On Suicide and Survival

October 13th, 2011 was the day I was supposed to kill myself.

Instead I went to a concert, discovered a band called Disciple, and went on to meet some of the best people I’ve ever known. It’s a cliche story, but it’s true. Mostly.

I did get pulled out of a dark place that night. I did make some great friends through the band, and eventually got to know the guys in the band as well. Seven years later, I’ve managed to do a good amount of the things I set out to do in the first few months after that low point… I’ve been to Europe, made some somewhat decent music, somehow landed some paying gigs, and made a lot of great memories with a lot of great people.

My life is pretty freakin’ great. But there’s still a part of me that wants to die.

At 11, 12, and 13, it was so much simpler. I didn’t have many close friends, I had practically no responsibilities, and what kid going through puberty really thinks their family gives a shit about them? It was easy to imagine and write letters. It was easy to think nobody would miss me. It was easy to be young and not acknowledge the consequences.

At 18, 19, and 20, it’s so much harder. I have friends and a boyfriend I would give everything for, a job and bills to pay, people who would hurt if I left. I’ve learned how to think rationally. I realize my actions can have terrible consequences. But there’s still a part of my brain that begs for my life to end. There’s still a part of my brain that constantly throws pain and suicide methods at me. Sometimes it lays dormant; sometimes it fights the rational part of my mind until I can’t function.

Suicide is terrible and stupid and I hate it. I hate the fact that I think about it. I hate the fact that I’ve thought more about my funeral than my future. I hate the fact that I terrify my boyfriend when my brain goes into war mode. I know my life is pretty awesome; but that doesn’t stop it. I do appreciate life, but it hurts so much sometimes. I hate the fact that my mind makes me feel like a whiny drama queen for writing this. Perhaps I am whiny and overly dramatic.

This year has been tough. My head has been battling itself pretty much every other week. Part of me wishes I went ahead and killed myself at 13. The other part sees all of the things that have happened between then and now and desperately wants to live. I don’t want to die. I don’t want this part of my brain that lusts for death. I don’t want to fight myself anymore.

However, seven years ago today, I made a choice to live. Some days it feels like I’m barely surviving. Tonight, I’ll scream along with the band who helped change my life at 13. I’ll stand next to friends who have stood by me through my darkest times. Today, I’m going to live life as fully as I can; even if it only lasts tonight. I refuse to let my brokenness be the death of me. I choose life.

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