Down That Road

Last night I bought a book on my Kindle.  I started it this morning and I'm almost finished with it, but I really felt the need to take a break and write this blog post first. It's important.  The book is called Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher. I saw the title on an article on CNN the other day about books that have been challenged/banned and instantly wanted to read it.  The book is about a girl named Hannah who killed herself and left behind thirteen cassette tapes...each explaining how one of thirteen people contributed to the feelings that drove her to her death.  It is the most raw, beautiful, and honest book I have ever had in my life. And it has prompted me to tell a story.  

A story about the day I decided I wanted to die. 

I've written about my suicide attempt(s) before, but this is more than that.  In October of 2011 I contemplated suicide when Whitney invited me over and made me hopeful that I could beat anything that was thrown my way.  In November my thinking totally changed.

I was taking one of my nightly walks around the neighborhood. I knew it wasn't the safest thing, but I figured that if bad things could happen somewhere where you thought you were safe, then why bother avoiding the situations that made you even more vulnerable? Bad things happen either way, and secretly I hoped I would be attacked on the street.  Girls are believed more if they're raped by a stranger.  Maybe someone would finally stop the madness going on around me if I was hurt in a way that made sense to them. 

As I was walking I caught a whiff of one of my favorite smells....burning leaves.  I heard people laughing, I heard music playing.  I could taste the crisp air and feel the chilly breeze work its way through my entire body.  And that is the exact moment I decided I wanted to die.  

I missed all of the things I was experiencing in that moment, and I knew the joy it was bringing me in that exact point in time would only be temporary.  I would keep walking and the hurt would come back.  No amount of walking would take me far enough away from the whispers, from the scars.  No.  I would have to leave. Permanently. As I made my way home I felt an eerie sense of calm wash over me. It felt good to not worry for once.  I remember that night perfectly.  I sat cross legged on my bed with a bottle of strawberry Arbor Mist and a bowl of popcorn.  I had Doctor Who playing in the background.  And I was plotting my escape.  I had a lot of options.  I could use a knife, or pills.  I could drive my car off of the road and into the trees.  Knife would be too painful.  Trees wouldn't guarantee death, and I didn't want to risk being a vegetable for the rest of my life. The whole purpose of me wanting to kill myself was to make life easier for the people around me, not make it more difficult.  Pills it was. I felt peace. 

I planned what day I would carry out my plan.  I had to be careful about this.  I didn't want anyone to even have an inkling as to what I was going to do.  

See, life was tough at that point.  If you asked people on campus, I was a huge slut.  People who never knew me sure acted like they knew everything about me. At first the pain of the taunting displayed itself in a very outwardly way.  I would cry openly when people would make snide remarks.  I would hug myself tight, bow my head and walk away as quickly as possible.  Then I started becoming numb.  On the outside I showed nothing.  On the inside was another story.  A war was raging within me, and with every new wound it was getting harder to fight.  

I had heard people tell me I was going to hell for accusing someone of rape. I clearly remember telling one of those people, "Hell couldn't be any worse than this."  I was okay with living in a fiery pit for eternity, because back then it seemed a lot more appealing than staying on this earth with a lot of people who so obviously didn't like me.  

Part of me hoped that when I died, I would become a ghost so I could haunt the people who hurt me for the rest of their lives.  I would make them miserable, just as they had made me.  The guy who I had considered my best friend, who set me up, who knew what was happening and did nothing to stop it that night....I wanted him to be miserable.  I wanted to haunt my rapist.  I never wanted him to be able to forget what he did to me.  He didn't deserve peace.  He deserved his own living hell. I considered leaving notes for people detailing exactly how they hurt me and how they contributed to my ultimate decision of suicide.  I realized later on that there was no point in ruining any more lives.  Once I was gone, everyone could move on.

As the days went by between the time I made my choice and when I was going to execute my plan, I started wondering about a lot of things. I wondered if anyone would bother coming to my funeral.  Would there even be a funeral?  Would people who hated me show up and pretend to be sad so they could save face? Would my mom and dad be able to handle it? Would someone be there to hold my mom's hand as she said good bye? Would someone comfort my dad?  What would people say about me? How would people decide to feel about my choice?

People would eventually forget about me, I knew that much.  When someone we know dies we always say things like "I'll never forget you" and "Not a day will pass when I won't think about you."  Those are a bunch of lies.  We all would like to think that we would never forget someone we loved.  We'd like to believe that we'll think of them always.  I think that we start out that way when we grieve, but eventually we move on with our lives. We go from thinking about them everyday, to thinking about them every other day, to having them pop into our minds on the rare occasion that we come across something they used to like or say.  That's life.  You have to keep moving.  You can't focus on loss for the rest of your life, or you're not truly living.  And that is a truth I didn't realize then.

I was grieving loss. I was grieving the loss of my sense of self, my sense of safety.  I was grieving the loss of my dreams and goals.  I was literally planning on focusing on that for the rest of my life.  

As you all know, the day came and a friend intervened, and that is why I can still sit here and talk to you today.

I am a much happier person today.  I still have scars.  The hurt is still there, but I'm learning to cope with it and take things one day at a time. 

Some of you will read this and know who has hurt me over the past couple of years.  Some of you will have no clue. Some of you won't care.  I just want you all to realize that you need to be so careful about what you say to people around you.  One mean comment could send them over the edge in a snap.  You don't know when someone is in extreme emotional pain, because you can't see it.  You need to proceed with caution.

Know what it feels like to be in that much pain? It feels like a 400 pound woman has ripped your heart out of your chest and is stomping on it while she's wearing 6 inch pumps.  Imagine this happening with duct tape on your mouth...no matter how hard you try to cry out, no noise leaves your mouth.  You can't verbalize how much it hurts, but you know it does.  You cry out in any way you know how.  You try to show people with your actions that you need their help to stop the pain.

But nobody can hear you, and nobody understands your actions.

Why are you crying?
Why are you boring?
Why are you angry?
Why are you lashing out?

You try to scream out "there is a giant stiletto wearing woman stomping my beating heart to a pulp! Help me!"  But you are on mute.

They leave.

I urge everyone to start listening.  With your ears.  With your eyes.  With your heart.  Listen.

Notice when someone in your life needs help.  Don't let them fight through their messes by themselves. Sometimes it is just too hard. 

I'm fine now.  The only desire I have is to live.  I want to live as fully as possible.  My pain is not gone.  I deal with a lot of self doubt, and a lot of anxiety.  I fear that people will leave me and I make that so obvious that if I were some of you I would have run away from me ages ago.

And yet, here you sit, loving me.  

Many of you were not in my life yet when I had these thoughts.  And now you're here and I am so grateful.  There are days that are so difficult, when I just need someone to sit and hold my hand and tell me everything will be ok.  And I have people who are willing to do that now, and it's amazing.  

If any of you ever feel like you want to end your life, I urge you to call a suicide prevention hotline.  Or call me.  Or email me. Or reach out to a close friend.  

Because you are too beautiful to end your life.  The world needs you in it.  Everyone on this planet wouldn't be the same without you here, and you deserve to live your life.

Don't let anyone or anything take the desire to live away from you.

And if someone does, I want you all to promise me you will fight as hard as you can to rediscover that desire.

Because I did.  And I'm a better person because of it.