Praying For Tomorrow – A Suicide Survivor’s Story

My name is Christian. I’m a transgender. And this is my story…

It was at age 14 when I had first committed suicide. I had hung myself that cold December day of Christmas. I somehow woke up in a psychiatric hospital in restraints two weeks later. I screamed, cried, begging for mercy while restrained and wearing a medical restraint mask where I can no longer scream or talk. I was silenced, alone, insecure, afraid and no clue of where the fuck I was at the time.

Eventually, I was released from seclusion and restraints, talked to the doctors, explaining my situation. Weeks passed by in this godforsaken place. Weeks turned into 6 months. I was released then to return to my family, school and the community with three diagnoses: Chronic Depression (aka MDD), Complex PTSD and Gender Identity Disorder. For the longest time, I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. All my so-called friends in school left me. My stepfather was still a drunk fuck, raping me every night. My mum pretended everything was normal. My ***** sister was starting her descent into her own personal hell.

I was all alone, so cold, so heartless. There was a hole in my soul. I wanted the world to burn. I wanted my innocence back. Though I had run away from home at 13, I was struggling with orders from CPS to stay with family. It wasn’t until I was 15 when I filed for emancipation.

I had gotten married to another woman who also filed for emancipation. She was my best friend from third grade. We chose to be together forever. Her name was Samantha. God, she was beautiful. Truly.

We had a daughter together a few years later. Eventually at age two in the year 2009, she had died. My wife and I couldn’t handle the loss. By my 21st birthday in 2009 of October 26th,my wife had killed herself. I was completely alone, all over again. Forever officially became just a word to me. Two months since her suicide on December 31st, 2009, I had proceeded to commit suicide for the second time. I overdosed. I woke up once again in a hospital weeks later. My depression had gotten worse. On the day of my release from the psychiatric hospital, I had begun a path of self-destruction. I cut myself for pleasure to escape my emotional pain. I had then discovered more about the cutting. I was a masochist. But eventually, I became a Sadist as well. I had dreamed of consensual torture for many nights, dealing with unwanted demons. I had faced many lonely years.

My third and final suicide was a wake up call to me. What you call a loser seeking attention, I called it an epiphany. I had driven my car off a bridge into the river. I did not survive the impact. I actually woke up in the morgue somehow.

Anyway, this was the epiphany: I was in Heaven, and saw my wife dancing in the fields of innocence with my beautiful daughter. I thought they were calling to me at first. I then realized it was a holy voice of sorts (I wasn’t even sure if I was really in Heaven. I mean, I’m a Pagan and an Heretic for fuck’s sake. How could that happen?) saying it was not my time yet. I drifted away, falling from whatever peaceful place I was in and woke up in the dark, cold reality of an hospital morgue, back in my once lifeless body, screaming and banging until someone heard me and pulled me out. My epiphany was but a simple one. It took me awhile to figure out. We’ll get to that in a little bit.

And here I thought I’d seen it all. I was severely traumatized so I checked into a psychiatric hospital again. This time, I came out a different person. I went home with medications, coping skills, appointments and 4 diagnoses: Complex PTSD, Gender Identity Disorder, MDD and Anti-Social Personality Disorder with sadomasochistic tendencies and borderline personality traits.

I then sought treatment on an outpatient level for a long time. Now is the time to tell you my epiphany:

I had been on my own since age 13. I faced homelessness throughout high school and college. I faced rape, abuse, family violence, domestic violence, victimization from hurricanes, tornados and floods, abusive relationships, the streets during long cold winter months, group homes, psychiatric hospitals, grief and loss, suicide, attempted murder as a victim, the lonely road, etc. And I still survived. How? Why? Is there an reason? Well, I say life is an mystery. If we knew all the answers, then what’s the fucking point of living life on the edge and having fun while learning more about ourselves? Honestly, I couldn’t care less. So in my epiphany, I had realized I was made to care. To help others. To be free with no rules, no regrets, no fears. And that I wasn’t alone anymore.

So now I’m living on a prayer, as Bon Jovi said in a song once, looking forward to tomorrow. Yesterday, I was lifeless. Today, I am struggling. Tomorrow, I’ll be free, alive again.

My path to redemption begins on a better tomorrow. Until then, I’m living in the here and now. I’m happier than I’ve ever been, but only because I know where I have been.

This is my story as an survivor. I hope it helps you someday. Don’t give up. Things does get better. It just takes time. And time, I do have. I’m willing to wait patiently.

Blessed Be,
Christian G. Lovecraft.