I have been sitting on this post for months and months and it has held up production on this blog because it feels so important to get right (which means I can’t cut it short).
To share even one experience and bring into the light those ghouls that haunt the darkness feels like one way to take back power from the black, cold night.
I cannot pretend to speak for everyone — or even most people — who experience the urge to end their lives.
If you’re contemplating suicide, please call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255.
I can only speak for myself.
But I need you to hear me.
When I’ve contemplated death by suicide it hasn’t been because I wanted to kill myself. I have never wanted to kill anyone. I don’t know what that feels like.
Instead, it’s about not wanting to live. That’s an entirely different point of view.
The first time I experienced suicidal ideation many years ago, I was engulfed by crippling guilt over a mistake that seems so inconsequential now. I was convinced that everything about me was a burden on the world, that I was truly bad and the pain of existing like this was simply too much to bear.
For reasons that I’ll never quite understand, I was convinced that I was never going to escape my misery and never stop being a burden.