Mental Health, PTSD, Suicide

Six Years Ago

Six years ago my life changed.

Six years ago I had to make a heart-wrenching phone call to my boyfriend.

“I don’t want to live anymore.”

Six years ago I had to finally admit out loud that I wanted to take my own life, that I had spent two hours contemplating swallowing a bottle of pills and ending it all.

Six years ago my life had reached a breaking point; I had hit rock bottom and I didn’t know if I had the strength to get up. Everything hurt despite my heart being numb.
Six years ago I had to make a decision:

Life or death.

And let me be frank, it wasn’t an easy decision to make.

But somewhere through the pain, somewhere through the tears and the havoc of my own mind, through the flashbacks and terror, I made a choice.

I chose to live.

I chose my life.

And six years later, to be brutally honest, it was the hardest choice I have ever made.

I spent many weeks in and out of hospitals, I spent countless hours in therapy, I swallowed so many pills I could have stunned a horse. I resisted counselling, I resisted doctors’ orders. I fought against facing my past. I scrambled and fell down so many times, I didn’t even recognize the person in the mirror anymore. I fought like hell.

I had moments where I wanted to quit.

I had moments I wanted to throw it all away.

There were moments I thought my illness would win. There were times I thought my illness would be my be all-end all, my destruction – my ending.

There were moments where the razor blades and painkillers were so tempting.

There were moments those dark thoughts almost succeeded.

But six years later, I’m still here.

Six years later, I’m still fighting a weary, trying battle, but I’m slowly winning.

Six years later, I’m finally starting to feel like myself again, I’m starting to feel worthy again.

I’m starting to feel alive again.

So to those still struggling, to those who find the pain unbearable, who find the bottle of pills tempting, who find death more comforting, please heed my advice:

It may take time. It may take more than six years. It will take so much energy and effort, you will feel completely wrecked and exhausted. It will seem impossible, but things do get better.

Our illness doesn’t always get to win.

There will be days it’s hard, where quitting seems easier, but believe me, it does get better.

The storm eventually weathers.

Patience does eventually get rewarded.

Because six years ago, I didn’t think I would be here.

Six years ago I thought my illness would win.

Six years ago, I thought I would never smile again.

But through strife, my illness taught me a very important lesson:

I am not weak.
I am strong.
I am a warrior.

I am strong because I choose to keep fighting. I am strong because I refuse to let my illness drive me to a point of no return. I am strong because I found the courage to seek help.

Though humbling, in admitting defeat I found the strength to move forward.

Six years later, I’m still here – alive and breathing.

I fight like hell, but I’m still here.

And when all else fails, when the bad days seem too much to bear, I remember these words:

“Take a deep breath. It’s just a bad day, not a bad life.”

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And as always,

Fight the good fight.

-A xo

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