Storied Past

I can still remember the day I tried to kill myself.  I don’t remember the date exactly, or even what day of the week, but I remember the decision and the attempt vividly.  It was winter and I was at the end of my emotional rope.  I was living in Pinawa, Manitoba at the time and my best friend had recently committed suicide.  I remember writing the note to my girlfriend at the time, letting her know she could have my guitars and music collection.  I genuinely felt that I was doing the right thing.  I was completely convinced that my existence on earth was detrimental and that my absence would create a better place for everyone that I loved.  I didn’t think about how sad people would be; I really didn’t think that anyone would be.  I didn’t think that in an “everybody hates me” kind of way, but more as a “I’m completely insignificant” kind of way.  It was a helpless and hopeless feeling that I felt I could not talk about.  I remember coming home from school before anyone was home, walking downstairs while removing my belt and heading straight for my room.  My bedroom was in the basement and had the bare joists as my ceiling.  There were random nails sticking out at different places and I had decided to nail my belt up and put it around my neck.  The ceilings were low, so I needed something short in order for it to work.  I remember the feeling of relief that I felt as I slip the belt around my neck.  I remember the euphoria as I jumped from my bed and I remember the intense disappointment when the belt broke.  I had been so set on doing it that the idea of failure didn’t cross my mind.  I hit the floor with a thud.  I heard the back door open and my mom walk in, so I quickly gathered myself, threw the belt under my bed and turned my music up.  I would have to try it another day.  I went on as if nothing was wrong.  I even went to school the next day, forgetting the note I had given to my girlfriend. I was met by the guidance counselor and that was my first brush with getting help for my mental illness.  I was taken to a house in Selkirk, Manitoba where I wasn’t allowed belts, watches, jewelry of any kind.  I had to ask permission to play my guitar and I took part in numerous group therapies for the couple of weeks that I lived there.  It was Christmas time and I missed out on a lot of things during that time.  I am immensely thankful for the people there and I hope this story will inspire others to seek help.  Life can have hope and mental illness is not meant to be suffered alone.  Reach out if you feel the world collapsing.  Please.IMG_4154.JPG


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