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.”