A year of change that almost didn't happen...

 **Trigger warning: suicide**

The first time I took a handful of pills was August '98. I was at camp and we were all getting ready for the end of summer dance. I had been talking to a friend on the swings and something in my brain said, "You should go take some pills," and I did. I'll never know the real reason behind why I did it. Maybe I was curious, maybe I really wanted to die. So many things have happened since that night that it's hard to remember.

Earlier that summer, while on a trip, I apparently had threatened to jump off of a boat. I have absolutely no memory of that. I had also, again according to stories, threatened to jump off of towers every time we went to a castle (which was basically every day of a 3-week trip around the UK). I don't remember any of this, but I'm not surprised that I said it.

The number of times I took handfuls of pills between the ages of 14 and 17 are so numerous I can't even count them. However, the number of times I actually told someone what I had done are much less. The few times I told someone it was most likely because I wanted someone to hear me. I wanted someone to ask what was wrong and to really listen. I didn't take pills for attention - I took them because I didn't care what happened to me - but the few times I told were me saying, "Please ask me what's wrong!"

During those years, there was only 1 time I truly wanted to die. It was January '01. My mother and I had gotten into a huge fight and she called me a slut. There was no basis to her name-calling, but fighting ensued and she stormed out of the house. That's when I decided I couldn't live like that anymore. Here's the kicker though: I shouldn't have been able to access my pills. Because of my tendency to take them, my therapist had told my mom to hide them from me and administer them herself... but I knew where they were. They sat in her medicine cabinet. No locks keeping me out, just sitting in there waiting for me. So I took a handful (maybe a few) and went to bed hoping that would be it.

I woke up in the middle of the night and threw up.

Clearly it wasn't my time, but, again, I shouldn't have even been able to get that close. My pills were supposed to be locked up for a reason. Would I had found another way? Not sure. Pills were always my go-to... hence why they weren't supposed to be accessible.

That was the only true suicide attempt I've made in my life. I've been suicidal many more times, but something always happened to snap me out of it. Hell, just a year ago I was ready to throw in the towel and be done with it all... ready to just give up because I was at the very tip of my rope. I was pulled back in because someone reached out to me and showed that they cared. A few months after that, the same thing happened, and the same person was there pulling me back in again. Then, again, just a couple months ago... and I was pulled back in.

Why am I recapping all of this? Well, I feel like it's good for me to remember every now and then that there's always been light after the dark. Every time I've been down, something or someone pulls me back up. Even if it's temporary, it's helped me to keep going another day. If I had someone to pick me up that day when I was 16 and hopeless, maybe that night wouldn't have happened.

Sometimes life gets so dark that we simply cannot see the light. It's like you're wading through mud so thick and so deep that you think you'll never pull yourself out so you might as well just drown. And you worry that if you tell anyone how you're feeling, that they'll just get stuck in the mud with you or worse... they'll just stand there and watch you drown.

For so many years I only had people watching me drown, never offering a rope, never jumping in to help me. "What's wrong with you now?" "What do you want me to do about it?" Eventually, I stopped crying out for help. It hasn't been until recently, really just in the last year, that I've finally been aware of the people who are not only willing to jump into the mud to help me, but give me a boost so that we can both get out. It took a long time to find people who are not only willing to help, but truly care enough to do so.

This week is a weird one as I think back on where I was a year ago. This time last year I was so lonely and so depressed that I cried myself to sleep every night and could barely get myself out of bed in the morning. In a city of millions, I didn't think anyone saw me. I was completely alone and simply couldn't do it anymore. Thankfully someone did see me and heard my cry, and for that I'll be forever grateful to them. 

I just get very reflective at times like this and even more grateful not just to that person but for everything that has happened in the last year. Yes, the last 6 months have been very hard, but not just for me... everyone has struggled in some way since March (some much worse than others). But for me, the last 12 months have really been a blessing. So much has happened that I can be grateful for while at the same time I'm fully aware that it almost didn't happen.

I'm not sure if this friend knows what they did for me that day, but if you're reading this and you remember: thank you for seeing me when I felt invisible.

And to anyone reading this that's struggling right now, I see you. Don't give up.

- DB