The first time I was suicidal, I was nine years old. Early puberty spiralled out of control. I was all over the place, but I didn’t want to be in any place, certainly not in life. I started to smoke and it helped to slow down my death wish. Smoking is a slower expression of suicidal thoughts, hidden really as it creates a smoke screen to hide behind, and I hid there for twenty-three years, but I still went through two more suicidal events.
The second time was in my late teens, having survived school but having no real idea of who I was or what I wanted. I drank myself drunk and cut myself while writing out my sorrow. Words spilt out on paper and my good-byes’ became stories, stories that made me see myself clearer, clear enough to know I wasn’t finished yet, I had stuff left to do. I continued smoking but I changed my life totally in every other way and I headed down yet another path, a path that led me to Ireland and that’s where the last episode occurred just before meeting my life partner and dad of my children who came to me in a story the second time I tried to kill myself and told me to hang on.
The last time I was partied out, empty and lost. My plan was to go to the end of the world to meet my end of this world, but one last party came up and that’s where I met my husband who was an illegal immigrant. Living on the edge meant always taking risks but this wasn’t as much about saving his life, allowing him to stay in Ireland, it was about saving my own life, allowing me to stay alive and for our children that I had written about in previous suicide notes that became a prophecy which came true. My children saved my life as did I for believing in stories.
I think to live fully you have to meet death. I felt like a coward for not daring to kill myself, but I have since learnt that I was brave. I’ve lost one friend through suicide but I have the deepest empathy for her and any suicidal person who goes the whole way, I know how close I came, and I don’t believe in any religious damnation of suicide, of it being a cowards way out, life is a miracle but only if it’s a choice and ultimately we all belong to ourselves, we all make up our own reasons for living and when we lose them I believe any person who dies by suicide goes straight back to cosmic love for a respite and then it’s up to them to come back again or not.