[Possible trigger warning] Suicide

What kept me from going under were people that actually give a damn and, of course, music. I don't know how writing a book is going to keep you going after you're done with it...

 

One day, I had enough of it. I walked to a bride in my hometown. 20 minutes away from my house. I had texted one of my friends : I'm sorry but I'm sick of it. I can't handle this anymore.

I didn't notice that she was calling and texting me. Her mother called my school, they informed my mother. I was standing on that bridge, crying, when I got a phone call. She begged me to come home. Btw, none of the people who passed the bridge and noticed me cying stopped to help me. Anyway, after convincing me, I went home.

Oh fucking irony, in november 2012 one of my classmates commited suicide. I was devastaded...Since then I promised my self to keep on fighting, for him and for his parents who were so shocked...

 

The only reason I'm still alive is because after I had hung myself from the rafters in my basement, I started to convulse so violently from the lack of air that I had literally knocked myself down. When I hit the ground I started screaming at the top of my lungs and briefly passed out.Then, when I came to I was in my sisters arms, my mother standing over me crying and shaking all over from almost losing me. This memory keeps me alive. I never fully understood how much I meant to my loved ones until then and I never want to cause that much grief ever again.

I am now lucky to be alive.

 

I spent my teenaged years confused about who I was, hating the feminine woman I was turning into. Feeling isolated, frustrated with life, feeling worthless.

So I fantasized, constantly, about suicide. I lived near a forest and some nights I'd go out, trying to find a tree that'd support my weight were I to hang myself. My grandfather kept his shotguns in a safe out in the garage- on my worst nights I tried to find a way to bust it open.

In reality, I was terrified of death. Of pain. Had thoughts of self harm as well but could never go through with it. So I perhaps never really wanted to die, just to free myself from the pathetic life I was leading.

Like Hexagon, I was writing a book. And finishing it was the one thing that often kept me going on my worst days. I never did finish it myself but the writing process and the idea of becoming a published author was the one thing that gave me hope.

At one point, I gave up on ever becoming a published author. Figured I'd never be good enough and even if I was, there was no guarantee I'd ever be published or sell anything more than a sparse handful of copies. Decided to go into culinary, but I'd never wanted to cook in the first place- just to give myself a steady career. My depression was getting worse- I began to search through the medical cabinet and wonder what pills I could mix for the right lethal reaction. Again I strove to open the gun safe.

I wouldn't say realizing I was transgendered solved everything but once I did, once I finally knew the source of my misery, I began to feel hope again. I could become a man, I could change. My desire to become a writer sparked anew.

I still fantasize about suicide but not to the same degree. My dysphoria's getting worse and the worry's still there- that maybe it'll be too much and no longer will I shy away from death- but for now, I've got the answer to me and damn if I haven't felt better for the first time in years.

 

I stay alive because I have to keep fighting. I don't want to leave my husband behind. I basically stay alive for him and for the curiosity. I want to see what the rest of my life is going to be like.

 

I nearly attempted, I had plans and everything (I was going to OD) .

What stopped me was the thought of what it would do to my parents, as their only kid, and the fact that I am an ivf kid makes me certain that it would destroy them , and to be honest my parents are worth far more to me than myself as retarded as that sounds. I couldn't put them though that, I know that if I was successful and did kill myself they wouldn't be far from their own graves.

 

I've struggled with depression and anxiety on and off since I was in middle school, was tested multiple times for various mental disorders ect. I've attempted suicide twice, one where I ended up in the hospital, which was on January 16, 2012. A date I'll never forget.

I remember my mother's face on that day when I was discharged from the hospital. We sat in silence in the car for a good three minutes after I walked out.

She asked me why I did that, and why I could ever think of killing myself, especially when I nearly died as a baby and her and my father did everything they could in order for me to live-- she called me selfish, said that I don't appreciate life and what I have, and that all of the money she gave to save me was useless if I had died.

And I agree with her. I'm not saying the act of suicide is selfish, people have a right to die if they want, but in my case it was a selfish act. I had enough of life due to depression and contemplating dropping out of school at the time, and I figured I was too unintelligent and tactless for the world, so I would be better off dead. I did it over pitiful reasons, I wasn't thinking right.

I guess now I realize that ife is too precious to throw away even though I deal with suicidal idealizations on a daily basis. But I do want to live and make something of myself, and I have people who would be devastated if I were to go. I couldn't do that to them. I want to help people as well, and if I'm not here, I can't do that.

I want to speak for my rights and for others rights. I have a dream in which I want to speak for transgender people, especially my fellow POC brothers and sisters- become an influential part of the Latin@ trans* movement, and speak for them, and help them learn to speak and stand for their own human rights. I want to speak for feminism and making the world a better place. I can't talk, or promote activism if I'm dead.

So even if life gets extremely difficult at points, I have to remember my goals and what I want to do for others. I can't hope things will get better if I were to commit suicide- I have to enforce that change. And that's my main will, or source of motivation. I have to keep going one way or another.

 

I didn't have a quick, painless way to die.

And I was afraid that if I OD'd, I'd change my mind about killing myself before I finally passed out. I couldn't imagine the fear I'd face.

Also, my family. I didn't really acknowledge it at the time, but I realize now that my family is the single most important thing in my life.

 

The thought of suicide has been on my mind for some time, I can't remember when they actually began but probably sometime in high school. However it only remained as a thought, largely because, as others have said, I didn't want to experience whatever pain that trying to do so might bring on. Plus, I suppose my feelings are more in the "wishing I could die without killing myself" mode. The closest I ever came was trying to suffocate myself, and even that I didn't have the patience for.

As well, I believe these thoughts stem or have stemmed from lacking a sense of self-worth and relationships with people that truly mean anything to me [not close with my extended family and I even see that with my mother as more 'institutional' than deep or fulfilling, at this time.] So my worst, lowest moments are when I've felt completely alone and alienated from others the thoughts have and can be triggered. I don't think about committing suicide so much as imagining that I've already done so, in a sense wondering who might feel effected by it and realising that there are few people I'm truly close to, in person.

Yet also thinking about it from a more general third person perspective, as though I was witness to the aftermath of my own death. I'm reluctant to simply call it 'self-pity,' but I feel depressed looking at this person who killed himself feeling like he had but one person that meant something to him or to whom he meant so much. In some strange way, this makes me feel sadder, yet prevents me at the same time from doing anything. It makes me want to have relationships, friends who I feel value me as much as I do them. And not to suffer any which take things for granted.

 

I didn't want to cause my family any sort of shame, nor did I want to give them any further reason to be distressed due to my actions. Basically my tendency to over think was the huge red stop button in my plan(s).

Each time I've stepped to the edge of going through with my carefully thought out plan, the distress it would cause has stopped me. If I wandered off and simply never came home they'd be distressed, if they found me they'd be distressed, everything would cause distress and I couldn't do that. I couldn't go through with an act where I'd be released but they'd have the burden of my death on them. I've seen the impact of suicide on too many families not to be plagued by those thoughts, and when I am I'll lash out at myself for being too cowardly to ignore them and end it all.

 

Twice, that I was too young to really understand how to successfully kill myself and didn't take enough of the right pills.

Once, foiled by a train schedule. I waited by the train tracks for three hours and not one train went by. Usually there are 20 or so a day.

Many other times, because I didn't want my children to be without a mom.

 

How my friends and family would feel after I died, What would happen to me after death, it's scary, all of the great experiences I have left to live for like sex, love etc...

 

Fear of pain and for my mom

 

I'm to much of a pussy shit.
- For lack of better words.

 

guilt-tripping because people would grieve for me

if i stop caring about that then there's nothing in my way

idk what i'll think or feel in the future

 

In high school I was very depressed and suicidal. I had no interest, motivation, or sense of purpose in life. Additionally, I was lonely and had trouble socializing due to my severe social anxiety which is still present today to some extent. I had regularly pictured my method of suicide, which was to walk out in front of an oncoming train. I even walked all the way down to where the train crossing was, but then turned around and walked back home. The thing that prevented me from attempting suicide through those turbulent years was the fear that I would not succeed. Then I would be living a life with some permanent injury(s) which would probably make my depression even worse. So I hung in there and then it got better in college. I still have my down moments, but it's nowhere near as bad as it was in high school.

 

Once my mom found me with a knife before I did any permanent damage and she kept shaking me asking why I would do that...I just cried I didn't answer her. I didn't stop for me really just for those around me...

 

So what stopped me?
I had a whole plan and everything, i actually had a back-up plan as well. plan1) overdose on my mom's pain meds which i did consider for a while, my back-up was to use my grandpas gun and try to get a good clean shot. What stopped me from going forward with killing myself was guilt, i wanted to hurt myself and end my life but the guilt of leaving my family responsibilities as the oldest child to my younger brother kept me from ending myself, i didn't want him to ever have to take over my role as future head of the family. basically it was all guilt that kept me from killing myself.

 

Because I wasn't (am) not bold enough

 

The only thing that has ever prevented me is fear of not doing it properly, ending up disabled, and as a result just making my life worse while removing any possibility of actually being able to kill myself because of that disability. The fear of being trapped like that has always been stronger than the desire to no longer be alive.