Content warning: May be triggering for those experiencing suicidal thoughts.

When suicide gets brought into a conversation, many people want to shut it down and shove it deep into a hole. People are embarrassed to talk about someone killing themselves because they look at it as a failure or a selfish person. When honestly, that person is probably stronger than any of us, but they couldn't be strong on their own anymore.

People do not realize that there are real-life demons that people face every single day. When I was younger, I was terrified to talk about what I faced every day and how I had horrible thoughts and ended up acted on them — twice. But I look at our society and see so much pain. I would share bits and pieces of my struggles and often received messages from those stating that I helped them realize there's hope and that they are not alone. That helped me carry on. Those messages helped me become open, in hopes that if I can help one person realize they are not alone, that's why I'm still here today.

I was 14 or 15 when I started getting severely depressed.

Girls are mean and boys make you feel on top of the world for one day and the next they found something better. I mean, honestly not much different than what we ladies go through in our 20s. It was a constant struggle to make myself appear as nothing bothered me. My home life was good compared to others. I had food on the table, clean clothes every day, and a bed to sleep on. My parents did all they could for me. But I watched them argue a lot. I watched the way they looked at me when they first found out I tried to kill myself. I watched them struggle to figure out what to do with me. I started to hate going home. I found a guy that became my "new home" that I latched onto for too many years. I really lost myself through my teens and young adult life.

I was just trying to survive every day. It was exhausting.

I remember begging for it to just be over with. Begging for the pain to go away.

When I was 15, I tried to kill myself with over-the-counter pills. I sat on my bed and swallowed 20 something different types of pills. A half-hour later I puked. A few weeks later my parents sat me down after dinner to talk about the drama going on at school. The drama that made me want to take the pills, so the pain would go away. The girls were awful. The number of names I had been called at only 15 years old was nauseating. My parents always wanted to believe it would just go away after high school. The girls did, but the pain and depression from years of being harassed and bullied every day followed.

At 22, I tried to kill myself again.

I spent 20 minutes looking up ways to kill myself, sobbing into my phone. I knew of the obvious ways, but I wanted to know it would work.

On January 4, 2020 I tried to hang myself.

It all seems like a blur. Next thing I knew I was in the mental health hospital. I had to stay there for 4 days — a 72-hour hold. I got asked so many questions by so many people. It was exhausting, to say the least. I remember the one question psychiatrists and doctors kept asking was why I tried to commit suicide.

Every time I said, I just wanted the pain to go away.

Up until January 4, the last time I cut my wrists was in October of 2019. I do not do it often, only when the thoughts are too much to handle. I would cut my wrists to take the mental pain and make it physical. It made sense to me. Maybe it makes sense to you, too.

My main goal in writing about my own attempts and struggles is to hope that maybe it will help you, or someone you know realize that you're not alone. Those thoughts can be extremely scary. And sometimes you can not do it on your own — sometimes you need help.

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