed upstairs.  My CD player is there, and now I can cry. I have no idea who was playing because I am focused on my scissors.  My rounded perfectly written name on the silver blade stares back at me as I slice in my arm for the first time.  I smile as the blood hides the black sharpie’d letters.  I feel so good.  It was as if I took my first deep breath after drowning.  I watch the blood pool and drip and I cry.  I clean everything up, stick my nose in a book, and go on with my life.  

To most people, I am a goody two shoes, kind of weird, really smart, and into music.  I was scared something was wrong with me, but I didn’t want anyone to know.  I learned how to hide in plain sight, lie, and keep my real thoughts to myself.  Once I became okay with cutting myself, I started thinking about killing myself.  I focused on getting perfect grades, and keeping everything else in my journal, because I was scared I was crazy and going to hell.


I am 30 years old.  I have just spent a few weeks in the mental hospital.  I have more diagnoses next to my name then I knew existed.  I’m holding a butcher knife, and I have just finished slicing my bicep.  I grabbed my Haldol, threw a bunch in my mouth, I added Klonopin, and went to bed.  My kids are at daycare and my husband is at work.  I wasn’t trying to kill myself, but I wanted to be dead.  

To most people, I was successful, amazing career, great mom, and totally had my shit together.  I guess the mental hospital tends to change the world’s view, and now I hear “we worried something was off.”  Before the mental hospital, I had finally admitted to myself the depression was getting a bit much, and I started taking Lexapro.  I never saw a therapist, psychiatrist, etc. until I went to the mental hospital for the first time.  I focused on being too perfect to be crazy.  Most of my life was varied methods of helping myself along to the grave, but I always stopped myself from outright killing myself.  I was scared to go to hell.


I am 34 years old.  I will turn 35 one week from today.  My psychiatrist has changed my alphabet soup of diagnoses to: “You’re DSM V positive and no one diagnosis fits you. You’re a person, not a statistic anyway.” For someone who has struggled with suicidality damn near her entire life, I REALLY get excited about my birthday. It’s kind of weird. Last year, I told myself I was not wasting another year of my life being treated like shit, treating myself like shit, or any other of my usual shit.  I started doing yoga, meditating, and a lot of other really amazing things.  In January, I lost my mind, I almost killed myself twice, and I was hospitalized again.  However, I know I was not wrong last year and I have a lot of work cut out for me this year.  To most people….actually, I don’t really give a shit what most people think anymore.


What has kept me going for the last almost 21 years is a pretty simple promise.  I was going to kill myself after a Metallica concert.  During the show, my best friend hugged me during Nothing Else Matters.  I realized as she hugged me, contrary to my belief, I would hurt her if I killed myself.  My brain had convinced me that I would do everyone a favor if I killed myself. I promised myself I would never kill myself for her.  At 24, I changed that promise to my kids, At 34, I changed the promise (finally…) to myself.   I learned at 14 my brain lies to me.  20 years later, I learned to ignore my brain instead of fight with it through meditation.  I wrote to a friend today, “I am in the process of getting back to my adolescence, finding who I was before I let the world tell me who I was.  

People telling their stories helped me, so I thought for the days leading up to my bday, I’d tell some of the things that helped me get to my 35th bday, despite my best efforts. I’ve been wanting to do this all month since it’s suicide prevention month, but I am a procrastinator. My story is repeated mistakes, lies, and a lot of pain.  It is also love, happiness, and joy.  Just like everyone.  The past year has taught me so much about myself and coming to love everything about me. I have always deeply believed that the most beautiful people in the world carry invisible scars. I look at the music I listen to, stories and poetry I read, and I see the beauty that pain and love give all of us.  I believe the lows you can sink to are equal to the highs you can fly to.  I’m just happy to not be so afraid of being crazy anymore.  

Previous Posts regarding suicide:

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29 thoughts on “Suicide Prevention Month – My Story Pt 1

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  1. Oh honey. =( This post reminds me how extra fucking important ending mental health stigma is. I need to be more honest about mine. It’s a struggle. People say to me ” You are so happy all the time” On the outside I have a perfect life. And I don’t do anything to counteract that image. I should tell them that I have been so low I have not been able to get out of bed, that i have shit my guts out from anxiety, that I have fallen asleep on my kitchen floor. That everyone who looks like they have their shit together, really doesn’t and that’s ok. ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

    Liked by 1 person

    1. You should do whatever the fuck you want and drop should out of your vocabulary hahaha. I get what you’re saying though. Trust me, I’ve lived it. I think that’s why I’ve swung so much the other way. I held on to my … illness? So tightly. No one could know. I had to show everyone how amazing and perfect I am – because I can do anything, I’m super mom, career woman, and I’m perfect. Then I fell apart over and over until I finally accepted I can’t do everything. Then, I don’t want to do everything. Then, I don’t care who knows or what they think. At this point, I can’t even fake it. If I’m having a bad day, I am. So what. It’s amazing how much easier it is to live when I don’t have to lie. I’ve lost friends and all of these things as I started figuring out who I actually am, and now I can’t be bothered. That’s not to say I’m perfectly happy. I’m not. I’m authentic and I like that. That’s not to say you’re not authentic either. You don’t have to tell everyone what happened that morning or you can if you want to. To me, the only way to end mental health stigma is to get everyone to understand that there is nothing wrong with how they feel. Period. We’re all trying so hard to fit in normalized boxes based on some
      Standards we didn’t get a vote on. And we’re sick from it. At least that’s what I think

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Yea, no, you’re completely right. It’s this weird dishonesty…it doesnt feel like dishonesty because you can simply say “It’s no ones business” but it’s dishonest with myself in a strange way

        Liked by 1 person

  2. I loved that. I love the line… ” I believe the lows you can sink to are equal to the highs you can fly to. That is beautiful and so true. You ate an excellent writer and I love your sense of humor. Even the name of your blog is very creative and funny. I love it and muh butt itches too…

    Liked by 1 person

    1. ❤️it’s my pleasure. I journaled to myself the other day, Dude just write. Write like there is one person in this world who needs to read what you have to say and you have no idea who it is.”

      Which is actually inspired by Mr Watts. “If you want to write, write. Write as if you have a message from the king. Write as if your very life depends on it. Who knows, it might” the very first words I read Of his. I was all down on myself in a funk and I read those words, and fell in love with another dead philosopher hahahaha

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Me too! Not sure what it is with me and dead guys. The poet Ralph Waldo Emerson speaks to me lately. Words are so powerful. I really need to start be more deliberate in my word choices. Once they’ve passed my lips the hurt can’t be undone and in writing I’m memorializing this stuff. I need to use my power for good not evil 😂

        Liked by 1 person

      2. hahahahaha, nah, you just need to listen to more Alan Watts. He’ll get you realizing words are a bunch of nonsense and we put way too much power into them. he’ll also get you out of that pesky good vs evil thing. Pretty soon, you’ll be sitting in your pajamas pondering whether you’re god or crazy. “When you really get with yourself, you realize there really is no good or evil, and you really can’t make a mistake. Then you begin to wonder if you are a mere puppet at the hands of fate, or if you are a god”….”In the west, you say you are god and they call you crazy and lock you up. In the east, you say you are god and they say well done, you’ve figured it out!” 😉

        Liked by 1 person

      1. Don’t apologise! I hope I am never desensitised to the point where something as serious and heart breaking as this, and partly relatable, will not move me. I often wonder about news readers, how they can read such devastating and disgusting things every night and not be affected. I honestly would love to see them break down every now and then. But then, I don’t really watch the news anymore…

        And I am not too bad right now, thanks! ❤

        Liked by 1 person

      2. ❤️ I know exactly what you mean. I think that’s one of the gifts or blessings of this bullshit for me is compassion. I really try to remember I have no idea what other people’s shoes have been stepping in. Not saying I’m
        Not an asshole buuuut I try to be a kinder asshole 🤣🤣

        Liked by 1 person

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