I keep trying to understand why I did what I did. I try to look back on the moments, the days, the weeks before I took the pills. I try to remember what was going through my head. The weird thing is, I don’t know that I was even really thinking about death. I wasn’t thinking about forever or funerals or being gone for good. I wasn’t thinking about anything in a long-term or permanent way. The only thing that existed was what I was feeling in those short moments. All I can remember thinking was that I wanted a way out. In that moment when I picked up the bottle of pills, I needed relief more than I ever needed anything in my life. I hurt so badly that I was willing to do anything to stop it, and nothing I could think of seemed like it would work. Not drugs, not sex, not running away, not anything. The pain was inside me, and it felt like it was never going to leave, so the only way to kill it was to kill me too.
And it all seems so temporary when I look back on it. That’s something they say a lot in here: ”Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.” Most people roll their eyes at the saying, but it scares me every time I hear it.
And now it’s only a week later, only a handful of days since I was so convinced that I wanted to die, and already I can’t imagine ever feeling that hopeless. I guess a big part of it is the medication starting to work. And maybe part of it is that it’s also just easier to feel better in a place like this. As crazy as it is, at least it’s a break from the outside and full of people who want to help me. The only thing I really have to think about is getting better. Maybe everything will change when I go back home, back to school, back to my same old life. But I don’t think so. At least I hope not. And that’s really the important thing, isn’t it? Hope.
God, this place has turned me into a cheeseball. Oh well.
I think of all the people who weren’t as lucky as me—the people whose suicide attempts were successful. They could be alive now and feeling better. They could be trying to work through the things that cause them pain. They could find people to help them. All the people who need medication, who need therapy, the people haunted by horrible memories, the kids getting bullied, the ones who feel so alone—there are solutions for all of them. But I know that sometimes it seems easier to give up than to risk hoping that things can change. Sometimes a person can be so consumed with pain that they can’t see solutions anywhere. But the solutions are there. I know they are. Help and hope are everywhere. I just hope people find them. I hope they at least try looking before they decide to give up.
Connor, I have so much to say to you. So many sorrys. But maybe before those, there is just thank you. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for saving my life.
I’m looking out the window and the sunset is something gorgeous. There are about a billion different shades of orange, more than I thought possible. I think I can see the cherry blossoms starting to bloom, and do you know how happy that makes me? There’s a street by my house that’s lined with cherry blossom trees, and every spring when they’re in full bloom, the petals float around and fall to the ground and it’s like a warm, pink snowstorm.
I can see your island, Connor. I can see Bainbridge. Maybe you’re looking at the same sunset right now. Maybe you’re looking at this hospital, looking at me, and don’t even know it.