I can clearly remember the first time I wanted to die, to just end it all and be done with this life.
I hated waking up and doing anything. I didn’t want to go to school. I didn’t connect well with others and was always in trouble or getting picked on and I had as much of it as I could stand. I just didn’t want to keep doing this same thing day in and day out. I just wanted out.
I spent most of my day in that frame of mind. Thinking of all the ways I could do it. Where and when. I thought about it so much I had convinced myself it was what needed to be done. I was good at hiding that bad things that I did. Drugs, lying, stealing. I could hide it all. But how in a small apartment with my mom and sisters right there could I ever pull this off?
I knew once the day had come to an end that I was doomed to wake another day numb and cold to everything. Then I remembered I had a small hidden friend that had helped me through moments of numbness before so I off into the bathroom I went. The one place I knew I could get at least 5 minutes alone.
That was the first time I ever cut myself deep enough to make me nervous. Up until that point they were mostly superficial cuts that were gone in a few days. Not this time. This one wasn’t just going to fade. I sat there feet in the tub because there was a lot of blood and I didn’t need it in the rug. I just watched it run down my leg for what felt like forever.
I slowly got myself cleaned up enough to head back to my room feeling less like I wanted to die and more like I could be okay. The pain that shot down my leg was pure bliss and all those dark thoughts of death slipped away.
I crawled into be that night calm and collected. I made sure to lay cut side to the mattress and let the pain from the pressure put me to sleep.
“I desire things that will destroy me in the end.”
–Sylvia Plath
