What it's like on the other side of suicide

I don’t know what it’s like to not think about death. Usually that death is mine.

Death is fascinating. What happens after we die has always plagued my thoughts. I to know the answer, but finding out terrifies me. I panic daily knowing that one day I will get my answer.

When I’m numb I look for an outlet. I need the release. I need to know that I am still alive. So I think about death.

I imagine ways in which I would die. I’ve never shot myself or drowned. They seem too scary, to final. It is always sharp objects or pills. The thought of bleeding out peacefully has always been a thought in my head that keeps me alive. If I’m not bleeding out. I’m safe. I’m alive. I think of pouring pill after pill down my throat. Swallowing them with a symbolic finality of sickness. But if I’m not holding those pills, I’m alive. I’m safe.

I’ve escaped death more times than I count. Even though it’s from my own two hands, it’s still survival. I survive every day. If I go to bed at night with no pills in my hand or no knife under my pillow I know it’s a good day. Life is beautiful. My family and friends keep me safe. They keep me alive.

And today, I’m safe. I’m Alive.