I don’t even know where to begin with this, I’ve been so painfully numb and emotionally switched-off the past 2 days. I’ve been mentally going over this suicide plan, over and over- I started planning this 2 weeks ago when I was still in the hospital before I was discharged. I’ve been planning and planning and planning, researching on ways to die and wondering about where/how I want to do it and making plans and writing lists. I’ve been writing about how much I’m struggling, how much pain I am in everyday, about how exhausting it is. I’ve also been hovering on the edge of ‘to do it, or not to do it?‘, I’ve been trying my darnedest to help myself and to ask for help. I posted online about how I’ve been struggling, I told my closest friends about how I feel, I told both my doctors I was still suicidal, I told them I was doing badly, I told them I don’t know if I can stay safe. I desperately, desperately wanted to just be warded. I wanted help, I wanted people to see just how much I was struggling and how much pain and agony I’m in and just extend a hand. But nobody did.
People say they’re there for me and that they care and I don’t doubt that at all, cognitively I know I am cared for. But I cannot try to reach out for help and support anymore, not when it’s so exhausting and unrewarding, and at some point I just shut down and I close up completely. I stop talking completely, trust so easily broken. I’ve never ever been able to ask for support properly- I don’t know how to, and my therapist is right because the only way I know how to express something, usually pain, is through my actions. But I have come further than I have in the past, because when I was 14 all I could do was self harm and try to kill myself- at least now I’m trying so desperately to tell people that I’m struggling, even if I cannot convey how I truly feel or how I just really need help and support. And it just hurts because it feels like nobody has been listening, and nobody has been reaching out. I’m stuck in a deep pit, a pit deeper and darker than I have ever been in and scarier and more lonely than anyone can imagine. I am trying to reach out but my outstretched arms can barely be seen. People are standing at the edge offering a casual hand but for the life of me, I cannot reach them. They cannot see me flailing and I cannot reach them and I just needed someone to throw me a rope, a lifeline. I just needed someone to really look down that pit for once and see me. And it’s nobody’s fault because I know the pit is so dark they can hardly see or imagine the depths of it, or know how badly I need them.
I just needed people. I selfishly needed friends to text me and call me and reach out and reassure me when I constantly feel so painfully abandoned, I selfishly needed them to love me and tell me they’re not going to leave when I’m falling apart and feeling too broken to be worthy. I needed them to reach out and ask, because my brain doesn’t allow me too reach out for fear of being a burden and believing that everyone now hates me. I selfishly needed doctors to validate me and acknowledge my struggle and tell me that I am sick and tell me I need help- to ward me or suggest forms of treatment or reassure me, instead of telling me ‘you need to help myself too’ or ‘you can go to the A&E if you really need to’ or ‘try to take it one step at a time’ because my brain doesn’t allow me to acknowledge I am valid unless a medical professional gives me a diagnosis or says so. I needed people to say that they believed me, I needed people to say that ‘I promise your struggle is valid, you are very sick and you need help and you are not making this up‘, I needed people to say ‘I see how hard you are fighting to survive and it is not your fault for struggling and I don’t blame you‘, I needed people to say ‘I won’t get angry at you for being not-okay, and I’m not going to abandon you, I want to help you‘, I needed people to say ‘I know it’s so immensely difficult and painful and I know you didn’t choose this and I know are trying your very best‘, I needed people to say ‘you deserve help, you are not-okay and it’s okay to break down and let go, you deserve to be helped and to you deserve to help yourself. let us support you‘. I needed people to ask, I needed people to see me. I really just needed people to see me and see my pain.
I know I desperately wanted help because I cannot fight anymore, that 0.5% of me cannot hold the other 99.5% of me that wants to die back forever. I also told my therapist 2 days ago about how I’m really thinking through the suicide this time round, and how I’m giving myself time to think, how I’m still weighing the pros and cons, asking myself if I really want to die. Because this time, there is no going back. This time, there is no overdose, no hospitals, no chance of saving me or turning back after I choose to step off. This time, it will be the final time. So I really, really, really had to think through it carefully. Yesterday, I finally decided that I’m going to kill myself. I decided on it during a session with Dr Cecilia, and like it has always been, my parents were the trigger- they were the final straw and they strengthened my resolve to do it.
It’s nothing new, honestly, it’s like this every single time. They were talking about all the ‘issues’ that they notice, my mum brought up stupid things like me not going out for dinner or not wanting to talk to her, and my dad got pissed off and said therapy was useless because he felt like nobody was being honest, so he said he was going to be frank. He said that he feels awful, he’s scared to talk to me or say anything because even the smallest words or most innocent and everyday phrases can ‘trigger’ me, he said he’s walking on eggshells and doesn’t know what to say or do. He insinuated that it’s my fault for acting this way, and they said that they’re being really supportive and doing everything they can to help but I’m the one shutting them out. I’m the one being rude and getting angry over small things and I’m the one pushing them away and putting this huge barrier between us. And he said things aren’t going to get better because I’m putting up this barrier, and things aren’t going to get better because we can’t even talk, because I don’t want to. It’s my fault. And then the guilt trip starts again, he said ‘If this is about the past then yes, I’ve already admitted that in the past I wasn’t good at parenting, we didn’t have any parenting tools (books, parenting courses/advice, psychology) to help us so we didn’t know that what we did was wrong. after I realized it a few years ago, I already felt very apologetic and I didn’t mean it anyway, and vowed never to do it again. I already changed and I am not like that anymore, I am not perfect but I’m trying hard. Nothing like this ever happened with my two other kids. I tried to make it up to Ericia, I sent her to school in the morning for 4 years because that is all I could do. What more does she want me to do? If she really wants us to stay away from her then fine, I can do that, it’s easy. But we want to help her and we are already doing everything, we pay for her things, we fetch her to the train station in the morning, we give her what she wants.’ They’re saying that family therapy isn’t going to help because I’m not going to talk and I’m the one who’s putting up this barrier and choosing to do all of this.
And the same thoughts run through my head like always: it’s my fault and i’m choosing to do this and it’s my fault for struggling and feeling this way. it’s my fault for pushing them away and it’s my fault because i’m the one who’s pushing them away and i’m the one who’s refusing to communicate and i’m the one who’s rude and obnoxious and angry 24/7. it’s true, it is my fault. it is my fault and i am the problem. they’re already doing so much, it’s my fault for being a burden and being ungrateful and being a brat. i brought up inpatient to my mum casually a few days ago, saying how ‘the next time i’m warded….’ and she was like, ‘don’t you even dare’. they don’t want me to be warded. they just want me to be fine. they want me to be happy and to be close to them. it’s all my fault because i’m the burden in this family. in the session last week, they brought up how they have to give me more attention compared to my sisters and how my sisters said it was unfair. you see, the problem isn’t something that can be solved, i am the problem and i have always been the problem, in all the soon-to-be 19 years, i am the problem. i am the one who caused all the problems in this family. i’m not even sick and it’s all my fault for making a mountain out of a molehill. and that’s how they’ve always treated me all my life, like i’m a ticking time bomb because i’m crazy and my emotions are out of control and it’s my fault and all my emotions are wrong and everything i feel or say or do is an exaggeration and overreaction.
I felt it all coming up to the surface during the session, and I swallowed it. I couldn’t let myself break, my brain had to protect itself and the only thing that can numb this amount of pain is death. So that’s when I decided I was going to die, that’s when I knew for sure. Even being in the same room as them reinforces and magnifies every single negative thought screaming in my head. In order to avoid the pain, my brain went on lockdown-mode and completely shut everything out and then I felt so much better. I felt so much calmer, I felt like I was in control. I walked down with my parents back to the carpark and I was laughing to myself. I wasn’t hurting, and I knew it wasn’t real but my god, did it feel good to not be hurting. Even as a kid, every time my parents are triggering my escape is self harm or suicide or planning ways to starve and hurt myself or rebel and engage in risky behavior because that’s the only way I am in control. Recently over the past few months, my brain has adopted the coping skill of vividly imagining my own death/burial every time my parents are being.. my parents, because that is my only way of coping and my own way of escape. So I decided to die, and that was a beautiful escape for me.
I sat on the car ride back talking to my best friend, I was honest with her. I told her I was going to die and there was nothing she could do. I told her why. She was devastated, but I was so calm and detached and sure of myself. My brain wouldn’t budge at all, I felt completely dissociated in a way, because the logical 0.05% part of me had no control over my brain at all. It really felt like my brain was just protecting itself, because if I felt the pain it would absolutely break me and rip me apart and leave me in pieces, my brain was protecting itself because it knows better than to break down or show emotion in front of my parents, that’s a death wish right there. My brain shut down because the sheer amount of pain is unimaginable. I told her how I know logically I don’t actually want to die, but there is no way out either. I told her how hard I’ve been fighting and asking for help and I told her this was out of my control now. I told her I cannot promise anything, or that I can stay alive. I scared her with all the details of my funeral, I told her how I wanted it to be fun. I told her that I didn’t matter, I told her she would be okay and people would be okay. I told her not to worry, I told her I was so sorry for putting her through all of this. In the moments of vulnerability I did manage, I told her how I am not choosing any of this. I think I wanted to hear that it wasn’t my fault for struggling and that she understood how hard I was trying. I told her how desperately I wanted help and how I’m not choosing to go through this either and I’m not choosing to want to die and I’m not choosing to purposely torture everyone around me. It hurts me to hurt them and I would much rather just be normal. I told her how I didn’t want to do this but life just really really really hurts too much. I told her I tried so hard to survive.
She understood, I know she did. She tried to convince me that there are other ways, that this wasn’t a solution, that I’ve survived this for so long and I can continue to do so, but none of it was going in. The only things she said that really stood out to me, was how she said that nobody will ever understand my pain. That getting validation is important, but I need to understand that nobody, not even her (and she knows everything), will truly understand the magnitude of what I have been through. She said she knows that the suicide attempt could barely convey 10% of the pain I was going through. She said that I absolutely suck at conveying to the doctors how much I really struggle. She said that she would be here with me and that she wouldn’t leave me and I trust that. I think it was only after the overdose and breakdowns on the 5th Feb, when I was 100% vulnerable and she saw me at my most raw and broken state and still stayed, that was the first time when I truly trusted that she wouldn’t leave. She said that she knows I’m trying and it’s not my fault and she said it’s okay to be honest with her and it’s okay to not be okay. She said that I needed the ward. And I trust her.
I told her how she could be everything and still wouldn’t be enough, and how I’m so sorry for that. She helps me so so much, but she isn’t enough to save me and her love isn’t enough to fill that hole inside. Nobody can save me. She understood that too. I cannot wrap my head around the idea that I would have any importance at all. I thought about this all night. I felt like I could just leave, just fade away and fall like the autumn leaves, quietly leaving. I mean, logically, maybe people would be sad for a while because dead people are never fun, but I don’t see how they would truly be affected. I have faith in my best friend and faith in my sisters, that they will be okay after my death, they will pick themselves up and get over it. But I really, really don’t matter. I really don’t. Everybody else has important people in their lives. I don’t matter and I stand by that. The only thing that managed to change my opinion was late at night when I was still suicidal and I asked her to write me a eulogy. I’ve been trying to plan it out, to picture my death and my funeral and what it’s all going to be like. I really really wanted to know what my best friend would say. And what she wrote was heartbreaking, and it touched me, it really really did. I gave me hope that maybe I matter- though my brain did shut it out quickly enough after that.
Night-time came and the exhaustion and pain set in, and the exhilaration and excitement of planning my own death and the things I wanted to do in the week leading up to my death wore off. The same exhaustion set in, and I realised I couldn’t wait a week. I realised I didn’t want to do any of those things, I was in so much pain I wanted to die. It was excruciating. I was so angry at myself, angry at myself for promising my best friend I would be safe this week and angry at myself for promising my therapist I wouldn’t die in between sessions. I can’t forget her face when she looked me in the eye and said she would be heartbroken if she found out that I had died. I just can’t do that to her. I was angry at myself and I was angry at the both of them, angry that I couldn’t die because I was so desperate to end it. I was angry that they both found my weakness- promises, especially to the ones I love. I never break promises. I just wanted to die and it hurt. It just hurt and hurt and hurt. The good part, was that I finally decided on where I was going to jump- my childhood home, block 123. It made sense because that was the only place I ever had happy memories in. I didn’t want to jump from my grandparents’ flat because I didn’t want to taint that place. But I still wanted to be near them, so my childhood home was a perfect choice and I was really happy I finally decided on that.
I texted a few of my friends to reply to their messages as well, I had left a group chat with my friends and they were worried. At that point I really really didn’t want to talk anymore, my brain had already shut-off and given up on trying to be open. I left instagram and I left the group chat… I thought I would leave inconspicuously actually, I thought nobody would notice. I wanted to leave for so many reasons as well- to protect them from me and my bullshit, so that I wouldn’t hurt them, I wanted to stop burdening them. I left because I know I didn’t matter, I left because I know they would be much better off without me. I left because I kept getting intrusive memories of all my friends in high school who left me after they saw how broken I was. I left because I know I am too broken to be loved or be a worthy friend. I left because I know I couldn’t be selfish anymore. And like I said, I didn’t matter. I wanted to slowly fade away. But I ended up telling one of them the truth anyway, I have such a soft spot for her, much like my best friend and therapist. They mean the world to me. I wanted to push her away too, I wanted to push the entire world away, but I don’t think I can really ever push her away because the truth is I care so much, so so so much. Actually, I care so much about all of them. They are some of the closest and most important friends, and I just didn’t want to hurt them again. And perhaps, I didn’t want to be hurt either. I was scared and so alone and tired.
Today (21st feb) wasn’t much better and I was just as suicidal, though still surprisingly calm and detached. I haven’t shed a single tear so far, I’ve been feeling okay apart from the strong drive to want to kill myself. I did however, spend a lot of time with my grandparents, and that was so painful. I was avoiding them because I knew I couldn’t face them. I saw them today and I realized what I would be doing to them if I died. I realized, I have faith in everyone else, that they will be okay after I die, but I don’t know if my grandparents will be. My heart broke into a million pieces. I want so badly, for them to forget about my existence, to somehow wipe their memories. I still want to die. I can’t bear the thought of hurting them like this but I still want to die. I think a part of me is slowly realizing that I cannot die, because of my family and friends. As much as I want to, I don’t know if I’ll be able to. I called for help today, I called to make an appointment to see my therapist tomorrow. I said I’m giving it one last shot, I’m giving help one last shot. I said I will try, though I don’t want to, I will listen to my friends for once. I talked to maranda in the afternoon (we met up and went to a dog cafe) and I talked to eunice a little bit more today and I’ve just missed her so much, and of course I talked to my best friend a lot. And they all want me to get help. I want to try for the sake of my best friend and for the sake of getting better with eunice and for the sake of not giving up on maranda. But I am so tired.
It’s 5.10am and I still want to die. Honestly, I didn’t even see the point in writing any of this. I did go to the place where I was planning to die. I went there today, I took the lift up and I stood there for a bit, looking down. I took mental notes (bring a chair/something to help you step up because there isn’t a proper ledge) and tried to figure out where exactly I wanted to do it. I imagined myself jumping and falling. I was worried because the 11th floor is the highest but I’m scared it’s not high enough, it didn’t feel very high at all. I looked at the spot where my body would fall. I made more mental notes, to fall in between the two trees so that I will land on the concrete. I pictured my body sliding off the roof awning onto the ground with a thud. I went downstairs and tried to picture a dead body. The truth is, I can see myself jumping, but I cannot picture anything after that. I cannot even begin to imagine what it would be like after I died. And more truths: all of this really terrifies me, it terrifies me how I’m driven to this extent, it terrifies me how much I pain I am in that I truly want to die, it terrifies me how my brain is bent on doing this and how I cannot keep up the fight. Having to live sounds excruciating. Dying is easier but a part of me knows I cannot die, that this somehow isn’t right, that I can’t do this to people.
But I don’t know what to do anymore, I truly don’t. I don’t even want to see my therapist tomorrow. I’m exhausted and in pain, so much pain. I’m so lost.