The one time I tried (when suicide feels like the only option)

Linda Adams
Aug 8, 2017 · 4 min read

When my boyfriend broke up with me at age 16, I attempted a scary act. I took 50 pills of aspirin and fell nauseous instantly. I preceded to lay on the burnt orange leather couch with scandinavian wood trim in my parent’s living room. My sister came home with her best friend from the movies and I confided to her out of fear. I wanted to live. Realizing the reality of what could have happened took precedent over the misery of losing my first boyfriend. All spawned because I refused to sleep with him. It was a Sunday — I remember because thankfully my parents were at my aunt’s house and my younger brother was with them.

My sister’s best friend suggested I drink a ton of milk. Her reasoning was that if I felt sick then the milk would hopefully induce a desire to vomit. They didn’t take me to the hospital in fear of having to tell my parents what happened. I fell asleep and eventually never threw up. When I woke up a few hours later, everyone else was home and I ate dinner before going to bed shortly afterwards.

I was lucky to be alive. I was lucky that I hadn’t inadvertently caused any harm to my body or have a reaction that could have taken my life. I never attempted anything like that again.

Then I grew up. I learned that life is scary, challenging and uncomprehending. I learned that love never stays in your corner when you want it the most. I learned that the only person that truly controls your happiness is yourself.

I’ve had my days of doubt. I’ve had hardships that made me feel like I just didn’t want to go on. I wanted to take the easy route by giving up, eventually leaving the responsible of whatever was on my shoulders on someone else’s. I’ve thought about suicide at different points in my life. Just thinking about it makes me sad that I felt helpless enough to consider it for a moment. But that’s all it is, a consideration in my mind. I think in some way it acts like my wake-up call that I am not treating myself better; that I am not loving myself enough.

In the last two years, I’ve been treating myself better by going to therapy. That is where I learned I am a victim of anxiety attacks and mild depression. I’m not afraid to admit it. I know within myself there exists a strong will to persist throughout my trials. At least I have the willingness to try. For this I am thankful. I need to remember that by loving myself at all times, not just when I am being good and feel happy, I am maintaining the love affair with my true identity. The essence of my soul that completes me. Like a marriage, I must remember that I am in this life til death do I part, through good times and bad. It may sound cliche, but it’s the only way to survive all the intricacies of life. To value my being as special because there is only one me. Just like there is only one you.

I was doing real good a couple of weeks ago. I felt like I had my work routine down pat, I was working out and eating healthier foods, I was taking in the summer — my favorite season of the year, I went to my first Cubs game — my favorite team and sport, I was feeling happy and comfortable in my skin. Then I had a breakdown. I had some emotions run wild and I gave up in my mind so quickly. I gave up on myself. I thought about suicide again for a mere moment.

It made me more sad, igniting yet another wake-up call. I snapped back to reality and thought about the things that mean the most to me. I thought about what I mean to myself. I realized, again, I am worth it. I do love me unequivocally.

I am no therapist by any means, but if there’s one thing I have learned that no professional doctor can teach you is that loving yourself is the best medicine. It’s the only cure to living life free of hate. Choose love. Choose you. I did and I continue to do so whenever I fall down and falter. The truth is, the only enemy in our world is the one that exists in our soul when we don’t love ourselves to take care. Take care of yourself first. Always.

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