Not too long ago, I was ready to die. While playing with scissors, I was listening to music that related to my situation. With the music in my ears, I was desperately trying to convince myself otherwise. But nothing was working. That is, until the next song came on and saved my life. It made me break down as I thought about how I got to where I was, and it got me to put my scissors down.
“I feel for you, but when did you believe you were alone?”
I had been having these thoughts as early as sixth grade. I was only lashing out and verbally beating myself up during competitive school games then, but I consider that to be when it started. As time went on, my thoughts got worse, and the subject matter was expanding rapidly. I eventually started cutting my arm with scissors in the summer before eighth grade. I felt hopeless, and I still do at times. I have been off self-harm for a long time, but the thoughts are still there.
“You say that spiders crawled inside and made themselves a home where light once was…”
I don't really know what caused any of this to happen. Maybe it was my increased exposure to competitive badminton, stress over upcoming projects, or the fear of more homework in high school. But whatever it was, it made me feel like I was good for nothing. But for sitting there, and slicing myself up.
I have been trying to figure out what makes me calm and happy, but that hasn't always been easy. Instead, I have been getting more scared of myself, and having breakdowns. I often wonder if I should stay alive at all, and I play with my scissors more frequently. I want this feeling to go away, but it always hangs over me.
“Living like a ghost, you walk by everyone you know...”
These thoughts have ultimately shaped my life. Despite the contradictions of others, I am constantly doubting my abilities and I don’t put my trust in almost anything. Scissors make me very uncomfortable, and I don't like seeing them or hearing the word. I vent to my friends constantly, and I feel like they're sick of me. I constantly worry about them leaving me.
Some nights, I sit alone in my room with my lethal train of thought running smoothly along the tracks. I play with my scissors, but I seldom use them to mutilate anymore. I keep a calendar with the amount of days I've gone without cutting. The number is currently above 50. I cry myself to sleep sometimes, and my dreams are about the same subject matter as my daily thoughts: Killing myself, my friends killing themselves, running away from home, funerals, cemeteries, and more. I always wish all of it could go away, but the shooting star always misses me.
“You say that you're fine, but you have lost your sway and glow, so I stopped by to let you know...”
When it was just thoughts, I could hide it easily and well. After all, no one can see your thoughts. But once it escalated, I had to tell someone. Wearing sweaters in the September heat was just ridiculous, and I couldn't keep my pain covered up anymore. So, I told my friends about everything that happened in my head. I wondered if they would hate me forever, and I almost broke down. It turned out they were just like me, so we became our own support system, contacting each other when we needed help. My friends are the reason I am still alive.
“Friend, please, remove your hands from over your eyes for me…”
As a suicidal person, I know it's hard to live when all you want is death. Dealing with it alone is especially worse. I would like to thank you for reading my story, and I hope it inspires you to reach out and get help for yourself, or someone you know. You can call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 (HOH people can call 1-800-799-4889), or you can text START to 741-741. Reaching out can really make a difference to many lives around you.
There are other things you can do besides calling a hotline. Learning about the warning signs of a suicidal person and talking to them are among the most important. Talking to them about it lets them know someone is there for them, and can really help. Also, keep writing the songs. Seriously though, these works of art have saved lives, including mine. Use the songs and other mediums to spread as much awareness as possible, like I did with this story. It was hard for me to write this without crying and breaking down, and I appreciate you taking the time to read it.
“I know you want to leave, but, friend, please don't take your life away from me.”