(( This is a bit of a dark, depressing read. Contains mention of harm and suicide. This is a bit of a self reflection on my own experiences. If that triggers very negative thoughts and feelings, don't read please, for your own safety. ))
Ten years ago, today. I'll never forget. The winter solstice, December 21st, 2009. That date is forever burned in to my mind. While some details are a blur of fog and shadow, others are as sharp as the knife I held that night.
That night, was the first time I planned to kill myself.
At this time, I was first introduced to the idea that one's sexuality could be anything but straight. I had a feeling that, while I was a little in to girls, I was also, more noticeably, in to boys. I was introduced to the idea that boys, can dress and act like girls, if they want to. I wanted to do that. I wanted to wear skirts, paint my nails, and maybe, kiss boys.
I told my mother one day, coming home from school. She nearly crashed the car, and began lecturing me about sin, about Satan, about the Catholic faith. For weeks and months after, she drove it in to me, that something was wrong with me. I was sinful. I was immoral.
I deserved to die.
I was already in a lower point in my life. My mother's husband, my stepdad, had an affinity for making me miserable. Any joy was stamped out around him. Any moment not fulfilling his greedy, selfish desires was a moment wasted. If I dared step out of line, question him, or God forbid fail to do something to his standards, I would be beaten.
On December 21st, 2009, I decided. Then. Would be my last day in this hell that was living. I waited until everyone had gone to sleep. On a piece of paper, I had written what I assumed would be my last words. I cannot remember the exact words, but I do remember, writing that I wanted no one to cry, because my life didn't matter, so why should my death?
Sneaking through the house, I made my way to the kitchen. From the drawer, I pulled out a sheathed knife, heavier than the rest. My stepdad had on many occasions punished me for not putting it away or washing it correctly. It seemed to me just an expensive knife. And in the moment, I felt the cold metal as I freed if from its plastic scabbard, and knew that this would be my way out of this world.
I carefully and quietly opened and shut the front door, before walking through the snow and dirt covered yard, slipping down the back and making my way in to the woods. In the dim light, the high branches cast looming, ominous shadows. I could hear my heart beating loud, my own breathing, the sound of wind, but not much else. It was almost scary.
I traveled through the twisted woods for some time, to where I would sit on my own many times before. In a small clearing, where I had sat for hours to question if I was worth anything, if I deserved to live, if I would even make it to adulthood, or if I would be a failure who was better off giving up now. I took the blade to my bare left wrist, holding it to my protruding vein, preparing for a long, vertical slice that would let me spill my blood all over the forest floor.
But... I couldn't. I sat on the ground in the clearing, trying to summon the courage to make the final slice, and end my torment. Tears filled my eyes, and I began to grossly sob, dropping the knife to my side and weeping in the woods for what felt like an eternity. I thought I was a coward for being unable to kill myself.
Ten years later, I look back, and it wasn't cowardice that stopped me. It was some faint will to live. However faint it was, it was present enough to save my life. The courage came in continuing to live. As much as I felt like dying then and there, I am eternally grateful that I did not.
Then, I could have never imagined that I would ever be free of a mother and stepfather who only saw me as a tool of their own convenience; I could have never imagined not only loving boys, but girls as well, and everyone who doesn't fit in either slot. I could never imagine that, wanting to be a girl, would be the first step to becoming a woman. I could have never imagined the amazing and lovely friends I have made along the way. And, I could never have imagined that, even as broken, as damaged, and as messed up as I am, that I could have someone who loves me so completely, who makes me feel loved, and gives me the safety I so desperately craved for years.
I went home that night. I placed the unsheathed knife in to the sink, and went to bed. A restless sleep, cursing myself for being too weak to go through with it. I never imagined my life would be any better than it was at the time.
December 21st, 2019. 10 years since my first suicide attempt. I am happy to be alive.
