One of those days.
by
, February 27th, 2012 at 11:22 PM (2621 Views)
WARNING: The below contains discussion on suicide, religion, and some minor pondering on sexuality. If any of these things are a trigger for you, please do not read on. If you do not take my advice, you have been warned.
So I'm in a bit of an odd mood. I just finished writing my midterm rough draft, which is focused on the stigma of seeking counseling for emotional and mental issues. I picked up the school paper today and learned Clementi's roommate is now on trial. All in all, suicide and depression has been on my mind today, and I figured it's time I talked about it a little bit. Why? Because I want to.
Eighteen was a shitty year for me. I had struggled with depression in my early teens, and it came back full force. I was still struggling with the result of losing the first boy I loved, I was trying to adjust to the stress of college and living alone, and I had a relatively strained relationship with my father at the time, because of his unemployment situation and a tense home life. I was beginning to notice I enjoyed writing about girls in love because I was kind of starting to check out other girls, and I was friends with someone whom I often spent several nights in succession talking down from the brink of suicide. I was managing, of course; not particularly well, but I was managing.
And then came the breaking point.
I got into a fight with two extremely close friends. It was a nasty fight, and while we parted ways by making up, I still felt angry and betrayed. They were in the hospital the next day, from an accident.
Several days later, they died. They never woke up. I never got a chance to speak to them again, or even say goodbye.
Needless to say, it was the final push I needed to go over the edge and start thinking of suicide. I used to spend God knows how many hours going out onto a cliff, wondering what would happen if I took a swan dive to the highway below. I used to envision how I'd die (and they were nastily detailed, let me tell you). My interest and energy in class dropped, and I began to pull away from my friends.
This was the first time in my life I truly, honestly questioned God. It was the first time I hated Him, the first time I raged against Him, and it was the first time I considered abandoning religion entirely. What did God do to deserve my love, my praise? He had taken my two best friends away from me. How could I worship a cruel being like that?
In the end, I stuck with religion. And while I'd like to say I managed to get help, swallowed my pride and went to a counselor, I didn't. I only ended up backing off of the thought from a combination of a good friend who guided me through it, and the realization that if I killed myself, I would fuck up my sister even more when she was already having a hard time in high school.
I can't say I got 'better'. I'm still in many ways dealing with the issues I was back then, even if I've come to terms with some of them. But I'm happier now. I know me as I am, and I accept it all. I have friends who love me for that, who try to help me, and a family who has always supported me. So I suppose, in some ways, I've made peace with myself.
It's just days like these, sometimes, that I wish I'd known Clementi. That I wish I'd been there. That I wish I'd been with him on that bridge, so I could give him a hug, just pull him in close and tell him "Honey, I know it hurts. But it gets better. It's hard, and it's painful, but I promise you, it gets better. Don't end it now when you've only just begun to live."