The six word project

people are only there for you as much as you let them

I had become a fan of To Write Love on Her Arms on facebook and they sent out a call for six words to describe hope and pain, two emotions I'm very familiar with. A little over 2 years ago I tried to take my own life. During the time since my "incident" (as some family members call it) I have tried not to think about it. If I share my experience with anyone else, it would feel to me as if I was just retelling someone else's story. I felt like a had to distance myself from the whole thing. I wouldn't allow myself to get close to what I felt that fateful night, or the darkness that clouded my mind with self-loathing and unadulterated sadness. Then the call for the six words came. I spent a few days thinking it through until something came to me yesterday: "through perseverance we will realize ourselves". I felt that this described how I got through that terrible time and the inner struggle I have felt since. Thinking about these six words made me face the time when I had a lapse in faith in myself. I laid in bed last night and welcomed in the memories: the slow unraveling of my life, the hours spent crying and screaming, the copious amounts of drugs and booze I ingested to block out my own desperation and the erosion of my already tenuous grasp on reality. All of these thoughts led to swallow 60 or so sleeping pills with wine and cocaine. I had wanted a reprieve from feeling worthless, alone and incapable. So I did the only thing that made sense to me and my warped brain. After I swallowed all the pills, I called a friend to apologize for all the pain I had brought him. He figured what I had done and called the cops. The events that follow are hazy. I don't remember the ambulance or the ER, nor do I remember being restrained with straps because I kept ripping out my IV. What I do remember is the pain in my father's face when I finally opened my eyes. It's so vivid in my memory as is the sound of my mother sobbing and my brother and sister as they surrounded my hospital bed. The first words out of my mouth were, "I'm sorry". And I was. I was - and still am - sorry for devastating my family beyond repair. I am still sorry for breaking my friends' hearts and making them feel guilty that they ""weren't there for me". But people are only there for you as much as you let them, and at that point I wasn't letting any of my friends in so they couldn't see what a failure I was. At that time I had honestly thought I was doing everyone a favor by killing myself. When I woke up in that bed I knew I was so wrong. I didn't allow myself to feel the love that was surrounding me from family and friends because I didn't think I was worthy of it. The days, weeks, months, and years that have followed I have had to battle myself and these dark thoughts. I have had to will myself out of bed, to go to therapy sessions, to not envelop myself into depression and booze. I have had to persevere against myself and the thoughts of being alone in this world. I had to realize my worth to those around me and the important role I play in their lives. In the past two years, I have finished my graduate degree, cried and laughed very hard and sometimes at the same time. I have made new friends, fell in love, sat peacefully by the water and thanked god I'm still alive. There have also been times when I wished I never made that call and I wouldn't have to get up out of bed everyday. But I'm endlessly grateful for my second chance in life to realize myself and my story from a new and slightly more enlightened perspective. I am forever in debt to the people in my life that helped save me from myself. I try everyday to be better and do better and cope with myself better. I try to make sense of my actions and try to make peace with what I did. I continue to persevere, and through that I can realize myself.


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