What Life After My Suicide Attempt Is Like

By the time I share this, it will have been two years since my suicide attempt — May 13, 2016

I’m not that person anymore.

But she’s still there.

I still wonder what life would have been like for everyone I love. I still feel like nobody would have been affected. Since then, I’ve lost multiple jobs, I’ve purposely gotten myself evicted, I’ve unintentionally gotten myself addicted to medication (I am no longer addicted, I received the help I needed), I’ve spent more nights crying myself to sleep than I can count, and I’ve lost sleep just as much.

Even though I know the past is the past; the past is still a part of my everyday struggle.

There are still days where I hate myself. There are still days where I can’t catch a breath and I feel like the only way to not feel the pain anymore is to not be here. There are still days where I don’t want to exist. There are still days where I feel as though my daughter would be better off without a mother who only ever wants to curl up in a ball and cry. There are still days where I feel as though my husband would have been better off finding someone he doesn’t have to look after this much. There are still days where I feel that if I leave this life, I can start fresh in a new one. There are still days where I look at my bottle of sleeping pills from the corner of my eye and wonder “what if.” There are still days where I wish I would have done my grandmother a favor by giving her one less grandchild to worry about. There are still days where I feel as though this world would not move and inch differently without me here.

I still battle my demons every day, and although I’m doing so much better, she is still there.

Living life after a suicide attempt is a wake up call and hell on earth. The guilt I felt when the man I love had to drive me to the hospital, sit with me until they admitted me and watch them drive me off to the psychiatric hospital. He had to wait for my calls and wait for visiting hours to come see me. I hated myself even more.

My relationship with my mother spiraled and two years later, I still don’t know how to repair it. I spent so many nights uncontrollably crying, curled up in a ball in my husband’s lap until I cried enough to fall asleep. Once or twice, I even considered the fact that I might have needed to check myself back into the psychiatric hospital.

Sometimes everything is still too much to take in.

If there’s one thing that I do know though; it’s that it gets better.

I cried every night for a year and a half. I lost friends and gained friends. I fell even more in love with an amazing man who is now my husband. I learned to be the mother that my daughter needed and will need for the rest of her life. I learned forgiveness takes time and only patience will do. I learned that getting help isn’t always finding a doctor who prescribes medication.

Help is forgiving yourself no matter how hard it is — and I’m still trying. Help is speaking up and spreading awareness where people don’t understand. Help is finding an amazing therapist who patiently talks to you, consoles you, is there when you need her.

I am so lucky to have an amazing support system by my side. My husband, who loves me, holds me, reassures me and believes in me. My amazing therapist who has been nothing but amazing, patient, loving, caring and is always there. My beautiful daughter who is always smiling, laughing, careful, funny, loving and always sees the beauty in me when I can’t find it within myself. And everyone who has ever reached out to me, whether it be for advice or help, or to thank me for spreading awareness, or someone coming to me and offering a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen.

My world has been a dark place. But with every ounce of life left in me, I am continuing to find light in a dark room, and I am still fighting my way through.

Everything gets better with time. The goal is to get better and get back up every time something knocks me back down, no matter how long it takes. I will get there — we will get there.