Words Of The Heart

Suicide Part 1

2/12/17

I sit here at my desk this morning. drinking my coffee, eating breakfast and wondering why I fell asleep so early yesterday, and why I have awoken so early, eager to start my day. I write this as if I were speaking to an audience, touching on a subject that I have meant to talk about for sometime. Please note that the following does not reflect the current mindset of the speaker/author. I put this down on to paper, as it is an important topic to discuss, even though many would rather continue about their lives without ever breaching the subject. By writing this I open myself up to all your questions, comments, beliefs, etc. Please note that this in itself is and always will be hard to write about, but I feel that its something that people need to notice, to be more aware of.

Merriam Webster Definition1

Suicide

a. The act or instance of taking one's life voluntarily or intentionally

Self Abuse/Harm

a. Abuse of ones body or health

Depression

a. A mood disorder marked especially by sadness, inactivity, difficulty with thinking and concentration, a significant decrease or increase in appetite and time spent sleeping, feelings of dejection and hopelessness, sometimes suicidal thoughts or attempts to commit suicide

For me depression has always been a significant part of my life. Always a constant factor in many of the events in my life, whether big or small. I was formally diagnosed with depression the year before I entered high school. Unfortunately being officially diagnosed doesn't automatically cure you of anything nor does it mean you weren't depressed before the time of diagnosis. There are many nights throughout my childhood that I can recall crying at night for complex reasons or for no reason at all.

Last year in the spring of 2016, my will to continue and persist in the world of the living took a dive. After months, years and for a variety of reasons, I just felt like I couldn't do it anymore. The weeks leading up to a particular day in May of 2016 were not anything to be enjoyed, nor recollected with anything resembling happiness. I had begun cutting again, small ones on my wrists, easily hidden by my watch, and deepers cuts on my legs below my waist, hidden by pants. To most everyone I appeared at least somewhat content with my life, which I partially was, at the beginning of the month I had even called my Dr. to schedule an appointment because I had started to feel like I was sliding further and further into a bit of depression. But by mid May, I had slid so far, nothing mattered anymore to my fractured mind.

In the early hours of May 9th, I went to Walmart and purchased a boxcutter, then I drove for what seemed like hours and hours, but less than an hour had slipped by. I arrived at my destination, the parking lot at Lake Lowells lower dam. Its seemed a rather random location, but within those past few weeks I had been driving out there almost every night, in an attempt to escape the inner horrors going on in my mind. I was losing the battle within, anxiety, fear, pain, stress and sadness were all taking their toll. And thus I had begun deciding that I didn't need to be here anymore. So with the boxcutter I began cutting at the base of my arms near my wrists, but I was unable to see where I was cutting, so I went home and continued. The cuts spanned from my wrists to almost my elbows. The deepers ones are visible even to this day two years later. In all I had cut myself over 43 times, and there I sat in my chair, bleeding and numb, physical pain ignored by my overwhelming mental anguish.

I had to work later that day, so I sat in contemplation of even going. I hadn't slept for at least two days. I wanted to call out...or just simply not call at all. I thought to spare people from seeing me like this, and I just couldn't deal being with...people. I managed to get in my car and drive to work, my arms covered by a sweater, which would have been an unusual sight as it was warm that day. My entire drive...all I wanted to do was turn around and go home to die, but every moment I was closer and it was too late to leave. I went in and clocked in, but it didn't last, I couldn't do it, I couldn't handle people, I couldn't force a smile or act even remotely happy. I was being crushed by an invisible force dwelling in my mind. I left a half hour into my shift. I went home, changed my clothes and went back out to the lake. There was nobody out there, I unbandaged my arms, and proceeded to reopen every cut all over again, bleeding and numb. And there I sat in my car for nearly six hours. Occasionally I would get out and walk around, I had a journal with me, in which I poured my broken mind into. The journal has since then been irrepairably damaged. Those words, those thoughts, can never be retraced, nor recreated. In the days that followed...I which I cannot exactly recall, my mind and body were numb for quite sometime.