Why I didn’t get help-and Why You Should

Listen, it’s Suicide Prevention Week, and usually, I’d make some fancy pictures-I even tried to compile a list of information, on why it’s such a big deal. Make a nice report, if you will. This is, what I wrote instead. I didn’t get help at this point in my life but it’s something you should do. I don’t know how I made it through; other than by the grace of God. I know that He would have wanted me to get help, though, rather than sitting in a pool of misconception and unconventional lies to myself.

So, if you’re feeling Suicidal, or even, depressed, please take time to get help, to begin the journey of healing-you mean so much to the world.

*Trigger Warning*

I can still remember the day pretty clearly. I was starting to get incredibly poor on myself. I had been struggling with school-but my pride refused help.

And that was what drove me insane; my pride.

You see, roughly three years ago, I wanted to die. Roughly three years ago, I was holding a container of Ibuprofen, sobbing on my bed, despising myself for the smallest mistake.

I stopped caring for myself but didn’t know how to explain it to others. I had convinced myself that I was trying to seek attention; and allowed myself to suffer in silence for over a year, before hinting at it, and eventually, forgetting that part of my life existed. And over time, I healed, sort of. I couldn’t tell you why I wanted to die, back then. I just hated how terrible I was-how I could never make it, how I wasn’t worth the time of day. How, for somebody so talentless, I was also racking up debts for my family because I was consistently sick.

And whether it my brain or my conscious, I worked desperately to wrestle with my thoughts that day. Suicide, it’s not the answer. It won’t solve my problems. Everybody will be so disappointed in you…but then, I was 100% convinced I was already a disappointment.

I was the reason that everything went wrong in every bodies life-but also, how dare I think I even was capable of crossing peoples minds.

My thoughts were contradictory, and I always fought for a reason to view myself as a despicable human being.

Looking back, I could tell you every reason for it; and the answer is,

My Perfection Drove me to levels of insanity.

You couldn’t tell that I’m a perfectionist if you looked at me-spoke to me. You probably wouldn’t even guess that I have anxiety attacks about not properly conversing with people, or because I failed a test.

I could never measure up to my friends, who had talents of some sorts-who could write, or draw. Maybe they played sports, and/or instruments. It didn’t matter, I wanted to be like them, I wanted that talent. I wanted that capability. But in my mind, I was nothing. I could do nothing. I meant nothing-everybody was lying to me.

They had to be.

My work; in my eyes, it wasn’t good enough.

It could never be good enough.

So why try at all?

But, what also rang in my combatted all of these thoughts.

Why do you always make yourself the center of attention?

You don’t matter that much. You don’t cross people’s minds every time of the day? Why are you being narcissistic?

SO selfish.

You could probably see how that would drive anyone insane. So, I clasped the pills, argued with myself for a bit, paced the floor, sobbing violently. And somehow, argued myself to chucking them somewhere in the void of objects that cluttered the closet.

I collapsed on my bed.

Still wrestling with these thoughts, I figured up several different ways to die.

All so dramatic.

Maybe I was just getting attention? That’s what this had to be, my selfish attempts at attention.

I don’t know how I managed to make it through that day. I really don’t, my last memory of that day is praying violently to God, pleading with him to help me convince myself that I had a life worth living. I remember journaling, and flipping through pictures, trying to reason with myself that was, all I remember about that day.

Until recently, I never brought it up, concerned that I was trying to bring attention to myself, and overall, concerned that I wasn’t actually struggling then. In retrospect, I was. I didn’t bring it up to my parents, in fear that they would think that it was irrational. My parents were more concerned about how they could have helped, and upset that they didn’t.
I should have spoken up, I went through added years of anguish that still bleed into my thoughts to this very day. I should have gotten help, and I know, that if you struggle with thoughts like that, you should too.

Where I made my mistake, was trying to minimize my problems.

What followed after was a series of panic attacks where I would try to pull at things-my hair, my skin, my clothes, leaving scratches on my skin, and a rather sore scalp. I had scattered thoughts, and genuinely, truly, even while I preached the importance of getting help to friends and family, I still needed help.

Don’t let yourself get to that point-don’t let yourself get to the point of insanity or suicide. You matter you matter so much more then you realize. Everybody has a different journey and a different story. You add vibrant colors to the world that you might not realize, and while it might not seem like it now-it will.

Take time to talk to someone and take time to get help. It’ll be worth it.