I Survived Suicide
I am a survivor of suicide. Many years ago my life and emotions had forced me
into a place where death seemed to be the only real door to freedom. As I sat on
the bathroom floor slicing my arm over and over again, I was sure I would never
feel this pain again. Little did I know, the pain would set me free.
The path I followed to reach my breaking point is a sad, self-involved one.
Trouble at home, trouble at work, trouble within my own mind, led me to choose
death over life. To understand suicide one must think with true imagination.
As life gets harder and harder, the thought of suicide enters the minds and hearts
of many. At first, the thought is a fireball in your mouth; much too hot to leave in
on a constant basis. Just as with the fireball, when things get a bit too intense we
take the fireball, or thoughts of suicide, out and regain our composure. Soon
afterwards we give that hot, sweet ball another try and find that it is not quite as
hot the second time as it was on the first try. Over time and with multiple tries the
fireball eventually turns into a simple, sweet ball of candy that is no longer hot to
our mouths. Suicide is this fireball. When I hit rock bottom, I had just chewed the
thing to bits.
Oddly enough, having OCD or Obsessive Compulsive Disorder saved my life. I
was set to make 10 cuts into my arm, the last one ending at my wrist. One cut for
every year of life with my spouse. I managed to reach 9 when my husband
walked into the bathroom.
Years later, just as with any addict, I am reminded of where I was during that
point in my life. The nine perfectly straight scars will always faintly show the life I
once lived and tried to escape from. Though I managed to cover most of the
scars with a large tattoo, I know why it is there. My husband has even tried to
ease the pain of the past by having the same tattoo placed on his arm in the same
place; scars tattooed in to show it will be okay. But after all of the turmoil, where
am I now?
After attempting suicide, the fireball does not even come into the equation. There
is no real need to ease into the thought of suicide; in my mind I have already
overcome that fear. I will always have to live with the thoughts of my death gone
awry. Every time I am too stressed to breathe, every time I need to run from life
as I know it and every time I wake up just not wanting to live on that day, I
remember that the escape route has already been opened. Not a single minute
goes by that I do not remember why I attempted suicide and the only reason I am
alive to this day is the fight in my heart.
The fight I live off of is the need to be the best at something. If I can overcome
the need for death everyday, I will inevitably be the best person I could ever have
become. Yesterday I woke up and convinced myself to live; tomorrow I will
wake up and convince myself to live, today I write because I convinced myself to
live.
~Summer Banks
I am a survivor of suicide. Many years ago my life and emotions had forced me
into a place where death seemed to be the only real door to freedom. As I sat on
the bathroom floor slicing my arm over and over again, I was sure I would never
feel this pain again. Little did I know, the pain would set me free.
The path I followed to reach my breaking point is a sad, self-involved one.
Trouble at home, trouble at work, trouble within my own mind, led me to choose
death over life. To understand suicide one must think with true imagination.
As life gets harder and harder, the thought of suicide enters the minds and hearts
of many. At first, the thought is a fireball in your mouth; much too hot to leave in
on a constant basis. Just as with the fireball, when things get a bit too intense we
take the fireball, or thoughts of suicide, out and regain our composure. Soon
afterwards we give that hot, sweet ball another try and find that it is not quite as
hot the second time as it was on the first try. Over time and with multiple tries the
fireball eventually turns into a simple, sweet ball of candy that is no longer hot to
our mouths. Suicide is this fireball. When I hit rock bottom, I had just chewed the
thing to bits.
Oddly enough, having OCD or Obsessive Compulsive Disorder saved my life. I
was set to make 10 cuts into my arm, the last one ending at my wrist. One cut for
every year of life with my spouse. I managed to reach 9 when my husband
walked into the bathroom.
Years later, just as with any addict, I am reminded of where I was during that
point in my life. The nine perfectly straight scars will always faintly show the life I
once lived and tried to escape from. Though I managed to cover most of the
scars with a large tattoo, I know why it is there. My husband has even tried to
ease the pain of the past by having the same tattoo placed on his arm in the same
place; scars tattooed in to show it will be okay. But after all of the turmoil, where
am I now?
After attempting suicide, the fireball does not even come into the equation. There
is no real need to ease into the thought of suicide; in my mind I have already
overcome that fear. I will always have to live with the thoughts of my death gone
awry. Every time I am too stressed to breathe, every time I need to run from life
as I know it and every time I wake up just not wanting to live on that day, I
remember that the escape route has already been opened. Not a single minute
goes by that I do not remember why I attempted suicide and the only reason I am
alive to this day is the fight in my heart.
The fight I live off of is the need to be the best at something. If I can overcome
the need for death everyday, I will inevitably be the best person I could ever have
become. Yesterday I woke up and convinced myself to live; tomorrow I will
wake up and convince myself to live, today I write because I convinced myself to
live.
~Summer Banks
Mental Illness
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