2014.
Every morning I would wake up.
And I would cry.
As a healthy 21-year-old, I’m not sure what I expected to occur in my sleep, but I was angry to be alive another day.
School was letter Q on my alphabetical list of priorities. A week had gone by before I realized I never submitted an online exam for a history course I was taking. I probably would have remembered sooner had I been showing up to the lectures.
Was this an unconscious slip because I stopped caring about everything? Or was I intentionally trying to achieve failure in all aspects of my life so that it would be easier to kill myself? Probably both.
To be clear, I was never this kind of student. I was an undergraduate physician assistant major with an “anything below 98 is failure” kind of attitude… before I hit rock bottom.
I had incredible support. People pulled out every trick in their hats to try to make me feel better, even if just for one day. Alas, there was no rabbit that could cure me. I would think, “For the love of God, Emily, smile. Do this for them. They are trying so hard. Stop being so selfish.” Yet, no expression could be found on my face.
On Mar. 9, 2014, I decided I would not burden these people any longer, and I tried to kill myself.
As I am writing this, I did not die. I did, however, hear voices, see things that weren’t there and experienced the most painful stomach-ache of my life. During the night, it got so bad that I wanted to call someone and confess what I had done, but the pain was so unbearable I could not move from fetal position to grab my phone (unless I was running to the bathroom to vomit).
Writing about my attempt never seemed beneficial to me. I know if I had read an attempt about another person while I was suicidal, I would have romanticized the event. Because of how stupid my attempt was, though, my hope is anyone who reads this will be strongly deterred.
When I woke up the next morning (still sick), I knew that, one, I sure as hell not going to try anything like that again and, two, I needed to get help.
I didn’t realize that help would include staying in a psychiatric hospital for a week. I didn’t realize that would include many of the faculty from school advising me to withdraw from the rest of the semester. I didn’t realize that would include my boyfriend at the time telling me, “I can’t be known as the kid dating the suicide attempter” (That one still hurts). And I didn’t realize that would include the friends I had been living with suggesting I stay with family because I was not getting better with their help. I was seemingly getting worse.
At this point, I had done exactly what I was trying to do, fail in every aspect of life so that I would have no reason to keep going. But, at rock bottom, I was still here, and this unexpected feeling came over me. I wanted to climb back up.
My depression became ambition. Everyone’s decision to fold their cards allowed me to scoop up all of the chips in the middle. Validation from others on how to keep on going was no longer necessary. I now had all I needed in my hands. Little-by-little, I began to utilize this new-found power.
I started exercising outside to combat my low energy (and to get excited about spring). In doing so, I discovered the beauty of sunsets. For me, they are the most beautiful prize our souls are given after enduring a long day.
Admittedly, it was the worst semester for my GPA. I let myself tank almost every class, but I refused to withdraw. School was something I had complete control over and results were measurable of the work I put in. I had to deal with C’s for the first time in my life, but it taught me the world keeps on spinning.
Those friends I had once lived with are still my friends. I love them and know they are proud of my progress.
The boyfriend is an ex-boyfriend. While what he said is one of the most hurtful things I’ve ever been told, I do not hold on to any anger. My revenge has simply been the reminder to keep getting better, for myself.
And, also, writing this to show that I do not care what people may think of me.
2016.
The two-year mark had just passed. Last year, I made new March memories by going to California with my best friend for spring break. It was the best experience of my life, and I would have never experienced that had I succeeded in killing myself. This year, I spent the day outside, alone, hiking in a rare sunny-and-75 kind of day in North-east Pennsylvania.
Looking back, I often say that I would do anything to spare the exhaustion I put so many through. Yet, I do not fully regret having been in that dark place because it forced me to build my own fire. That same fire still burns inside me and drives me towards a better and brighter future. Sure, the light flickers now and then, but climbing up from rock bottom has allowed me to obtain all the right tools to refuel it.
