Before I even start please observe the huge trigger warning above. If you’re someone who struggles with issues around suicide and self harm then make sure you’re in a safe state of mind before you read this. I will be talking in depth about thoughts of ending my life and a few mentions of acting on these thoughts.
Up until the age of about 11 I had always been an extroverted and happy child. I had plenty of friends and was doing really well at school. There were problems at home, but I don’t think I really understood the full scale of what was going on. My parents were going through a separation and my dad had moved to a place 2 hours away. He always made promises to visit and then would cancel shortly before, leaving me waiting by the window or sometimes even the school gates. My mum was busy looking after my baby brother who had severe asthma and would often have to be rushed to the hospital in the night. A mixture of these things, the onset of puberty and starting secondary school, put an unbelievable amount of pressure on me. I started feeling emotions with an intensity I had never felt before.
I was utterly confused by this new world of self awareness. I would find myself deeply despairing and anger would bubble up that I simply couldn’t control. My mum and I got into fights on a regular basis. Normally over small things, but the rage would take a hold of me. We’d end up screaming at each other and on a few occasions I physically attacked her; I would also throw things and break them. The once bright and energetic child seemed to morph into a furious monster. A monster that I simply didn’t have the skills to hold back.
The constant fighting at home became miserable and exhausting for me. I might have gotten through it if school had been a safe space. When I was 12 I started being bullied at school. As a result I lost my original group of friends, they didn’t want to be associated with me in case they became targets as well. I spent my playtime alone in the library or hanging out in the quiet area with the rest of the outcasts. They were friendly, but all had their own issues. One girl often had self inflicted cuts underneath her wristbands.
With no escape anywhere I was consumed by negative thoughts. Mostly they came out in rage or in my morbid doodles in my school workbooks, which I was teased further for. I found myself trying to hide my emotions, pushing them down until I got to my room where I would cry silently into my pillow. The pressure was becoming far too much and I thought back to the girl with the cuts on her wrists. I don’t really know what drew me to it. Surely causing myself more pain was the opposite of what I needed. I remember creating small scratches on my wrist. There was pain, but in a way it relieved the pressure and gave me the release I needed. I wish I had never discovered that self harm did that. I wish I had been able to find another way. There’s so much focus at secondary school about avoiding drugs and related addictions. There should be more information about better coping mechanisms, because self harming is the most addictive thing I’ve ever taken part in. To this day it’s an addiction I still battle with and that I probably always will.
I believe that self harm showed me something a normal 12 year old shouldn’t have thought about. I could do damage to myself. I became aware of the fact that I didn’t have to wait to get old or sick to die. I’ve never been religious so all that I could imagine after death was nothingness. Silence at last from a world buzzing with white noise. The idea of suicide was like a whispering promise that there was a way to make everything stop.
At 13 I took my first overdose. I emptied out as much paracetamol as I could find. I lay down on the sofa and let myself fall asleep. At the time I thought it would be enough. A few hours later I woke up disappointed. It hadn’t worked. I was still in this painful world. The worst part of it was no one ever noticed and I never told anyone. Maybe if my mum had known she could have got me some help.
I didn’t take another overdose until I was an adult, but the thoughts still haunted me. When life would get hard I contemplated my own death. I was obsessed with dark and macabre things because it made me feel closer to the end. I listened to sad and emotional music and isolated myself away from the world. It was easier just to be on my own and think about how one day I was finally going to kill myself and escape.
No comments:
Post a Comment