I suppose it was a good thing that there weren’t any working guns in the house. Had there been, I’m pretty sure that would have been it for me. They were the first things I thought of when I started to realize that I wanted to die, but I didn’t have that option. So I was forced to think of something else. It wasn’t that I wasn’t determined, but I was scared of feeling pain. It was all or nothing. If I failed, not only would I still be alive, but my life would be worse. Everything would change, everyone would try to “help.” That was the last thing I wanted.
I’ll spare all the details about the plans I finally came up with. All I knew is that as soon as I had it locked in my mind that I was going to do it, everything got better. I felt cheerful. I had no more worries. Everything was going to be just fine. I went out with friends, I had a great time and people noticed how much better I was feeling. I couldn’t tell them why. I assumed that would kill the mood. No pun intended.
Everything up until that point had just been getting worse and worse. People I thought were friends were proving in spectacular fashion that they were anything but. School was proving to be too much. My life at home wasn’t much better. I had no sanctuary from it all, no one I could talk to without it coming back to bite me and no way to escape. The only way I could get away from any of this was by sleeping. Logic dictated that permanent sleep would be permanent bliss.
And so I tried.
It wasn’t for lack of effort on my part, but because of the fact that I had some real friends in my life that came to the rescue. People I didn’t know were that good. People who showed me that they aren’t all like the ones I was trying to escape from. I always questioned why, if I supposedly had such great friends, they never proved it. But they did. At least I’m guessing that saving a life counts as being a good friend. I’ll keep going with “yes.”
That wasn’t the end of it, of course. I had to tie up some loose ends, including some people who tried to use my suicide attempt as further ammunition against me. But I had gone through a life-changing moment. I didn’t need that nonsense anymore.
It was as close to a fresh start as I could possibly get. Gone were the poisonous relationships, gone were the fruitless attempts at things I couldn’t handle. I took on everything I did from that point with a new confidence. Things weren’t great, but I had the ability to change that now.
It’s been a few years since. I’m holding a good job. My family, though it faces some hardships, is doing well. My relationships are strong. I have reasons to live. I can’t so easily cut my ties to this world anymore. Before, I had every reason to leave. Now I have every reason to stay. I have a purpose. I have a reason to fight. Many reasons, as it were.
And everything is fine.
This post is in response to the Writing Challenge: Starting Over.