I first had thoughts of suicide when I was six years old. I don’t know why or what triggered it. I just remembered, that there were reports of people committing suicide by jumping off buildings in the newspaper, and I was, for some reason, unhappy, and wanted to hurt myself.
I remembered bashing my head on the tiled floor of my room, then climbing up on a high chair and jumping off, hoping I’d snap my necks when I land.
I remembered banging my head on hard walls, like I am trying to silence screams filling up my head.
I remembered being at school, unhappy. My classroom was on a third floor, so I walked to the ledge and prepared to jump out before teachers and students rushed out to drag me back inside.
I should have died, my death was prevented. Suicide for me was an unfinished homework. Suicidal thoughts are always going to be there, waiting for a chance to finally finish that homework.
I should probably have been sent to a professional child psychologist. Instead, I was sent to live with relatives in another country.
I arrived at the end 2000, had a lot of trouble adjusting to a new country, new culture, new people. I was evidently struggling with adjusting, so Mum arrived along with my sister in the middle of 2001. They weren’t originally going to stay for long, they ended up staying 10 years.
(too painful to write anymore, will write more later)