The Day After I Killed Myself

The Day After I Killed Myself

Suicide prevention starts with you.

The day after I killed myself started off as any other.

The birds chirp, the sun rises, but I am not there to experience it. My roommate awakes with the warm sun on her face and starts her normal routine, not yet aware. She notices that I have not gotten up yet, but that's perfectly normal, as I tend to sleep late. She moves on with her day. My boyfriend, after getting into a fight with me the night before, texts me, but I do not respond. "She must be sleeping" he thinks, and rushes to class. Soon, they realize that this is no coincidence, something must be wrong. They find me, cold and lifeless on the double bed with elephant print sheets. They call my parents, horrified. My loved ones are devastated. My mother falls to her knees at work. Their world is crashing down.

My mom, more concerned about my mental health than me, blames herself. She knew something was off, she tells herself, you should have known. You should have reminded her take her medication, you should have helped her to make counseling appointments. My dad is angry and sad, and takes it out on my mom. Their marriage is in trouble, but for good should never have to bury your own child, but this is the reality that they now faced. My brother blames himself. He was too busy with school to check up on me. He tells himself that he should have done more, and should have made a better effort. My brother contemplates taking a leave of absence from school, because he is worried about the state of my family, and his own internal emotions. My family torments themselves with what ifs- what if we said I love you more? Would anything have changed? Would she still be here?

My boyfriend analyzes our last fight to every last detail, trying to figure out what went wrong, what he did wrong. He reads the texts between us over and over, watches the saved snapchat videos, fixed on my face, my smile, my eyes- those of which he will never see again. He floats through his day of work, school, and extra cirriculars wondering if this is a dream, a nightmare, an alternate reality. Whatever it is, he hopes to wake up from it soon. Loving someone so intensely, planning your future together, all to be taken away with one impulsive decision is a horrible burden to bear.

My old friends, ex friends, and acquaintances post long paragraphs facebook, ending it with "if you need help, don't hesitate to talk to me" with suicide hotline numbers at the bottom of the post. Where were they when I needed them? Where were they when I needed to talk? Often, people are too self-involved. They may see someone acting strange, whether it be on social media or in person, but quickly forget due to other priorities. What if they had reached out to me, would that have made any difference? Some of them beat themselves up about it, but others will forget with time.

The day after I killed myself, my parents have to worry about funeral statements and how to suspend my apartment lease and how to withdraw me from school. They have to worry about millions of things and put aside their grieving process. They feel numb in their mind and body, but these things have to get done- they must carry on with work and their responsibilities. This is not something that I would wish on my worst enemy.

The day after I killed myself, the University puts out a message regarding my passing and the campus resources for mental illness and suicide. Where were those resources when I was in need? Many people on college campuses are not fully aware of all resources available. I have talked with people at Drexel that are completely unaware that there even is a counseling center. Unfortunately, I was one of these people who didn't know how to get help.

The day after I killed myself, the pain in my family and community is unbearable. Memories and photographs are all that is left of me, and in time, these will fade and perish. This will be a weight that my family, friends, and acquaintances have to bear for the rest of their lives.

The day after I killed myself, I look at my body, cold and lifeless on the double bed with the elephant print sheets. I wish I could wake her, shake her, make her see that this is a mistake, and that she has so much to live for. I wish I could show her the pain that is rippling through the community, and especially her loved ones. I wish I could show her how much she was loved by everyone she knew. I wish I could show her a glimpse of her future life in a happy marriage with beautiful children and a job that she is passionate about, but that option was quickly and impulsively taken away with a bottle of pills. I wish I could hug her and tell her that her problems are temporary, and the only way to maintain stability is to go to counseling, take your meds and to stop bottling your feelings up. I wish I could show her how much everyone cares and loves her deeply. I'm getting more desperate. I'm screaming at the top of my lungs at her to get up but she can't hear me, for she's already gone. It's too late. I'm out of breath and I'm tired of screaming. This is permanent, and she's not getting up. She's never getting up. The sun rises, the birds chirp, but I am not there to experience it.

This is the end for me, but it doesn't have to be for you.

Life is precious. Make sure that you let your loved ones know how much you care before it's too late. Know the warning signs, know how to get someone help. Be patient and understanding, it goes a long way.

To my fellow survivors- you are strong, you are brave, and you will make it through. It may seem dark and dreary now, but the sun will rise tomorrow and being the promise of a brand new day. Know when to ask for help. This is not a sign of weakness, but a sign of strength. From a survivor to another survivor, I believe in you, and know that this pain is temporary. The love that your family, friends, and community members isn't, they love you with every fiber in their being, even if it isn't said often enough. Remember that, and above all else, get help.

Crisis Hotlines:

National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255

The Trevor Project (LGBT): 1-866-488-7386

Philadelphia Behavioral Health: (215) 686-4420

Trans Lifeline (LGBT): 877-565-8860

Lifeline Crisis Chat:

Crisis Text Line: Text "GO" to 741741

Cover Image Credit: Pexels

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To The Person Who Feels Suicidal But Doesn't Want To Die

Suicidal thoughts are not black and white.

Everyone assumes that if you have suicidal thoughts that means you want to die.

Suicidal thoughts are thought of in such black-and-white terms. Either you have suicidal thoughts and you want to die, or you don't have suicidal thoughts and you want to live. What most people don't understand is there are some stuck in the gray area of those two statements, I for one am one of them.

I've had suicidal thoughts since I was a kid.

My first recollection of it was when I came home after school one day and got in trouble, and while I was just sitting in the dining room I kept thinking, “I wonder what it would be like to take a knife from the kitchen and just shove it into my stomach." I didn't want to die, or even hurt myself for that matter. But those thoughts haven't stopped since.

I've thought about going into the bathroom and taking every single pill I could find and just drifting to sleep and never waking back up, I've thought about hurting myself to take the pain away, just a few days ago on my way to work I thought about driving my car straight into a tree. But I didn't. Why? Because even though that urge was so strong, I didn't want to die. I still don't, I don't want my life to end.

I don't think I've ever told anyone about these feelings. I don't want others to worry because the first thing anyone thinks when you tell them you have thoughts about hurting or killing yourself is that you're absolutely going to do it and they begin to panic. Yes, I have suicidal thoughts, but I don't want to die.

It's a confusing feeling, it's a scary feeling.

When the depression takes over you feel like you aren't in control. It's like you're drowning.

Every bad memory, every single thing that hurt you, every bad thing you've ever done comes back and grabs you by the ankle and drags you back under the water just as you're about the reach the surface. It's suffocating and not being able to do anything about it.

The hardest part is you never know when these thoughts are going to come. Some days you're just so happy and can't believe how good your life is, and the very next day you could be alone in a dark room unable to see because of the tears welling up in your eyes and thinking you'd be better off dead. You feel alone, you feel like a burden to everyone around you, you feel like the world would be better off without you. I wish it was something I could just turn off but I can't, no matter how hard I try.

These feelings come in waves.

It feels like you're swimming and the sun is shining and you're having a great time until a wave comes and sucks you under into the darkness of the water. No matter how hard you try to reach the surface again a new wave comes and hits you back under again, and again, and again.

And then it just stops.

But you never know when the next wave is going to come. You never know when you're going to be sucked back under.

I always wondered if I was the only one like this.

It didn't make any sense to me, how did I think about suicide so often but not want to die? But I was thinking about it in black and white, I thought I wasn't allowed to have those feelings since I wasn't going to act on them. But then I read articles much like this one and I realized I'm not the only one. Suicidal thoughts aren't black and white, and my feelings are valid.

To everyone who feels this way, you aren't alone.

I thought I was for the longest time, I thought I was the only one who felt this way and I didn't understand how I could feel this way. But please, I implore you to talk to someone, anyone, about the way you're feeling, whether it be a family member, significant other, a friend, a therapist.

My biggest mistake all these years was never telling anyone how I feel in fear that they would either brush me off because “who could be suicidal but not want to die?" or panic and try to commit me to a hospital or something. Writing this article has been the greatest feeling of relief I've felt in a long time, talking about it helps. I know it's scary to tell people how you're feeling, but you're not alone and you don't have to go through this alone.

Suicidal thoughts aren't black and white, your feelings are valid, and there are people here for you. You are not alone.

If you or someone you know is experiencing suicidal thoughts, call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline — 1-800-273-8255

Cover Image Credit: BengaliClicker

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In Real Life, 'Plus Size' Means A Size 16 And Up, Not Just Women Who Are Size 8's With Big Breasts

The media needs to understand this, and give recognition to actual plus-size women.


Recently, a British reality dating TV show called "Love Island" introduced that a plus-sized model would be in the season five lineup of contestants. This decision was made after the show was called out for not having enough diversity in its contestants. However, the internet was quick to point out that this "plus-size model" is not an accurate representation of the plus-size community.

@abidickson01 on

Anna Vakili, plus-size model and "Love Island "Season 5 Contestant Yahoo UK News

It is so frustrating that the media picks and chooses women that are the "ideal" version of plus sized. In the fashion world, plus-size starts at size 8. EIGHT. In real life, plus-size women are women who are size 16 and up. Plunkett Research, a marketing research company, estimated in 2018 that 68% of women in America wear a size 16 to 18. This is a vast difference to what we are being told by the media. Just because a woman is curvy and has big breasts, does NOT mean that they are plus size. Marketing teams for television shows, magazines, and other forms of media need to realize that the industry's idea of plus size is not proportionate to reality.

I am all for inclusion, but I also recognize that in order for inclusion to actually happen, it needs to be accurate.

"Love Island" is not the only culprit of being unrealistic in woman's sizes, and I don't fully blame them for this choice. I think this is a perfect example of the unrealistic expectations that our society puts on women. When the media tells the world that expectations are vastly different from reality, it causes women to internalize that message and compare themselves to these unrealistic standards.

By bringing the truth to the public, it allows women to know that they should not compare themselves and feel bad about themselves. Everyone is beautiful. Picking and choosing the "ideal" woman or the "ideal" plus-size woman is completely deceitful. We as a society need to do better.

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