I once decided to end my life at March 15. But then some things have turned upside down and I decided to live. But now, a month after that day, I decided to end my life too. Not now, I say, but soon. Soon. What I have in my mind is after my boyfriend and I’s anniversary, May 17. I just want to feel what it’s like to have a one year relationship. I just want to make him feel loved too, even for one last time. But if things goes out of planned, then maybe earlier. I just need to finish this school year, May 2. Then afterwards I can die. It’s just a shame that I won’t finish what I have started and this school year’s been tough, I just want to pay my hard works off. So maybe after that or the anniversary. But something within me screamed that I’m scared and I want to live longer. I was badly searching for reasons to live ever since that day, that day I decided to kill myself. I thought I have found it, but even if I found those reasons, there are a lot of obstacles trying to get them away from me. To the point that I’m nearly losing all my hopes. My parents have already lost hope upon me, so what’s the point of holding on unto mine right? But if I survived longer, if I found some reasons again to hold on, I will tell a tale of my survival again. I’m so lost right now and my parents have called me crazy and dramatic. Yeah, maybe I am what they called me to be. But it’s because of my anger to everything and everyone, including to myself. I can’t seem to save myself. That’s why I need to be saved. But how?
The night before March 15, I was so down to the point that negative thoughts have devoured me. It was painful, to be torn by two sides of which to choose. A part of me—the wounded one—have whispered me to go to the kitchen, took out a knife, and just end it all! The other one was crying, begging for me to stop. In the middle of the night, a potpourri of emotions swirled within me that I was left in a deep turmoil. Maybe that’s why I went to the kitchen and stood in front of the counter where the knives were hidden. I was tempted by the voice that said to take it and slit my left wrist, or maybe both! However, good thing that there was still a part of me left that night. It stopped me from doing those kind of things. When I realized what I was going to do, I cried so hard on the kitchen floor and recitated the Our Father, Hail Mary and Holy Mary prayer a lot of times until I calmed down. Then I went to the living room to use our home telephone to call the suicide hotline prevention.
Hours ago, before I have succumbed into those horrible thoughts, I have isolated myself within my room—I moved my cabinet blocking the door, which was of course heavy but I don’t know how I managed to do it, and lights off. I have been crying for hours and hours, with my grandparents and mom’s angry words impaling my heart. The bruises they left on my skin were still aching. I thought I have been numbed to these kind of things since whenever I made a mistake, they would always punish me in that kind of way. But in that night, I felt vulnerable to the point where I was already breaking apart and I couldn’t hold it together any longer. I tried searching for suicide hotlines for someone to talk to and assure me that everything’s still gonna be okay. Heck, I even asked someone to load my phone number so that I can call it, but I failed. I couldn’t contact the hotline for my load was not “enough“. I was so frustrated for I felt that no one was there for me, even my mom who I thought will always have my back. That made me be devoured by those demons haunting me.
When I called the suicide prevention hotline, I was shaking. I thought to myself, “Have I gone insane?” “Are they right on calling me crazy?”. For I thought only the insane people will call this hotline. But I remember, if I have truly became insane, it was their fault too. For fueling up this anger within me for years. Or maybe I was just the one responsible for fueling this anger instead by absorbing the hatred whenever they punish me. A woman’s voice answered. It was soothing and it calmed me a bit. I couldn’t help myself crying as we talked and discussed about what I nearly did, asking her if have I turned insane. Yet, my voice was also as soft as a whisper, a challenge, since all of my family were already sleeping in their rooms and they might hear me for I was in the living room. Alone in the dark living room while shivering and crying in fear, I sat near our telephone while conversing with the unknown woman who wants nothing but to help me calm down. She gave me advices and told me I could go to psychologist if I want and she’ll give me referals in which she did by texting me after I gave her my phone number. After I ended the call, I have calmed down, but my heart was still hollow. And later, I stand with resolution about officially ending my life tomorrow—March 15, 2019.
The next morning came, I was still adamant about my decisions to the point I researched on the internet on how to kill myself. I discovered that painkillers can actually kill you if you get overdosed by it. I choose two painkillers to get overdosed from: advil and midol, which were used whenever there will be menstrual cramps to avoid being raised with an eyebrow by the pharmacists. I was dejected more when my mom spoke about giving up on me, giving up in my problematic attitude, which was heartbreaking, and that made me want to kill myself more. If I only gave them pain and sufferings through the years, then maybe my death would free them fron those burdens. I ate a lot because it would be my last day. Showered slowly to clean my self in order to be ready later. And put on my best school uniform. I took out my whole other savings to use for purchasing the medicines. I was ready, or so I thought I would be. I rode the bus to school and sat at the farthest corner at the back while listening to happy music and searching for more ways to kill myself, which was a huge contraditory. I planned my death. First, buy those pills in the pharmacy, then tell my boyfriend that we would have a dinner at the fast food in front of our school for the last time and then go home and kill myself by drug overdose and slashing my wrist with a cutter I would borrow from my friend. There was nothing wrong with our relationship, it was perfect, yet I was just the broken one. If I would die, I thought, I want him to be the last person I would be happy with. The last person I want to be with. And maybe have the last kiss with him. But I know it was selfish. Yes, I would finally have my peace, but he would live in a misery of where did he go wrong, why did I left him, and why can’t he save me. I was thinking about that too and the idea of hurting him by killing myself is too excruciating. But I am tired of being devoured by these resentments I have for my parents. No matter how much he’ll try to save me, I would still fall back to where I came from—hell.
As I arrived at the pharmacy, my heart was nearly exploding in fear and excitement. Thoughts like “Am I really going to do this?” and “What the actual fuck you are insane!!” flooded within my mind as I walked to the pharmacists. Clueless of what I am going to do, I asked her politely for advil and midol, in which she gave me some and even adviced me to not take both as those were just the same. I pitied her. How would she react when she knows that someone has killed herself because she unintentionally gave her the medicines that killed her? What would she do if she knows my true intentions? Would she stop me and say it will be okay or there has to be another way? But what if there was no other way? Questions have devoured me as I walked back to school, and for the first time, I felt like people just faded to the background. As if I was fading or they were fading or the whole universe was fading away. I felt like a ghost walking in the mortal world unnoticed, with the weight of the medicines that would soon kill me became heavier and heavier. I asked myself, would these people care if they die? Would they just notice and remember me when they’ll hear the news about me tomorrow? Would they regret not noticing me as I passed through them? Would they even remember me? Yep, they might remember me as their schoolmate, but I bet on the next next day or the next month or years, they would totally forgot about me. Just like what happened to the suicide of my old schoolmate. But I did remember him. And now, looking back, I was mocking him for being a coward for resorting to suicide when I, myself, is going to doing it later. I realized that suicide is not as simple as it seems, you wouldn’t know the difficulties of having your mind on a battle whether to die or to live and have this pain and anger dwelling within you as it sank you further to the ground not until you suffered it yourself. I was sad for myself, for being a coward and use suicide as an excuse for achieving true freedom. For the whole first class, I was not myself. It was difficult since we were having a quiz and I have not studied well for the thoughts about dying have consumed my mind. I was spacing out that I nearly forgot I was still in the classroom.
But then, during the quiz when I felt hopeless for being unable to answer the questions, a thought sparked within my brain. A thought I thought will never cross me. Before going to school, I prayed to God that I hope he would still forgive me for I will do later. And I also prayed that if he doesn’t want me dead yet, please give me a reason to stay alive, even if it’s just a single reason to stop me from sinking to my death. I never expected that God would answer my prayer. That he would listen to me. Maybe he listens and grants the prayers of those who desperately needed his help, and in that case that would be me. That thought is that I should reach out to someone first before attempting to take away my life. That I should talk to someone, maybe I could still be saved or even fixed! Our class adviser first came to my mind. She was this sweet and understanding teacher, maybe she would listen to me. After the quiz and the class, I was on par with my mind on which I should do: to just keep silent and kill myself later, or go to my class adviser now and have someone to talk my problems too. I really don’t know how but somehow, my feet were leading me downstairs to the faculty room. It lead me to our class adviser. At first I was shy to talk about it since there are a lot of students around, and I told her maybe later would do but deep within I lost hope of being saved. I went back to class feeling nervous and hopeless. But she went after me and decided to talk to me, I was grateful!
We talked and talked and talked. I even cried. I opened up to her about my plans and what I suffered the night before. For the first time in my life, I opened up to someone about my feelings and thoughts completely—with no lies and coverups that I’m okay. She understands me. She told me she also grew up with strict parents and she was also angry at her parents for being too strict when she was still a teenager. But as time went by, she learned to understand her parents more and coped up with her anger by understanding them and be the good child that they want. And even if they still have misunderstandings sometimes, she would remind herself that they ate her parents and she loves them no matter what. I was enlightened, but that still wouldn’t erase the resentments I have for them. She said I may not erase those resentments completely, but I can over the time. She said that whenever I feel like being torn apart again by being suicidal, she will always be there for me just to divert my attention from that negativity. And for the first time, I felt completely understood. I never felt this kind of way towards my parents nor my whole family in general. They would often mistook me as a problematic and bad child that they gave up on trying to discern my mind and the whole me. It was melancholic, but atleast now, I felt happier and lighter. I never felt alone again. I was crying so hard that she was also crying too. She told me to never give up, especially because I have my dreams to become a doctor one day. Whenever I feel tempted again, she adviced me to just imagine me wearing a white coat and that will empower me to move forward. I thanked her with all of my heart, not just because I have to but because I want to. She saved me from a disaster I would face. I realized that that’s the power of reaching out. That I should ponder well on my decisions before doing something that would only give me regrets in the end. For if I have not reached out to someone, then maybe I would end up lying in my bed cold tomorrow—with the pills destroying my body and blood spilling on my mattress from my wrists.
I filled my thoughts with happiness and reasons again. When I came home, it was not easy as I think it would be after filling my thoughts with positivity. I don’t know why but I feel like this house was just radiating negative energy with it. The pain, the anger, the resentment, and the disappointment of myself came back rushing through my veins, poisoning me with painful thoughts. I thought I could shoo it away now, but I guess that as long as I am in this house living with the people that I have grew these kind of harmful emotions on, I was doomed to feel this way. The voice whispered back to drink the medicine from my bag and just be tortured painfully until I die. It was difficult since when I chatted my class advisor, she wasn’t online. I nearly lost hope and felt lonely again. My boyfriend wasn’t online too. We were not able to have dinner together since I cancelled it because I have the resolution now to live and there will be more tomorrows with him to come, and he was also busy at that moment. But then I took a deep breath and think of those reasons again, grasping them like ravines and I’ll nearly fall into the bottomless pit. It was so painful to have this battle within me. And to calm myself, I began to distract myself with reading a book and eating my dinner. Being alone while eating dinner felt super lonely, as if I am not worth to have someone with me. The voice came back again, urging me to run to the knives and take one out. But I stopped myself. As I was finished on it, I saw my grandmother and my blood began boiling in rage. The words she said last night was still a fresh wound to me and I heard a voice too to just kill her—which was very terrifying! It was super terrifying when you hear a voice telling you to kill your parents. And I felt like I have turned into an insane serial killer. I want to be treated. I want to not feel this way anymore. When my class adviser became online, I instantly chatted her on what I felt. She advised me to control my own emotions and if it will be out of hand, the idea of going to a psychologist would be an excellent choice. We talked and she gave me some helpful advice about controlling my temper and that bad voice. Slowly, I learned to deal with it better, yet not totally. I prayed to God, thanking him for saving me and let him heal and guide me too. That night, I slept soundly with hopes of a better tomorrow.
Today, March 16, I’ll tell you, I survived. I woke up. I may felt challenges as we were in a disagreement again with my family, but I guess I should control too my words and temper. I decided to carry the medicines because I have thoughts again regarding drinking it at school and kill myself there. A part of me also wants to drink it when I’ll be at home to rub in the face of my family that they killed me, when in truth, I just killed myself. I opened up to my closest friends on what happened to me and they seem to understand me. My closest friend even told me that whenever I felt that kind of thing again, I should never hesitate to chat her. I felt like not wanting to go home since I don’t feel protected anymore at home in risk I might snap and kill myself instead. But then again, I must face my deepest fear in order to overcome this condition of mine, if ever this was an abnormal condition.
I may still feel suicidal, especially since I still have the medicines with me and there are sharp objects around me, but I’m going to fight for my life. That I should not let the dark side of me win and be devoured by total darkness. I deserve a chance to prove myself. I don’t deserve to die not being to able finish what I have started. I deserve better than dying because I want to. I deserve that white coat in which I truly admired and dreamed for myself. I deserve to live. This feeling may not go away, but atleast now, I have the willpower to battle it. And maybe in the near future, I will visit a psychologist to help me with my problems. Maybe I would finally open up with my parents about my psychological health without any fear of being judged and criticized. Maybe I could be fixed. That’s why I need to live. For there are countless of maybes that are waiting for me to turn into realities.
P.s. I still punish myself by not eating and sleeping properly for it has became my habit. But that doesn’t mean I am not welcoming change within me.