What no one wants to talk about
I’ve thought about ending my life more than once. In fact, I’ve lost count of how many times.
If I’m starting this post with such heavy words, it’s not because I want your attention. You can leave if you want, and it won’t change the fact that I’ve wanted to end my life multiple times.
I’m writing it this way because I don’t think there’s any other way to say something like this.
In fact, I strongly believe we shouldn’t try to soften our words when talking about something that takes the lives of thousands of people every year: suicide.
I say it this naturally because at one point in my life, I battled severe depression, and normalizing these topics helped me get through it, seek the help I needed, and come out of a potentially dangerous episode.
I’m sharing it here because when I first told a family member, they took me seriously and stood by me through the process.
Because when I told a friend, they later admitted they’d had suicidal thoughts too at one point in their life, and talking about it with someone who understood was comforting.
Because when I told my therapist, they knew what to do and taught me the tools I needed to manage these thoughts.
All of these moments have one thing in common: talking about it—plain and simple, for what it was—is what helped me get better. It’s what likely saved my life. It’s what taught me how to manage depression today.
It’s important to talk about it, even if we don’t want to. Even if the topic makes us uncomfortable. Even if we’d rather not acknowledge that this exists and that people out there are struggling with it. It has to be talked about.
They’re just thoughts. It’s not what you truly want. They’re not permanent. There’s a solution. Life is beautiful, and it’s worth living.
I know it’s hard, but talk about it. Everything will be okay. Even if you don’t believe it right now. But it will be.
Today, after a long time, I had a suicidal thought. It was fleeting. I quickly reminded myself that it was just that—a thought. The result of a bad week, a rough patch.
I reminded myself that this will pass because it always has. Because at this point, I know how to handle it.
I’m writing this as a personal reminder, as a conversation with myself. Not to be treated differently, because no one wants that. Not to be seen as mentally ill or looked at with pity.
I’m writing it with the same normality I would discuss any other topic, because that’s how it should be.
Thank you for reading.