Everyday now you hear stories of people who are so upset, depressed tortured, bullied, and how they in their lives so shortly and swiftly and how everyone around them is so effected by their choice and how cruel and selfish they were to take their lives as they did. Honestly, I can’t help but feel like they are the lucky ones. They’re the ones who’ve realized what to do how to help themselves they know their way out. People have always said that suicide is a sin. I want to make it very clear that suicide is not a sin. God would not so harshly judge a person who’s just trying to find a way out, who’s just trying to escape all the cruelness and bad in the world and trying to come back to him. Suicide is what happens when a person is no longer strong enough to force, dig, and claw their way out to a supposed “happier, brighter future”. Some of us don’t see it like that. To us there is no future. There’s no excitement, joy, hopes, dreams, goals, or plans. To us there’s only a calm, resilient feeling knowing that one day, we can move on, hopefully to something better in the afterlife.
This past summer, I had sent a letter to my parents while I was away in Europe with my grandfather, telling them of what was going on with me and what was going on between us. I had gotten emails back, and then many phone calls.
Here is what one of those phone calls sounded like:
When I got home the discussion with my parents went somewhat well considering all that was said and done. I still decided to leave for awhile, as I still needed space from them. As I was packing, I fell into a deep hole of depression, and began to sob. I reached out to one of my friends, and called him on the phone. Unfortunately, he was of no help, and only made the matter worse, telling me “Just don’t overthink things”, as if that was supposed to make a difference in a positive way.
I decided that I needed to go to the hospital, that I needed help for my depression. Much to my chagrin, the hospital was of no help, and I was still left alone with the question, “What the hell is wrong with me?”
Within the next month I went to a therapist, a psychologist, and many doctors, all of whom did not help me in the slightest. Actually, if anything they just made me feel even worse about myself, helping me point out my flaws and problems with no offering of useful solutions. This caused me to decide to take matters into my own hands.
At the beginning of August, my parents left to go on vacation, leaving me alone in the house. During this time, I had friends over, and we did what any normal teenagers would do when their friend’s parents were away.
After one night, I had failed at my mission. Here is my letter that I wrote before I failed, but it is edited now, since it didn’t work out. I am planning to try this again, just in a different manner, so this is what I left for everyone. I hope this explains all unanswered questions you have about me and my story. Thanks for listening.
When I was sick while my parents were at the beach, it wasn’t from my disorder. It wasn’t from out of the blue or from drinking or partying too much or doing too many activities. It was simply because that night I had decided that I’d had enough. I’d decided that my life was no longer worth living. Earlier that night, I sat in the kitchen, behind the counter top. I grabbed a blade, and decided that I would try to slit my wrists. When I tried it though, I realized that it would be almost impossible for me not too make too much noise, and I didn’t want to wake anyone. Also I realized that it would be too messy, and too much of a hassle. So instead, I went upstairs and everyone was happy laying around resting and sleeping, and while this happened, I grabbed all of my pill bottles from my bathroom. I opened them, dumped them on the bed, stared at them, and cried. Through my tear filled eyes I grabbed my phone and put on music that would help calm me and that would make my transition more pleasant. Then, I grabbed pill after pill, and swallowed every last one of them. I turned out my lights, started out my window and cried until I fell asleep. I had planned on that being my last night here, but clearly that didn’t happen. My body suddenly jerked awake in the middle of the night, and the next thing I knew I was throwing up profusely. When I had stopped all I could think was: “dear god, why am I still here?!” Over the next few hours, I kept vomiting, had multiple delusions, and passed out, but the whole time I kept thinking “maybe, just maybe, I’m dying”. Clearly that was not the case, as I had emptied my body of the drugs when I pulled them all out over the hours. When I realized that I would be fine, I also knew that I wasn’t. I was ready to die -I still wanted to- but now I would have to find another way, but it only made me more determined, and only pushed me farther down the dark pit inside me.
To my parents and Opa:
I have stopped caring a long time ago. Please move on and don’t blame yourself. Something is wrong with me and there is nothing you could’ve done. I have been thinking about this for a long time and I’ve been ready for awhile. No black at the funeral ease, but rather white. Play classical r and b, drink, and be happy that I’ve moved on. My things will go to my family and my friends: whomever wants whatever, as I will have no need and don’t care about my worldly possessions. I’m sorry about what I’ve caused you such as the pain and trouble of dealing with me and my issues. One again this is not your fault, and there is nothing you could’ve done. This is on me; I’m ready to move on and have been okay with this thought for quite some time. Please dress me in nice clothes, and pray for me. I do t want to go to hell, but I am ready to move on and find happiness in another life. Please pray that God is with me and that I may find happiness and peace. Sorry again for all the inconvenience and trouble. Thank you for your time and love and efforts. Be happy as I couldn’t ever be I this life. Please my organs immediately. I will watch over you all and pray that you all have a wonderful, fun, and beautiful lives.
To everyone else:
I wish I could say that there was nothing you could’ve done to help me, but that’s simply not true. I tired to reach out, to confide and trust you, but you only drove me away. Telling me “it could be worse” or “you’re over thinking things” or “you have nothing to be sad about” or saying that I’m mean when I’ve been trying so hard to be the opposite of that only drove me farther down my dark path. I don’t hate you or blame you; I only wish that I’d never even had you in my life to add to my pain to begin with. Though I’m upset, I pray that you find happiness, love, and peace, especially since I couldn’t.
-Kat