Why I was wrong to try and blame my suicide attempt on Sara Jones

The fact that I’ve felt suicidal since I was 17 or so should’ve been the first clue

Plot twist: it’s never been about Sara Jones.

She is not the source of my anguish.

She is not the thing that makes me want to commit suicide.

She brings me peace, and security, and a sense of belonging.

She brings good things into my life — things I didn’t know I was missing, until I met her.

Sara reinforces the belief that I’m already enough.

She boosts my confidence, and makes me believe I can do the impossible.

She gives me the opportunity to pour all my love into another human being, and — hopefully — to learn how to show that love in ways that are healthy and appropriate for what both of us are able to give and receive.

Or, rather, she did… until I pushed her away.

I know that probably makes it sound like I want to wife her. And honestly, I have dreamt about what that would look like. But that’s all that is, is a dream.

The love, respect, admiration, and longing to have Sara in my life — that has nothing to do with romance.

My hunger for romance is there, in the dreams I have about her… especially since I went so many years without it! But it’s not right to try and satisfy that hunger with Sara (and, truth be told, I don’t even know if I really want to).

While the desire, itself, is probably healthy, trying to pursue romance with Sara Jones is not. It wouldn’t be healthy for either one of us. I thought our relationship had to be all or nothing, though. I thought that if I have these feelings, it had to mean she’s the girl for me.

I thought I had to fight for her love.

I thought I had to show her my love for her — my desire to make her my own — and I thought if I did, then of course she would want me! Of course she would fall for me, and we would be together, and I would finally have a reason to live.

I thought when we had our fight, that I was losing her love, losing her warmth, losing her approval — and I thought I needed her approval, in order to believe in myself.

But it’s not even about approval, really… it’s actually all about connection.

Sara was one of the few people in recent years that really connected with me. We got each other, and we liked and respected one another… and when I wasn’t being a basket case, we trusted each other. And when we fought, I thought I was losing all of that.

I thought I was losing my connection to Sara Jones. And in the absence of that connection, my world collapsed. All I could see was darkness. Emptiness. Heartbreak. Despair.

My fears and insecurities took the lead, and I despised everything about me.

I told myself I was heartbroken because Sara wouldn’t fall in love with me. But the truth was so much deeper: I was devastated because I thought my actions had ended our friendship, and I didn’t know what to do to make things right between us.

I still don’t know what to do — but I can’t just sit here and do nothing.

I can’t let another friendship die simply because somebody hurt my feelings, and I don’t know what to do about it.

But the friendship IS dead… and I just haven’t received the telegram yet.

Sara was one of those rare friends who I thought truly accepted me for who I am, and where I am, in my own life’s journey. She didn’t expect me to be or do anything, but just be me, whatever that looked like, from one day to the next.

And even though that excited me, it also scared the hell out of me, because I know myself; I know my mind; I know my mistakes; my regrets; and I know I don’t deserve to be loved. Not really.

Not the way I thought Sara loved me.

I hate myself so much, I want to die.

I want to end my own life, so I don’t have to endure any more pain.

I hate this world. I hate what it’s done to me. I hate that I don’t know how to get the things I want!

I hate that I’m alone, and miserable, pretty much all the time.

But all of that already existed inside me, long before Sara came along.

It’s dishonest to try and blame any of that on her.

And that’s why I’m not healing, why I’m not able to let go of the incident and move forward with my life:

I’m putting all the blame on the wrong person. It’s not Sara’s fault I tried to commit suicide.

I chose that route all by myself.

Did she hurt me? Sure.

But she didn’t plant suicidal thoughts in my mind.

She didn’t tell me I ruined everything.

She didn’t prey on my insecurities.

She didn’t tell me I’d be better off dead, and that she doesn’t ever wanna hear from me, ever again.

I did all that to myself.

I can say I didn’t know that’s what I was doing. And that’s true; I wasn’t consciously aware that I was making the choice, or that the choice was driven by my own reaction to everything that had happened, leading up to that choice.

I spent so much time and energy convincing myself that Sara had pushed me over the edge.

That everything that was hurting me was her responsibility.

That she had done this horrible thing to me, by not being there when I needed her to be, and it was all her fault that I wanted to die…

But the truth is I’ve wanted to die since I was probably seventeen. I’ve just never told anyone.

I don’t really know how to have that conversation. How to tell the people I love: “I’m in so much physical and emotional pain, I want my life to be over so I can finally be free of it all.”

How do I say that to anybody, without making them freak out? I don’t want my friends and family to be worried about me. I don’t want them to feel like it’s on them, somehow, to keep me alive.

I don’t want anybody to have to take time out of their busy routine, just to listen to me complain about my life and how much I wish I would just die.

But also: is it complaining when my actual life is on the line? Or is it essential, now more than ever, that I tell everybody who will listen, that I want to die, that my mind is imagining ways to make it happen, and that if I don’t continue to receive help, I’m going to reach a point where I can’t control the thoughts anymore… and I’m going to make another attempt.

And, honestly, no part of any of that is because “Sara did me wrong.”

In the first place, she didn’t ever really do me wrong to begin with.

We had a fight.

Yeah, it was a big one.

Yeah, I said some really horrible things.

Yeah, we both got hurt.

But neither one of us really did anything horribly wrong… we just… fought, like people do sometimes. It hurt me, but not near enough to make me suicidal, all on its own.

Second, all my suicidal thoughts were already there, long before Sara… and even if she and I had never fought, I’d still be having those thoughts, and I’d still need intensive therapy to learn how to control them (and how not to be such a colossal drama queen when I do get hurt — but that’s another story)…

I still have to take accountability, though… maybe not for having an emotional breakdown and starting the fight between us, because I don’t think I could have done anything differently, once it all got out of hand.

But I am still accountable for the way I’ve treated Sara since my breakdown happened.

Not to mention the other friends and family I’ve distanced myself from, as I’ve tried to work through my feelings for Sara, and tried to understand what possessed me to make my suicide attempt about her in the first place, rather than just admit I need help, and take responsibility for my own choices.

I don’t really have a lot of experience, though, taking responsibility for my choices.

Everything has always been either because of something someone else did, or because of something I “didn’t know how to do any differently.”

It’s never been, “I made a poor choice, and I got my feelings hurt (or hurt the people around me).”

But I don’t think I can live that way anymore. It’s not helping me. It’s not making me happy. It’s not giving me the life I want; the life I deserve.

I don’t know how to talk about it though. I don’t know how to tell the people I love, that I live every day with suicidal ideation… or that I’ve officially made an attempt… or that I can’t say for certain I’ll never do it again…

The truth is, I’m scared. And I don’t want to scare everybody else.

But if I don’t tell anybody — then how can I ever get help? How can they help me, if they don’t know what I need?

I have to talk about it. I’m not strong enough to face it alone. And I don’t have the coping skills, or the resources, that I need. And I can’t get them, without telling people what I need, and why I need it.

But I still don’t want anybody to know.

I’m too ashamed of myself to let anyone in.

And that’s the real reason why I got so mad at Sara, and why I tried so hard to make it all about her, and to push her as far away as possible.

Because I really wanted to let her in… and, as a friend, I think she really wanted me to.

I want to let a lot of people in… but even though I’m trying, really hard…

I’m afraid of what people will do when they see the real me.