ManyADreadfulNight
Member
- Mar 11, 2026
- 5
I've been suicidal as far back as I can remember. No trauma or anything to spark it, just a constant sick tiredness that sits in the bottom of my ribcage.
Sometimes, for a month or two, it will lessen up and I can imagine a future in which I don't CTB. Usually this doesn't last long, and even within the time that I feel "okay" I look longingly at tall buildings or trees with horizontal branches.
I ignored it for most of my childhood, telling myself if I attempted, I would regret it. And I didn't want to be found by any of my five younger siblings (I didn't give a shit if my older ones found me lol). Even at times when she could tell I wasn't okay, my mother told me she didn't "believe" in therapy.
But at 17, I moved out to go to college. It was less because I wanted to continue schooling and more because I didn't want to live at "home" any longer.
I got through a full year before my first attempt. I OD'd and sat under a bridge, waiting to feel the effects kick in. A stranger found me, talked me down, and walked me to the ER, telling me to at least try counselling and stuff before going this far. He said it helps.
So I tried. I did multiple SSRIs and SNRIs and mood stabilisers and ECT and spent both my 19th and 20th birthdays in psych wards. I've been to 2 in my own state (multiple times each) and 2 out-of-state. Not to mention the "recovery programs" that are meant to be a step down from hospitalization.
My last hospitalization ended around three months ago and I spent a month after that at a homeless shelter in a bigger city. I would daily go out to a parking garage nearby and climb to the top, wondering if the drop would be long enough to kill me. Theoretically, 7 stories is enough, but I really didn't want to end up paralysed. I tried ligature asphyxiation with my shoelaces a couple times but could never seem to get it right, and always ended up shaking and crying and tugging at the knots when SI kicked in.
I decided to move in with a family friend, and things got drastically better for a bit. Friends and family are starting to act as if they trust me again. But my improvements were short lived. After a couple weeks, I started to plan again whenever I stayed up too late. I tried to get to bed earlier. But the suicidality has bled once again into every waking thought.
I can't go back to the psych ward again. I hate it there and they always keep me for months. I frequently feel like that environment makes me more suicidal instead of less. Meds dont help and I hate taking them. And Ive seen how my suicidality affects those around me. It's almost like my condition is contagious. My friends and family get sleepless and anxious and lose interest in things and overall just suffer like me.
So I can't tell anyone, and there is nothing that can "fix" me.
I'm just so sick of this.
I hate the psych ward, but at least there I can be (mostly) honest about how I'm doing. And at this point many of the personnel know me. They can be really kind and understanding, and, to be honest, I miss them. Because my suffering doesn't hurt them the way it does the people I know on the outside. And I don't feel like a burden when I interact with them because they're paid to be there.
Oftentimes my friends wouldn't call while I was hospitalized, but the techs were always there. My last 2 stays occurred at the same hospital, and put together, lasted the better part of a year. I'll see memes that remind me of things that we joked about or hear songs that were played over the intercom and feel so sick and confused. Like I was in a place that doesn't really exist since I can't reach out to the people I knew there.
Meanwhile, life for everyone on the outside has moved on without me. Some friends graduated. Some were married. One's mother got cancer. One of my little brothers is 18 now and going on a Mormon mission.
No one I used to be friends with is the same person. And the people I socialised with for the last chunk of my life I can't contact. I'm so fucking lost and lonely. I disassociate a lot more often now. I feel like fighting this and struggling for the past 2 years has made everything worse.
I don't know who or what I am anymore and I don't know how to I'm supposed to fix things.
But at least my friends think I'm doing okay "again".
Sometimes, for a month or two, it will lessen up and I can imagine a future in which I don't CTB. Usually this doesn't last long, and even within the time that I feel "okay" I look longingly at tall buildings or trees with horizontal branches.
I ignored it for most of my childhood, telling myself if I attempted, I would regret it. And I didn't want to be found by any of my five younger siblings (I didn't give a shit if my older ones found me lol). Even at times when she could tell I wasn't okay, my mother told me she didn't "believe" in therapy.
But at 17, I moved out to go to college. It was less because I wanted to continue schooling and more because I didn't want to live at "home" any longer.
I got through a full year before my first attempt. I OD'd and sat under a bridge, waiting to feel the effects kick in. A stranger found me, talked me down, and walked me to the ER, telling me to at least try counselling and stuff before going this far. He said it helps.
So I tried. I did multiple SSRIs and SNRIs and mood stabilisers and ECT and spent both my 19th and 20th birthdays in psych wards. I've been to 2 in my own state (multiple times each) and 2 out-of-state. Not to mention the "recovery programs" that are meant to be a step down from hospitalization.
My last hospitalization ended around three months ago and I spent a month after that at a homeless shelter in a bigger city. I would daily go out to a parking garage nearby and climb to the top, wondering if the drop would be long enough to kill me. Theoretically, 7 stories is enough, but I really didn't want to end up paralysed. I tried ligature asphyxiation with my shoelaces a couple times but could never seem to get it right, and always ended up shaking and crying and tugging at the knots when SI kicked in.
I decided to move in with a family friend, and things got drastically better for a bit. Friends and family are starting to act as if they trust me again. But my improvements were short lived. After a couple weeks, I started to plan again whenever I stayed up too late. I tried to get to bed earlier. But the suicidality has bled once again into every waking thought.
I can't go back to the psych ward again. I hate it there and they always keep me for months. I frequently feel like that environment makes me more suicidal instead of less. Meds dont help and I hate taking them. And Ive seen how my suicidality affects those around me. It's almost like my condition is contagious. My friends and family get sleepless and anxious and lose interest in things and overall just suffer like me.
So I can't tell anyone, and there is nothing that can "fix" me.
I'm just so sick of this.
I hate the psych ward, but at least there I can be (mostly) honest about how I'm doing. And at this point many of the personnel know me. They can be really kind and understanding, and, to be honest, I miss them. Because my suffering doesn't hurt them the way it does the people I know on the outside. And I don't feel like a burden when I interact with them because they're paid to be there.
Oftentimes my friends wouldn't call while I was hospitalized, but the techs were always there. My last 2 stays occurred at the same hospital, and put together, lasted the better part of a year. I'll see memes that remind me of things that we joked about or hear songs that were played over the intercom and feel so sick and confused. Like I was in a place that doesn't really exist since I can't reach out to the people I knew there.
Meanwhile, life for everyone on the outside has moved on without me. Some friends graduated. Some were married. One's mother got cancer. One of my little brothers is 18 now and going on a Mormon mission.
No one I used to be friends with is the same person. And the people I socialised with for the last chunk of my life I can't contact. I'm so fucking lost and lonely. I disassociate a lot more often now. I feel like fighting this and struggling for the past 2 years has made everything worse.
I don't know who or what I am anymore and I don't know how to I'm supposed to fix things.
But at least my friends think I'm doing okay "again".
