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8 Years On After My Suicide Attempt

This isn’t going to be a piece of writing just to say “life got better, it was a mistake”. That would be untrue. Life isn’t that simple.

*POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING*

July 2013. I had it all decided. I was going to kill myself. I picked out a day, a time and a location. I wrote my letters and hugged my parents. And then I did it.

Well, obviously, it didn’t work. I ‘failed’. But this piece isn’t about any reasons why I made an attempt, or about that day. It’s about all the days since that day eight years ago.

I considered it as just another failure for a long while. And still do. Eight years ago it was another thing I had failed at, another thing to add to my list of failures. I still consider it as a ‘failure’. But differently to how I did eight years ago. But we’ll get to that later.

I thought about it a lot. This ‘failure’. I thought about a lot of things and felt a lot of emotions while feeling nothing at all.

It wasn’t just a decision I just made. It felt like my only option. I think even now, looking back, it was what I had to do to go into the next part of my life.

The biggest thing I’ve learnt is that this ‘failure’ which I had added onto my list, was potentially the best ‘failure’ I ever made. It took me years to see it, but it ended up giving me a big push to attempt to improve my mental health.

Slowly, changes were happening in my life. I left school, started working towards what I wanted my life to look like, and cut out the toxic people in my life. And I began to see ‘improvements’ in my life. Things I wanted to live for. This was shortly after I began anti-depressants.

The pills didn’t make me happy. But they made my other emotions lighter and softer, allowing for me to feel more. I stopped thinking about suicide as my only option.

I had all but stopped the self-injury I was doing to my body. Which was hard, breaking that habit. Now I don’t do it at all. Except for the occasional ‘slip-up’. But slip-ups are allowed to happen. They make me feel sad and disappointed in myself now, in the aftermath. But they remind me I’m still human and that I’m still here.

It’s been eight years since that day. And I don’t regret what I did. Do I wish I had died that day? Back then, it was a big yes. But now, it’s a no (most days).

It was the worse period of my life. And I still have problems with my mental health, but they are managed now. It didn’t get better. I made changes to my life, and life made changes for me. Change happened.

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