“What is my purpose here?”
“I feel useless!”
“Things will never change!”
A constant state of doubt and hurt lead me to question my reason for existing. I was not living, but merely co-existing, stuck in a realm of depression in the real world around me. This could have resulted in severe consequences as I often contemplated reckless actions that would end my continuous suffering & stress.
"Should I just drive and swerve off of the road?"
"Can I just go to sleep and do it all over?"
The pills or the knife?
Nights I would find myself laying on my cold bathroom floor, ready to end it all. I had pills for days! Hydrocodone, oxycodone, acetaminophen, and other options to choose from. As I would lay on the floor, I would get up randomly and lean my head against the wall, staring at each orange pill vial or white bottle placed in front of me. A constant battle started to take over my mind.
Should I take two of these? Three of these? Or one of each? Which one would take the pain away painlessly and quickly?
I was starting to lose my mind. I realized the pills were not the route to take. I needed to think of something else. “Why should I take the easy, painless way out when my father suffered?”, is what ran through my mind consistently. My dad did not die peacefully. I wanted to feel the pain my father felt. So, another battle within my mind started up again.
The pills or the knife?
The knife would be way more painful and allow me to die slowly. The same way my father died. I would find myself in the bathroom each time these thoughts came back. I would stare in the mirror with my bright red lazy eyes, just miserable. Miserable with myself, my new reality, and my dad's death. “The Phone Call” I had with my dad would replay in my head as I stared at myself in the mirror. Every time “The Phone Call” replayed in my head, it sounded like I just hung the phone up with my dad. I remembered every word he said and felt every emotion and pain through his words. I realized that my dad was never okay. I felt his pain through his words! I even saw the pain in his face as he laid on that hospital table breathless.
It was now my turn.
Should I cut the right wrist? Or the left? Should I just cut into my veins and bleed out slowly?
“Do it!”
“Just end it! It will be all over soon!”
“What are you waiting for? Do it! Do it already!”
The constant battle in my mind was taking over my body, physically and mentally. I would find myself in the bathroom some nights with the pills and the knife in front of me. I didn’t know which route I wanted to take. Part of me wasn’t strong enough to choose between either of them. My dad didn’t have a choice, so why should I? I just wanted to close my eyes and never wake up again.
As I stood up in my bathroom, I would just look at myself in the mirror and realize how a piece of me is officially gone. I lost someone who was there every step of the way. Someone who wiped my tears and cheered me on. I lost my best friend of nineteen years. Every day that I was living after my father's death, I felt the pain in my chest grow stronger. I could feel my heart breaking apart piece by piece. I battled with living daily.
The toughest battle within was whether to end it all or stay and fight. These thoughts and ideas were not easy to push away or remove, yet, succumbing to any would have resulted in great self-harm. I never imagined that I would ever end up in this state of mind. The depression, low self-esteem, and suicidal thoughts turned my life to the worst. My life after my dads' death turned me into a………TO BE CONTINUED.
What an inspiration you are, just by sharing this. You are so strong to have overcome such a challenging experience many have yet to face. We're intrigued and staying tuned.