Eventually it becomes more than surviving.

It is Suicide Prevention Week and for the first time I feel strong enough to speak up. Although I am open about my ill mental health and I am aware of the stigma it carries I have become skilled at navigating its difficulties in the different aspects of my life. Suicide however carries with it a completely different set of rules, and a stigma that is far more difficult to shake. I have lost friendships because of my suicide attempts, and my relationship with my family will never be the same, their trust in me is forever tainted. 

My suicide attempts were linked with specific moments of my bipolar cycles, but also with crucial points in my life. To say that they were a consequence of my illness would be naïve, not all bipolars are suicidal; but to say they were isolated events would be irresponsible. They happened when I had neglected my treatment (or wasn’t aware of my condition), and also when my life was going through hell. 

Having survived I´ve had a lot of hindsight. What I’ve learned is that every single time I truly wanted to die. I thought about it, and the impact it would have and I still made that choice. Some of the times I was intoxicated, but that was just a consequence of the circumstances, but there were many nights prior to that of endless thinking and planning, of feeling the world would be better off without me, and that I was a burden to those around me. 

How I survived, I don’t know. But I am still here, somehow. The aftermath of surviving is the hardest. From the first few minutes, to the next few weeks. The emotions and the thoughts.

I remember hearing paramedics saying I was just another lost cause as they were intubating me… Next thing I woke up in hospital surrounded by medical students and a registrar just asking me “Why did you do it?”. That was the time my family didn’t find out. I’ve woken up in a psychiatric ward, surrounded by my family, asking me the same questions. That was the moment I lost their trust.

The aftermath of a suicide attempt is devastating. And it remains so for a long time. A world so carefully built now lies in pieces. The fantasy created for everybody else is now gone. For a long time I pretended I was fine, and even after each attempt I played the game. Isolation becomes so easy… 

 The people in my life walked away in fear, and those who couldn’t, remained with a caveat attached. I no longer have a next of kin in the country I live in. I am terrified of building relationships, the same way I am scared of building a life. If I don’t believe I’m worth the space I inhabit, then who else will believe I’m worth it? That is the battle I fight everyday in this aftermath. It’s been a while but not long enough...

How does someone survive suicide? We survive it by living. No matter what that living entails, but we live. Eventually it becomes more than surviving. 

P.S.Some of the people reading this, who have never gone through what I have gone through, will judge me, and will call me a coward, and will say I was just seeking attention. Maybe you are right, maybe I am a coward, I am scared of the many things that inhabit my head, like disturbing memories, and paralising fears. And maybe I was just trying to get my own attention.