I clearly remember the day I thought I was going to die. I was 15, struggling with an eating disorder and depression (which was later diagnosed as bipolar disorder), and I reached a point where life felt too overwhelming and painful to continue. My life had gone drastically downhill. My grades were slipping, I was isolating myself from my friends, I was self harming every day. Anorexia had consumed me. I couldn’t see any way out for myself or any kind of future. So one day, walking home from school, I decided: I am going to die. I instantly felt relieved. I didn’t have to carry on living like this anymore. I waited for the opportunity to present itself, and a couple of weeks later I found myself at home, alone, with handfuls of tablets and a bottle of wine. This was it. I’d said goodbye to my mum in the morning, confident that it was the last time I would ever see her. Hours later I was woken by the sound of paramedics.
I spent five days on a pediatric ward before being admitted to a psychiatric hospital. I stayed there for six months. I’d be lying if I said there weren’t times since then that I’ve thought about suicide. There have been occasions where, in the depths of depression, I have had thoughts to end my life. However, I’ve also lived an incredible life since then. I’ve travelled, made wonderful friends, found an amazing relationship. I have a degree and a job that I love. I have my own business, my blog and a future that I look forward to. No matter what your mind tells you, the world needs you to be a part of it. Nobody can offer exactly what you can. I’m so happy I’m still here, a strong, brave suicide survivor.
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