Suicide is a funny gift I used to analyze from time to time. It seemed to me a reckoning that my soul longed for.
I’m not sure why that is but I knew I had an agonizing pain and I wanted it to stop at all costs. Seemed to me that death would end it all.
When I was 16 and finally able to drive, I found myself mesmerized with the thought of getting the car up to a good speed and running it full speed into a concrete wall. I’d visualize the details, the sounds the crash would make. I could even smell the twisted metal as it encased me like a tomb.
I even vividly dreamed about crashing.
I’ve heard it called suicidal ideation now. Here’s how Wikipedia explains it: “Suicidal ideation (or suicidal thoughts) is thinking about, considering, or planning suicide. Suicide is not a diagnosis for the DSM-5, but is rather a symptom of many mental disorders.”
For me it didn’t feel like a mental health symptom. It was a condition of my heart. My body had kept a heartbeat for me but by the time I came out of such abuse, it’s beat skipped most frequently now to find freedom.
I didn’t see freedom anywhere around me. Furthermore, wasn’t it my right to take my life if I wanted to? Oh, some religions say I’ll never recover from such a sin. Was I asking to recover or redeem myself?
To the contrary – I wanted to set myself free. Free from the pain. Free from my parents’ abuse. Free from the hatred I held towards myself for not knowing any other way out.
I wish people could be kind about suicidal thoughts and attempts.
It would have been for me, not a crying out in a desperate attempt to be noticed – who the hell was even looking? It was a very personal cry to myself to have the suffering of being alive – end.
My teenage years just brought another burden. A burden to keep myself alive. I didn’t come into those years with gratitude and joy. I was bummed by them. Now, I had to try to bury everything that had been done to me, put on a happy face and thrive. It was my turn to become an adult.
Say, what? How was I supposed to do that? I’d only been taught to let others take from me. How was I supposed to give now to myself?
So, you know what I did? I picked another abusive relationship to jump into. That way, I died slowly each day. No growth. No burden to change what I knew.
The gift? I was still alive.
6 thoughts on “A Noose Around My Neck”
For me, suicidal thoughts have always been a coping mechanism. Just knowing that I can end it at any time gave me some relief from feeling trapped. These days I dont go there as often, but when I do, I always try to figure out what is making me feel trapped and why.
“Just knowing that I can end it at any time. . .” Suffering can be so long – at times maybe it feels endless. Thanks for commenting. Glad we’re both on the other side and working more on the why and how to get back on the road of life.
Yup, suicide ideation for me was a way to survive. Thank you for sharing these words!
That’s why I’m here. Our stories may not have been the same, but I feel like the aftermath of abuse does play out in similar ways.
Glad you’re still here.
Me too! Thank you.