The time I tried to kill myself

I'm doing "better" now, but I'm still not out of the woods yet.

She hurt me so deeply, I don’t know how to recover.

And still, I can’t stop wanting her.

Even though she told me to leave her alone… I can’t go on without her.

I can’t believe this is what God wants for me — for us.

It’s just not fair…

I know I’m supposed to move on. That’s what everybody’s been telling me since the day I called the Crisis Line. But I don’t want to.

It’s been almost a year since our fight made me try to commit suicide, and still I don’t know how to talk about it. I don’t even wanna believe it really happened.

I still want Sara Noelle Jones to love me.

I want her to lie awake at night and wonder what I’m doing.

I want her to cry herself to sleep, wishing I was there to wipe away her tears, knowing that I would be, if she would ask.

I want her to call me and beg me to come back to her.

I wanna build my whole life around her — around us, deeply, madly, forever in love, facing the world together, lifting each other to such wonderful heights.

I want her to tell me I’m the only man she wants to grow old with; the only one she’ll tell her secrets to.

Maybe I’m stupid. (I probably am.)

Maybe I’m longing for something that doesn’t even exist.

Maybe she’s relieved that I’m finally leaving her alone.

But every day, I hope she’ll message me and ask me how I’m doing. I pray that she’ll tell me she pulled away because she got scared, and that she wants me to keep pursuing her.

I know; if she wanted to, she would have.

I just don’t understand why she doesn’t want to. What did I do, that was so wrong, she’s not talking to me at all?

How do I go on, when so much of what matters to me is gone? How do I live without Sara Jones in my life? How do I get through one day without her?

I wish I could go back, and stop myself from picking that fight. I wish I would’ve just told her I was hurting, and I needed someone to listen, and I didn’t know how to ask her for help, but help was all I really wanted… and I blew it, big time.

I made her push me away.

It’s my fault she won’t talk to me. I ruined everything. I love her so much, and now, I have to learn how to live without her.

It might be for the better, though. She is the reason I tried to kill myself, after all.

The weird part is I knew it was coming. Like, I could feel my mind deciding I had nothing left to live for. I knew I was on a course toward suicide, and I didn’t care.

I honestly felt relieved.

I felt like, finally, my pain was going to end. I would be gone, and nothing would be able to reach me anymore. No one would be able to hurt me, ever again.

I knew if I started in that direction, I wouldn’t stop. I knew if I went through with it, I would be dead.

And I didn’t care at all.

That feels so heavy now, seeing it in print in front of me. I’m stunned to think I was willing to end my life. But I still have the scars on my right arm to prove it.

I don’t know if I should keep going with this letter, or not.

I don’t wanna glamorize suicide. I don’t wanna upset my friends or my family. I don’t wanna give anybody the wrong impression — but I don’t see any way to talk about this openly, and honestly, and not frighten somebody. And above all, I want to be honest.

I still feel like I wish I had died in my shower — not because I wanna die now, but because I don’t wanna feel like this.

I’m frustrated that one of my friends texted me at seven o’clock on a Sunday morning to see how I’m doing… and that I allowed that text to pull me out of my suicide attempt, and call 911.

I’m… confused about why I didn’t die. Why I didn’t see it all the way through. Why I didn’t see my friend’s text and think, “Sorry, buddy, you’re too late.”

Suicide is a sin, ya know? It’s a sign of weakness. A moral failure. “The easy way out.” The act of a coward.

It’s easy to say all that when it’s not someone you know. And maybe it’s all true. Maybe I am a weak, sinful coward of a man.

Maybe I should be ashamed of the fact I actually tried to commit suicide in my own apartment, simply because I had a fight with the woman I wish was the woman of my dreams, but who now is probably never going to talk to me again — and it’s my own fault for being reckless and immature, and trying to start a fight with her just so I could get a reaction… but this was definitely not the reaction I was hoping for.

I honestly thought she would choose me.

I thought she would see how much I mean to her, and how much she needs me in her life, and how much she wants me to love her better than she’s ever been loved before…

And I ruined it all. And there’s not any way to bring our relationship back to life now. It’s over and done. And I don’t want to go on without her.

I feel dead inside, already.

I don’t believe anyone is ever going to want to be with me.

I don’t believe the VA is ever going to get me the help I really need.

I don’t believe I’ll ever have the future I dream of, one where I’m happy and successful, and I’ve found my purpose and I’m living a life of meaning, and love, and deep fulfillment and satisfaction…

I don’t even know how to live that kind of life.

I don’t have the right skills… the confidence… the trust… the charisma… the determination…

I’m already convinced that I’m destined to lose; that I fail in every relationship; that I ruin everything I touch. I know; I know: those are just “obtrusive thoughts,” and if I practice, I can make them go away — or at least, make them hold less power over me.

But you guys.

I’ve been trying to change those thoughts for thirty years. I don’t know how, and sometimes, I don’t believe I ever will.

I know in my soul that I’m going to have more rainy days ahead… and that it’s partly my own fault, because I don’t know any better…

But also, if I really wanna change, I’m gonna have to come face to face with a lot of the thoughts and feelings that drove me to suicide… and I’m gonna have to pick them apart, and learn to react differently when those heavy thoughts and feelings threaten to pull me under again.

I don’t want to face any more of my darkness. It hurts, in ways you cannot understand unless you’ve tasted darkness yourself.

I don’t want to live a life that’s destined to fail. I don’t want to believe that’s my destiny. But forty-nine years of personal history prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that it’s my past. And I don’t know how to change my past behavior.

I only know one way to look at the world, and everywhere I look, all I see is pain, and loss, and emptiness.

I believe in God.

I know for a fact He saved me from this prison before.

And I don’t doubt His ability to perform miracles! I’ve seen too many of them in my own life.

But what if… just what if…

What if I’m not able to grow beyond this failure mindset? I mean what if I’ve just had it for so long, that it’s too late now to ever try and do anything differently from the only way I’ve ever known? What if I can’t hold any more of God’s miracles in my heart?

What if I’m too tired, and too old, and too overwhelmed, for God to be able to bless me any further, because I’m just worn out and I don’t have the capacity to receive any more?

Maybe that’s a foolish position to take… but honestly, that’s where I am today.

I’m tired. And I feel old, and overwhelmed. And I don’t wanna keep hurting.

And if I have to go through life without Sara Jones… it’s going to hurt.

Even if it’s good for me.

Even if it’s the right choice.

Even if it’s setting the stage for something better, down the road.

Today, it still hurts.

It still makes me think that suicide is a viable option.

Maybe I shouldn’t be reacting this way to a fight with a girl who probably was never going to choose me anyway — but it hurts so much… I never imagined it would hurt me this much… I don’t wanna ever feel like this, ever again.

I know this is heavy.

And I don’t wanna leave you with the feeling that I’m gonna kill myself before we get to speak again. (I’m not going to; I’m just in a lot of pain.)

But I also want you to know that I don’t have any answers when it comes to suicide. I don’t know why I stopped myself, and why other people don’t.

I kind of wish I hadn’t — but here I am, still alive, in spite of my efforts to the contrary.

And, I guess, if I peel it back just a little, I’m not actively suicidal, anymore. I want to be dead; I’m not gonna lie. But I don’t have the urge right now to act on that, and to take my own life into my hands.

I suppose I do want to get better. At least, that’s what I keep telling everybody. And it’s probably true. I mean, if I didn’t wanna get better, I probably wouldn’t still be here.

I feel like I owe you something, for reading this far. Some kind of promise, or message, or moral… I don’t know; just something.

But I don’t have anything for you this week.

I’m so deep in my own darkness, I don’t see the silver lining.

I don’t think it’s really there.

I think I’m going to be very unhappy, for a very, very long time.

I don’t think I’ll ever feel like taking a chance like this, ever again.

But if I really felt that hopeless, and overwhelmed, I think I would’ve gone through with my attempt.

So, maybe, somewhere, I’m still willing to believe that things can get better. Not perfect… just better.

I don’t know how to get there.

But I can’t keep going on the way that I was.

It’s just not worth it.