I’m new here, but I’ve felt suicidal on and off for as long as I can remember. I used to think it was my imagination, that it would go away with time, a book, meeting new people, so I used my imagination, and pretended I was okay.
But every year my birthday comes and I surprise myself, thinking, wow, I’ve lived this long, and secretly, I regret it.
With every year I have learned to imitate being okay, but everyday I go home and turn into me. Me, who was abused and raped repeatedly as a child and teen, me who couldn’t afford to be “pro-life” and keep her baby, which has become my greatest pain. Every night I think about that child and think I should have died with her/him, whoever that magical person was that I will never get to meet. I live with their ghost in my womb, and I wonder if they loved me. There is no way to explain love for someone you’ve never even met, but to whom you were so essentially tied to, and then to have that connection irreversibly cut – there’s just no way. There’s nowhere to turn to; your pain becomes a political debate and there’s no place for you to grieve. In fact, you’re treated like you don’t deserve to grieve, and you start to believe it. There are days when I even believe I deserved to be raped.
And now I know it’s not just my imagination; I want to die. And everyday I think different ways to do it, why one is better than another, that it should be quiet, that I shouldn’t burden my family, and that maybe today is the day. I know these things happen to other people too, and that they overcome them, but I am finding it harder to cope and to live. I turned 23 just a few weeks ago, and I never felt more alone or tired. I fear I want to die more than I want to live.