What I Realize One Year After My Suicide Attempt


Editor’s note: If you struggle with self-harm or suicidal thoughts, the following post could be potentially triggering. You can contact the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741. For a list of ways to cope with self-harm urges, click here.

One year ago, I didn’t like my sick self. I was a mix of pills and therapies and exercises that didn’t work, that were a filthy band-aid on top of an illness that creeped out of nowhere, but seemed impossible to cure.

One year ago, I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror. I would obsess about every flaw, every pimple, every roll, that made me look at my naked body and see it as a source of discomfort, instead of the beautiful home of my soul that it is.

One year ago, I would hurt myself. I could see the scars on my wrists because once again, I had succumbed to that little voice that told me to hurt myself, to punish myself for existing.

One year ago, I wanted to end it all. There were crumbles of drafts of suicide notes in my bathroom garbage that told my family I apologized, told my brother and sister to be strong (unlike me) and that this was all too much to bear.

I no longer want to end it all.

I am not perfect, but I love myself.

And I know I can be loved.

I know I am beautiful.

I know that my rolls and my pimples and my chubby cheeks are cute.

I know that the right medication and therapies are what allow me to function.

I know that being vulnerable is beautiful and that accepting our flaws and failures is beautiful.

I know that my smile brings joy to many and that my laugh brings laughs to many.

I know that I can make a change with simple conversations, but that making a huge change in the world doesn’t have to be my end goal or a source of anxiety.

I know I can grab my naked body and let it be grabbed by others, and feel joy and gratefulness and lust.

I know that the memories of waking up in a hospital bed from a suicide attempt are slowly going to fade and they will be substituted with new memories made with my loved ones.

I know that mental illness is a bitch, but that there is nothing broken about me for having had one.

Even if one year ago I didn’t realize it.

Today, I know I am enough.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit our suicide prevention resources page.

If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, the Trevor Project at 1-866-488-7386 or reach the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741.

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Getty image via KatarzynaBialasiewicz


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