WARNING: This article includes details of a suicide attempt
If you see me walking around my college campus, you won’t be able to see the demons that I try to drown everyday. Typically, I can be seen wearing a smile on my face or making my peers laugh. I am an active member of my school community who prides herself on success in all facets of her life. I enjoy the organized chaos that is running around from activity to activity, my drive has always kept me afloat. I am also the oldest child in my family, so I am constantly striving to be a solid role model for my siblings. There is nothing I hate more than letting down the people I love.
During the past month, my life has crumbled beneath my feet. I was placed in a psychiatric hospital for 5 days because I was suicidal and had cut myself with scissors. How did I get there? I had spent the time leading up to my hospitalization lying to myself, I desperately needed help. I had needed the help for months, but I was too busy running to stop and recognize this fact.
In July of 2011, I dealt with similar demons. I was only 12 years old, but I had lost all hope in myself. I no longer wanted to be a burden to my family. This was my rationale on the day that I removed the clothing from my closet in order to make space to hang myself. I was stopped by my little brother, who was 8 years old at the time.
He had wandered into my room, looking for one of his big sisters to play outside with him. When he walked in, I was standing on a chair in my closet, placing a cord around my neck. I saw him and immediately fell to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. If my baby brother had walked into my room just minutes later, he would’ve found the lifeless body of his eldest sister.
The thought of this haunted me as I told my parents what I had attempted, as they drove me to the ER at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. I can still picture the nurse who put on 101 Dalmatians for me in between psychiatric evaluations, though I have since forgotten her name. I can see the sheer anguish on the faces of my loving parents, who begged the doctors to help them understand why their 12 year old wanted to die.
After countless hours of questioning and constant supervision, of feeling like a bug under a microscope, it was determined that I could go home. I was told that I was to see a therapist to help me cope with my emotions, which I did for about a year. The therapy sessions truly did help me at the time. I learned breathing exercises, kept myself occupied with activity, and decided that my life DID have some value to it. I would never feel suicidal again….or so I thought.
Before the thoughts of suicide crept into my mind recently, approximately 7 years after my suicide attempt, I was feeling insanely fatigued. I stayed committed to all of my obligations, though I was spending every second of my free time hidden away in my room, avoiding the amazing friends that I’ve made here at school. I chalked this fatigue up to simply needing more sleep, and while my body was crying for more rest, it was also crying for help. Then, my mind took over. I began feeling like a failure again, I had a dream that I was stabbing myself to death, I was utterly terrified.
I was open and honest with my most trusted friends at school and with my parents, I told them that I felt like dying. THEY were the ones who told me to get help, because I truly didn’t want it for myself. To make a long story a bit shorter, I ended up in another ER. I was once again evaluated by doctors, nurses, and crisis workers, who were just doing their jobs, though all I wanted to do was sleep. My best friends arrived at the hospital shortly before my parents did. I was told that the best option for my health and safety was to be admitted to an in-patient psychiatric hospital.
Being in the hospital was a true eye-opener. It made me realize that I should’ve gotten help sooner, that I was not disappointing anyone by getting the help that I needed. Being separated from friends, family, and school left me itching to get back to it all. If I were to kill myself, I would never see any of them again.
My underlying message is this- IT IS OK TO GET HELP. Mental health is becoming less of a stigma in today’s world- musicians are writing songs encouraging people to get help and celebrities are speaking openly about their struggles with a variety of mental health problems. This doesn’t make what I’ve dealt with personally any easier, but I have learned to not feel ashamed. I have learned not to lie to myself about how I am feeling.
No matter what you are going through- recognize when you need help, reach out to someone who you trust, and you will make it through, I can promise you that. I only left the hospital two weeks ago, I’m going to therapy four times a week, and I am attempting to find my passion for life again. I am refusing to let my thoughts win, I am too strong for that, even when I don’t feel strong. With an army of love and support, I am healing. I will win.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline- 1-800-273-8255 (Available 24/7)
