I’ve been suicidal since I was twelve years old, the first time I was hospitalized for an attempt. Maybe it started when I was eleven or ten; it gets fuzzy as the years pass. I was diagnosed with Bipolar I and CPTSD – the double whammy of extreme proportions. I thought that when I stopped doing drugs, started taking medication, started exercising, left my abusive relationship, started my transfer to a prestigious university, etc. etc. a million.. I thought these feelings would leave me. I thought that the traumatic memories, the extremes of mood, I thought that they would all disappear. Here I am, the poster child of “managing it” and I still here the chitters of flashbacks, and am on the roller coaster of polar opposites. I try to rationalize and have done everything in my power to heal. How am I supposed to stop my brain from destroying myself when it seems like that is its only prerogative?
I can’t tell anyone. I feel my voice caught in my throat because of the reactions I’ve previously experienced when I’ve opened up about my mental health. So I decided to come here. I think some of you might understand where I’m coming from. I wish that none of you could relate. When I was a child I hoped that I could take everyone’s pain because I knew what it felt like. I know that’s not the case here. I know that all of you have stories just like mine, so I knew that I would be safe here. My mouth refuses to speak, so I hope my hands are enough.