(no subject)
Three years ago today I tried to kill myself. After months of severe depression, I finally gave in to the self-destructive urges that were taking over my consciousness and swallowed what I thought was enough pills to kill myself. It wasn't, but the doctor at the ER said it was very close. (Thanks for the reassurance, doc!) What is most significant to me right now is not that I'm still alive but that three years later I almost forgot it was the anniversary of that terrible day. I went to see a play with some friends and heard "Dear Claudia," that forgettable-yet-appealing alt rock song, in the car on the way to dinner afterward. The song conjured up a memory of hearing it on the car radio with my mother after my first therapy appointment. It was then with a shock that I realized it was March 3.
My mental health now is far from perfect, but there was a time when I couldn't believe things would ever be this good for me. When I was 14 years old I honestly didn't expect to make it through high school; I was certain that I would eventually kill myself before that point. Now that graduation's in sight, I'm left to reflect on how far I've come and hope that in the future I will go even farther with my recovery. The fresh cuts on my leg bare testament to the fact that I still have a ways to go.
My mental health now is far from perfect, but there was a time when I couldn't believe things would ever be this good for me. When I was 14 years old I honestly didn't expect to make it through high school; I was certain that I would eventually kill myself before that point. Now that graduation's in sight, I'm left to reflect on how far I've come and hope that in the future I will go even farther with my recovery. The fresh cuts on my leg bare testament to the fact that I still have a ways to go.