Suicidal Thoughts

They always try to make out like it is this great thing when you have stopped trying to kill yourself. People say when was your last suicidal thought – a week ago, month ago – but all I think is everyday. Sure some days, it is not all that bad. If they really wanted to listen and know the truth, I would tell them even on good days, I think about killing myself. Yesterday, I stepped out into the road without even looking even though I was having a great day. Sometimes, I will light up a cigarette or starve myself. These may not look like suicide attempts to you. That is what it means though, to be suicidal. I cannot go a single day without hurting myself somehow. So although you think it might be great that I have not overdosed or slit my wrists or hung myself, you are seeing what you want to. I am not living as a person should. If you listened, you would know that I cannot escape it. You would know that I do not choose it. It is not this simple decision. It is this fight in which you either win or die trying.



I guess it feels like I should write. I should really pour out everything that I have been thinking because I know I have not done that for a while. I remember how great I thought blogging was going to be for expressing myself and I remember how I fell in love with writing. Then, everything got really bad. The depression was pretty bad and the fallout from it even worse. I lost friends I thought I would have for a long time. I lost interest in my passion, studying, my degree and all forms of learning in the end. I could barely finish what I needed to do. What is worse is that I really began to hate myself more and more each day. Every time I was screwing up and not being the person that everyone expected me to be, the more depressed I became. Until I did not want to exist anymore. I suppose the good thing is that I am still existing. However, I am not really living. I have completely and totally forgotten how to do that. I have forgotten how to enjoy life. I struggle to do more than exist. I live in this world of terrorist attacks and fires and random people messing with your life for no apparent reason. I do not even know what there is to enjoy anymore. Right now, my existence hurts more than I care to admit. My existence really does not seem to mean much. In a world where my parents do not seem to care whether I am dead or alive and I cannot make a single decision about what to do with my life or where to go, it seems silly to still be here. I am here and I am hurting. I am hurting because at least when you are depressed you do not have to feel. So when everyone keeps telling me to fight it, the truth is, I would rather be completely emotionless. It does not exactly seem like there is a lot of good coming my way for me to enjoy. I cannot maintain friendships. The people I care about seem so far away. I cannot date or be honest or vulnerable with someone because I am just too damaged. I wonder if my family will ever give a damn. I wonder if my sister could love and care for someone she calls manipulative. I wish I knew where I belonged or what the right place for me was. I wish all the little things could sort of themselves out or that I would have some kind of support. Thing is, it is just me, in this alone and who knows how I do that. I certainly have no idea. So I guess I will continue to try, I will continue to work it out as I go along and this is my promise to myself to continue to write.

Being Suicidal

So many people thing that suicidal thoughts are just this simple thing you can overcome. They think that depression is a state of mind and you can just choose to be happy. Well, they are ignorant. It is not easy to be this way. It is a continuous battle. Unfortunately, there are only two options here – win or die trying. I am suicidal. I always think that maybe I am no longer suicidal as the days pass since the last suicide attempt and there are no plans for another in the near future. I wonder why I do it…do I want love? attention? is it to end the pain?

I can be happy for a while. I smile. I laugh. I talk to people. I go outside. It just suddenly goes away with no explanation and the thoughts are there. Actually, I think they are always there. I do not think they ever go away. I think that there are simply distractions so that you do not notice them. I live too dangerously to not be suicidal. Even in my happy moments, I am pushing limits. I think that is what being suicidal means. Taking too many risks knowing full well the dangers. Not living. I feel as though I am merely existing. It is a little tragic. It is all that I know now.

I hope to one day break the cycle. To be able to say that I will never go back to contemplating suicide, because I have so much to live for. Every time I say it now, I know that it is true, but it just will not sink in. I can never believe it. I tell myself that this is only temporary. One day, it will stick and I will be so glad that I held on. If I die though, I do not think it is some kind of crime. I can honestly say that I do not know whether it takes more strength to die or to hold on. Either way, I am trying to be strong. I will see where that lead me.


I want a family:

A mother and father

Who care about me.

People who truly

Have my best interests

In their hearts.

Parents who do not

Push for the best grades

Or that I break world

Records, but ask

‘What do you want from

Your life?’ because the

Answers are fairly

Simple. I want love.

I want a family,

Honesty, respect,

People who listen to

One another and work

Together to achieve the

Best for each other.

I want it, crave it,

No matter how broken

Or dysfunctional,

I want it to work.


I am a coward. I am scared of the truth. I am scared to write because the truth comes out. I am scared to die, because I do not want to forget to say goodbye to someone and destroy the rest of their life. I do not want to be selfish. I want to be strong enough to live, but whenever I gain strength, I always end up thinking that this time: I will be strong enough to die. This limbo of not knowing what takes more courage is painful. I want the pain to end. I try. I fight. I am strong. Why did no one tell me how to do it? Why did no one teach me? I feel so unequipped for this life.

I become so haunted all the time. Mistakes, regrets, what ifs….why do we do it to ourselves? Why can I not stop seeing the faces, the moments that cause nothing but pain? Why does it still hurt? Why do I want to stop so badly that I really would give up? What is this pathetic existence? It is not a life. I can tell you that. I am not living anymore. I am merely existing. I want to scream so loud for someone to come and save me, but no one is coming. I know that I am the only one to save myself. If I was not such a coward, maybe I could do it.

This pain is completely horrendous. Fighting everyday is exhausting. Faking that smile and pretending that you just got a bad night’s sleep when in reality you spent the night reliving every hurt over and over until you truly wished you ceased to existence. Then having to fight that feeling, whilst staring at yourself wondering how you got here, wondering how it all went so wrong. That is where I struggle. I tell myself, hold on for them. For the ones it will hurt, because no one should have this pain. Why can I not hold on for me? Why have I become so worthless, so unimportant, so meaningless that I feel I have nothing left but other people? How did this happen? I need to undo it….but where do I start?


This is for someone who

Silently saves my life,

On an almost daily basis.

Someone who has no idea

What they are doing

By simply allowing me

To speak freely, selfishly.

Someone who I would be

Lost without, because

My mind would be filled

Constantly with no one

To turn to and I know

That would eventually

Eat me up entirely.

Someone who is there

With the right response

When I never expected

To speak to anyone.

Someone who surprises

Me, because it is not

Words that save but

Always acts of kindness.

So whilst I may be a

Nightmare to deal with,

Someone, you should

Know it goes noticed.

It is so noticed in fact

That I am living,

Breathing and even

Smiling right now.

Sometimes, it just

Takes someone to

Be able to bring you

Back from the darkest

Moments and when

That someone is

Always there, what

Do you even say…

Thank you seems

Too small to express

This level of gratitude.

Goodbye Mother

So…I did something dumb. I am just a human. Trying the best I can, you know. I woke up and it was dark. It was so insanely dark. I was searching for reasons, searching in the dark. Like a small child, curled up and scared, I only thought of one thing. I thought of my mother. When I called she said she could not speak, she was in a meeting, but would called back. Then she called to ask why I was upset and I said it was not something that I could put into a sentence so she would call after her meeting. We spoke and I wanted to tell her about me. About how I was in a lot of pain and no longer wanted to live.

She let me know that she was pleased that I was going to do a masters as my sister had informed her yesterday. I explained that I had failed a component of my course and I am in no state to do my exam tomorrow so I will be graduating later. This set her off. She asked why it was the first she was hearing of it and I explained that an F is not something you openly come to a parent with for fear of disappointment. However she decided that I had said that it was all her fault, that I was coming to a conclusion that my mental state right now is because of an F grade that I could not tell her about. I did not tell anyone, because I thought I had it handled. I retook and retook, thinking that all would be alright in the end, if I could just improve the grade. It did not improve now and I am at the end. Running out of time. So I tried to explain to you calmly that I would not graduate until September.

You are irritated. You begin to say how I am weak. I crumble too easily. I want to tell you that I am hurting. So so much and not because of an F, but because I have been through hell and survived it. I was never going to escape without getting burnt. So when you tell me that I crumble too easily and you have experienced more trauma than I will know in my life…explain what you mean. You have only expressed your struggle in moving country and being a single parent. I understand that this world has hurt you. I understand that you have your own problems. Domestic violence is unfair. So is rape. So is child abuse. So is bullying and manipulation. Stop victim blaming. These things crush your soul more than any man could ever break my heart.

So now that I have been crushed to the point where nothing is left and yet somehow I am still fighting, you tell me I crumble too easily. She would not listen. She would not stop the sound of her own voice to take in what I was saying. She never has. And I asked until the point where I was begging. Please listen to me. Stop talking. Talking means that you are not listening. To her, these words are disrespectful. So she said same old with you. Always the same. Always attention seeking. Well you know what, grow up. You are 21 now. You are supposed to be an adult. So get over it. I did not realise adults could not suffer…tell me the secret to suddenly surviving and getting over it. I still cannot let people near me. I am still suffering. The years go by and I am struggling to figure out what is going on with me.

Really, you are the one who is attention seeking, again. Then you wonder why I do not come to you. When I need help, I have to reassure you. You tell me you do not care what I do with my life, figure it out on my own, you are done. You tell me that I do not value you as a mother. If we go back to why I called…I hit rock bottom. I was in crisis and I needed some level of appreciation from you. I needed to feel like I was not a burden, a disappointment or someone who does not deserve to exist. You did not help though. Once again, I felt worthless and here I was giving you value. You think that is what children are for but you are so wrong. You could not even reassure me about a bad grade, let alone about ending my life.

Rupi was right. We really do need to stop looking for healing at the feet of those who broke us. So I am done. Completely done. I tried and now I am done trying. Other people hear me when you will not, so I will not look to you. You gave me every reason to cut you out. You gave me exactly what I was looking for. What I expected. You may be my mother and you will never know how much I love you or how grateful I really am, because you simply do not listen. I do not measure up on your materialistic scale. This time, you were right. We should not talk. So goodbye mother, I am done with you.

Stay Away

Stay out of the way of

My anger and destruction.

Trust me on this one.

More than anything,

I need to save you.

You need to be kept away

From me – I am dangerous.

I fear myself, more

Than anything else out there.

I cannot control myself

Which leaves you in danger,

So get out the way and

Stay out of the way.

Get as far as you can away

Whilst you still can.

It has to be this way.

I only cause pain.

Please, just stay away.


A Letter I Wish I Could Send

I know that you have not been taking me seriously, so I have decided to spell it out for you. On April 30th 2017, I was in the hospital having overdosed on painkillers. I took them at around 1pm. I had not been drinking. It was logic that led me to this point. I have been feeling low for quite some time now and despite me constant cries for help, I am usually unanswered. I fight on my own. On this particular day, I did try. I told myself outside on a walk. I like to be outside and around nature to feel better. I sat in a tree and I cried and cried. I remembered everything. I remembered all the pain and the hurt. I remember every unbearable pain I have had to experience. You say I should be grateful that I am still here alive. I am grateful for a life. You have to understand though that I have come to a conclusion that I have no future. I have a long, lonely and painful existence ahead of me. I merely exist. I cannot allow people near me or into my space. I long for people and things that are just too far out of reach, because of the person that I have become. I hate myself for being this person. So after the tears would not stop, I went home and I sat in the shower. The pounding in my head was becoming unbearable. The water could not wash away the tears and the pain as it often is able to. So I got out the shower and took the pills. It was meant to be just two, the recommended amount and I would sleep of the headache and drink loads of water. However, an uncontrollable force in me took over and I swallowed the whole strip one after the other. I did not want to hurt myself and this seemed so easy and pain-free. I had not eaten and the first thing I did was go online. I wanted to know what would happen. If I would suffer greatly or die. I knew that I had essentially poisoned myself. The internet was absolutely useless in telling me what would happen so I called a helpline just to enquire about what I could expect to happen before I died. I figured with an overdose, I would have time to write letters and make peace with the goodbye. Instead the woman on the phone got an ambulance to come as close to me as possible and it arrived a few hours later. I had been sleeping and was feeling slightly dizzy and disoriented. They checked my liver and kidneys and gave me an antidote in the hospital for the toxins that were building up in an attempt to break down the pills. They told me they were trying to prevent liver failure. I was completely out of it in the hospital and after a lot of crying and protesting because I hate people touching me, I fell asleep. I screamed at the man who woke me in the night to take my blood pressure. As he was doing it, I saw two women at the end of my bed – the psychiatry team. We went to a room to talk for a while about the goings-on in my head and they let me know that I have a complex array of mental illnesses. I have been this way for quite some time now. The longer it goes on, the more I pretend, the worse it gets. I am breaking down. So whilst you may not want to admit that you have a daughter with a problem, I am here to tell you that you do. I am so ridiculously complicated that they are struggling to determine what is wrong. They have gone from thinking it is post-traumatic stress disorder to depression to psychosis to anxiety to obsessive compulsive disorder to autism spectrum disorder to borderline personality disorder to dissociation to bipolar and they still have no idea what it is. This essentially means that I have no treatment, whilst I receive no support from the people who I thought cared. It is not a joke. It is not something that is all in my head. Logically, I know that I have a great life. I know that I have something to hold onto and achieve if I could only get better. Rational thinking escapes me in these moments. It is not an act of imagination. It is real. It is terrifying. It is the darkness seeping in. Taking over. I lose all control. I have ben going to counselling for a very long time and I continue to relapse back to the darkness. This was not my first attempt at suicide. However, it was the one that got me the attention I needed from services. The attention that I have needed from the people around has not come. I have slipped away each time and continued pretending that I can live like this. The truth is, I cannot survive it not like this. If you cannot understand that I am suffered from a fatal illness, something that is going to kill me, because I will become so exhausted that I stop fighting, that is shocking to me. This is a leading killer in this world. I know that I am so damn strong because as bad as it gets inside, I am still here. I am desperate. I want all the help I can get and that in itself is remarkable. I refuse to suffer in silence anymore. I am here trying not to cause pain to others and that is the only reason I have to fight. Luckily, I have good people in my life so that is a pretty amazing reason. If medication is the answer, I will try it. If it is cognitive behavioural therapy, I will try it. Nothing is working anymore. I have stopped looking after myself and eating well and exercising. I try really hard because I know these things allow me to feel better, but I have no energy and no will anymore. So I need help, desperately. If you cannot understand that then I am shocked. I am ashamed to be your daughter, because althoguh you may be ashamed of me for being this way, your crime is far worse. It is not all in my head. It is not my fault. It is not a phase. I am not weird. I do need help. For now, that is all.


I told myself I would never watch this show. I told myself it would be dangerous. Not suitable for suicide or rape survivors. (I would still advise to survivors to be cautious – there are a lot of triggers.) I have never been able to read or watch anything containing rape. This proved difficult when the book you needed to read was for your final year English exam. I realised though that I am becoming stronger. Even though I am stronger, it is not easy. Especially now. Especially when the suicidal thoughts are back.

I was in the hospital for more assessments and I could not sleep. I was thinking about this show. This show that has had so much attention that I refused to watch. About what it really means. I needed to know. So I came home. Sleep may have be smarter. I had not slept. Instead, I just took the remote and put it on. I was fascinated as I always am with suicide. She describes it so well. The empty. The nothing. Not caring. Not being able to care about anything. There are people who care, but no one cares enough. I am no one’s first choice.

This show makes me mad. It also makes me so happy. Happy that I was able to watch it. I was strong. I am still here. I feel better for it. I watched the pain and suffering. I watched what happens to every person you leave behind. Even those who you think will not be affected. Whilst I am mad that Clay did not speak up, did not tell her that she was his first choice, I love the creation of this character. It is so real. He grieves. He responds as we hope that guys will not, when we reach out and try to be honest. Go away is really a sign that you are hurting. Walking out is a prompt to go after someone. I was mad about the guidance counsellor. I get mad every time people reach out and no one does anything.

Sometimes we need strangers, sometimes we need friends. I found an accuracy in the portrayal of characters. We are all wrapped up in our own things. People slip away. Suicide is one of the biggest killers. It is not cancer. It is depression. We let it happen. This show really shows that there are so many reasons why and we are all reasons why. In everything that we do and do not do, things are set in motion. Silence makes it worse. That is why I write. So whilst I told myself not to watch this show, I am glad I did. It shows all the warning signs. It shows the reality of it.

I do not think that it glorifies suicide. It was difficult to watch. It was brutally honest. It was real. It showed the impact and effects of everything that is done. Once I started I could not stop. I took breaks and as I got further in, I realised I should not be alone. So I moved and continued. I could not stop. I had to know why. Many of the reasons are similar to why I have considered it. I want to know how to overcome, I do not want to go unnoticed. I liked the line suicide is for the weak. I watched how the characters fell apart afterwards. I watched the destruction. I watched not for her, but for him. I fell in love with his character. I watched a girl in desperate need of help. I watched a guy who did not know.

I watched until he found out everything. I had to know everything. I had to see. He did what I could not have expected. People say she did it out of revenge. I do not think she had her mind on that in that moment. She provided an explanation. The best peace of mind that she could provide for those who did not understand. With that explanation, he did so much for her. He suffered and struggled and wanted to die, but lived. He brought crimes into the light. I really fell in love with this character.

If anything, this showed girls in need of help. It showed bullying. It showed how vulnerable teenagers are. It showed how ignorant parents are. It showed why we do not ask for help when we need it most, because the responses really are awful. It did not mention mental illness, but the signs were all there.

“You don’t know what goes on in anyone’s life but your own. And when you mess with one part of a person’s life, you’re not messing with just that part. Unfortunately, you can’t be that precise and selective. When you mess with one part of a person’s life, you’re messing with their entire life. Everything affects everything.”

Why people do not get this, I do not know. Why people do not think before their actions, I can never understand. The show was very much about her and her road to suicide, but I think all the characters depicted something. Anxiety and depression and grief and PTSD. It is true that you mess with people’s lives. Now you know about me not trusting people. Now you know about me protecting myself. Maybe, it is a mental illness. I have not been diagnosed with anything. So I cannot tell you for sure. I am getting help. I can tell you that to me, it is real. This is real. Trust is not there. Honesty is not there.

Emptiness is here. I have no hope. I see nothing but pain. I am strong. I will not choose suicide. It begins with thoughts, then attempts until it finally happens. You switch off, you die. Or you fight. You are lost. You do not fit in. But you fight. That is what this show really showed. The difference. It showed that you can live. It showed two different rape stories. It showed different depression stories. It showed bullying. It showed bad and good parenting. It showed choices and it made it clear, it was a choice. It was her choice. Everyone is entitled to choice. It is not a choice that I will make.

You consider it a lot, when you are in the dark, but the light does come. That is the difference. That is what makes me mad. That is what makes me happy. I do consider it. I do not always have the help that I need. I have more than her though. I will never be that lost. I am constantly being found. I am self-motivated. That is all you really need to tell yourself. Sometimes, the only reason is not to cause others pain. You are already in pain, it makes no difference to you. That is a good enough reason for me. It is a reason.

So instead of listing the reasons you want to die, list the reasons not to. Read them over and over. Etch them on your heart. There are always reasons to live. There are always alternatives. My list of names may be smaller, but it is still there. My reasons grow. With every sunset, there is another small glimmer of hope. I hold on to that. Thirteen is my favourite number. So from now on I will tell myself the thirteen reasons why. I will remember the reasons why I live.