How It Feels Like To Be In A Suicidal State

I was only 18 when I finally had the courage to plan and act on suicide. Options included hanging myself from my curtain rails, drowning myself into a river, jumping out of my bedroom window, or driving one of my family’s car at a high speed and crash. My preferred and ideal method was to overdose myself with some pills, but I could not decide where and how I can find suitable ones I wanted. If I had these pills in possession I would not be alive today and would have been dead at 18.


For those who have never gone through suicidal thoughts nor had anyone close that lost their life to suicide, let me tell you that the feeling is exhausting. If I confided to you, because I trusted you, that I was feeling very suicidal and you told me to “move on” or “get over it”, chances are that will the last moment you will see me. Suicide is a topic that should never be treated easily like being sad over missing out on a ticket to see your favourite musician live. It is dangerous and life threatening especially to those who are considering it as an option to “escape” their problems and emotions.

2013 was the beginning of my increased desire in opting for suicide; it became an obsession that occupied my mind, and I conducted Google searches to “most painless ways to suicide” everyday — which I then always deleted from my history afterwards. I was severely contemplating suicide for roughly seven months. I could not “get rid” of these thoughts even if I tried or force myself to. I was depressed, emotionless and lonely. I felt emotionally abused by those closest to me, whom I knew by now did not mean to upset me but they did. I lacked the emotional support needed to remind me that “life will be alright” and “it will get better, just wait”.

As I felt more pessimistic about my future, realised I did not have any friends that I could trust with my thoughts and make me happy, stopped pursuing the interests I enjoyed, and constantly was emotionally abused for my actions and decisions, I started to hate my existence and myself. I felt I was a “waste of space” and worthless. No one cared about me, I thought. Why bother living, if I do not make an efficient contribution to others? Multiple breakdowns ensued; I was crying every day, every night, every morning. I wanted to stop feeling depressed, I wanted to stop crying and I wanted the pain to go away. I was sitting in the corner of my bedroom, holding onto my legs, with my face and messy hair damping my knees, when I realise an effective solution: suicide.

For the first five months, I was still too scared to end my life easily. I was scared of the pain — if I was unsuccessful. I substituted my fear of committing suicide with self-harm. I did not cut myself as I did not like the view of having sharp objects prickling my skin and seeing blood ooze was disgusting. Instead I filled up my toilet’s sink with water and submerge my face for a few seconds, just before I lose my capacity to breathe. And I strangle myself with any belts or wires I had lying in my room as a mechanism, to my belief then, to use pain to prevent any emotions running and that I should punish my existence.

I remember I loved the satisfaction I would get from self-harming myself. I felt controlled and saw it as an effective form of therapy to manage my composure once I left my bedroom. It worked at most occasions — well, partially. However, it was not until around June that even my reliance to self-harm could help manage my depression. I started researching more into suicide methods and attempted it.

What triggered my step to attempting suicide that time? In addition to the symptoms I have been coping with, I was delving into the state when I started to feel nothing. I felt empty; I did not know who I was and my purpose in life, I did not know how to distinguish the different emotions. I could not feel anything. I was like a living matter who disguised herself as a human being, but lacked the emotional and mental characteristics that one should have.

Suicide stopped becoming an option; it became a choice to me. I still self-harmed several times. On my worst days, I tried to attempt suicide. Fortunately, I still never reached the will and always backed down from ending my life. I remember when I was trying to hang myself in my room — with my belt on the curtain rails and tied around my neck, and I was standing on my chair — I could not bring myself forward to push my chair aside and let the process proceed. This happened on multiple occasions, and during each I wished I had access to pills to overdose. That would have made the dying process easier and quick.

Sometime in July of 2013, I broke down to my parents that I have been dealing with depression. That was the most difficult moments I have ever experienced in my life. I could not tell my parents why or how I have been depressed, and I just kept crying after I made the confession. Similarly, I could not bring it to myself to tell them I have been self-harming and was suicidal. My mum cleaned up my room afterwards; I hide away every draft suicide notes I have written and my diary, as well as removing the belt dangling from my curtain rail. I did not want my parents to know what I was suicidal; no parent does. Importantly, I did not want to be lectured by my parents that I was only feeling suicidal because I lacked religious direction in my life.

“You will go to hell if you kill yourself”, was one of the comments my parents told me a day after my confession. I did not know how to react well to this statement. I was feeling a bit better, temporarily, that my parents knew I was suffering from depression, but this changed my mood once again. The idea that religion was more important than the love for your child, and that I was just a subject to test someone whether heaven was worthy for him or her. I was hurled with emotionally abusive statements repetitively a month later. These factors triggered my suicidal tendencies again. Again, I kept failing each time.

I am 22 today while writing this. I am glad that I never had access to pills and gave up easily. Life has improved a bit — albeit with a few bumpy roads included — but the idea of suicide is something I do not think of often. Dialogue of mental health has been the best form of therapy I have, to manage with my depression since; even though there will be people who do not understand and will still think this is a “phase”. It is not. Depression is not a phase or topic that one can joke about and take lightly; it has affected more than 12 years of my life and I know I can never recover from it. I have went through therapy, as well as being on anti-depressants. I wish I could, but it has become part of my life that I have accepted and learned to cope with effectively. Thankfully, I have been better at managing it to prevent being suicidal to come across my mind. I have not reached that level of being suicidal since 2013. I know the factors that contribute to my happiness and have the strength to seek support when I needed it. I have sought for healthier ways to maintain my mental health — walking, jogging, writing my thoughts, creative writing, reading and travelling — instead of using self-harm as the answer.

If anyone has ever expressed that they are feeling suicidal, do not ignore their statements. Do not tell them “move on”, “get over it” or “it is not that hard to stop being depressed.” Rather offer yourself to listen to them in a non-judgmental manner. They need it.

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