please. don’t.

i feel like i’ve been suicidal since the day i was born. i grew up in an abusive home and my dad beat the shit out of me and my mom every single day. domestic abuse wasn’t taken very seriously back then. i was 10 when he was finally thrown in jail. not long after that, my brother raped me, and i was too scared to tell anyone. after that, my mom, who had been the only person who was always on my side, started doing hard drugs. constantly. my first suicide attempt was at 12, with 10 benadryl, but all it did was make me sleep for 31 hours. for the next 5 years, i would cut myself anywhere that was covered by clothing, not hoping for death, but distracting myself from the pain. at 17 i would drive down a long, lonely road at night with my eyes closed, too apathetic to make a serious attempt. if i crashed and died, it happened. if it didn’t, it didn’t. finally, at 18 i feigned insomnia to get a prescription and took a month’s supply of ambien with 1/5 of a liter of vodka. i didn’t care if it was foolproof or not. i was desperate. my best friend stopped by about a half hour after and found me in a stupor on my bed, stuck his fingers down my throat to force me to puke and rushed me to the hospital. i was in the psychiatric unit for 2 weeks. i wasn’t even allowed to pee by myself. i was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, the variety where you’re majorly depressed 90% of the time and sort of happy 10% of the time, and post traumatic stress disorder, from all the abuse.
i’ve been on medication and in therapy for almost 2 years now. i hate choking down all these pills, and i hate going to see my therapist every week (it used to be twice a week). i still think about suicide. a lot. all the therapy in the world won’t fix what happened to me as a little girl. but every day i discover something that makes me really happy that i never knew could do that. puppies. washing my hair. sleeping late. the first smells of springtime. and i keep thinking of things i have to do before i kill myself (or die naturally, whichever comes first). i have to see the ocean. i have to go to europe. i have to find the cure for cancer and i have to save every little girl and boy who have ever been hurt like i have. i keep thinking of things to get in the way of suicide. i’m far too busy to die.
i try to think of the others. i don’t speak to my mom anymore, but i know if she found out i killed myself she’d be devastated. my little sister might kill herself, too, and i want her to live forever. everyone i work with would be shocked. my therapist would be disappointed. my cat would miss me. if nothing else stops me, thinking of the pain i would cause others keeps me from doing it.
i promise you, life does get better. i wish i could come to you and hold your hand while you cry and wave a magic wand to make you feel better. feeling better is a lot of work. getting help is really scary. but the sky is so beautiful and the grass smells so lovely, and even if you think nobody else loves you, i do. really, i do. no matter who you are, how old you are, what you look like, where you live, i love you, and i know how much you hurt right now. but please. don’t do it.