Every 16 minutes. Every 16 minutes, one person loses his or her life to suicide. One person leaves this earth without any possibility of return. Family members and friends are forced to carry the burden that is transferred after departure. Everything changes, hearts turn cold, the light of life dims, and hope is scarce. This is the reality of suicide. It is nothing to romanticize or dream of. Society paints suicide as a sweet escape to a sort of peaceful fantasy, but reality could not stray any further from the truth. Suicide is pain, an excruciating pain that corrodes the soul and destroys the mind. It is a darkness that captures human life, often far too soon.
Although I cannot eradicate this cruel illness, I can shine light on the matter in order to spare more beautiful souls, who are certainly deserving of a fulfilling and lasting existence. Each of these stories below are genuine testimonies of individuals, including myself, who have faced various hardships of suicide.
At the age of 14, I was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease: a chronic illness that affects the lining of the digestive tract. After I lost thirty pounds, my body was no longer capable of doing the many things it previously could. I could no longer play tennis. I lost the majority of my friends. I was bullied. I was taunted. I slowly faded to into an invisible state and to me, life held no meaning. I felt as though my life’s purpose had diminished. I struggled to find a single reason for staying on this earth, and every day I dreamt of dying. In school, I could not focus on the course material. Instead, I fantasized about my own parish. I weighed the options. Would pills be less painful than a gun? How would I say goodbye? I wrestled with these questions daily. I imagined my family, continuing life without my presence. I keep reassuring myself that they would be better off. No one would have to endure the burden of constantly caring for me, in all aspects. If I could just harness the courage to end my own life, I knew theirs would officially begin. My passing would free them from the chains of illness and brutal psychological stress. My death was validated; it was necessary.
“Sometimes even to live is an act of courage.”
“His life ended at 3:58 a.m. While I was at a friend’s house laughing and enjoying the present moment, the love of my life exited the world. When I returned home, a police officer knocked on my door. My heart raced. My stomach churned until I was nauseous. Thoughts of fear jolted through my mind. I could feel the tension deep in my bones. In a calm, sorrowful voice, the officer told me that my boyfriend has passed away during the night. I crumbled onto the floor, heaving and crying into the hardwood under my cheek. I was in disarray. I denied it over and over and over. It couldn’t be true. Not my Tyler. He was so happy and friendly. I kept reassuring myself that this was just a cruel joke. But when I continued to call him, and was immediately sent to voicemail each time, reality collided with my heart in the most stark and sickening way. I cried and felt a hole bore itself into my chest. The human that I dreamt of spending the rest of my life with vanished before my eyes. I refused food. I denied help. I lost hope in love. I felt as if I was in a constant state of paralysis of my emotions and daily life, as if my entire life was put on pause. Every day I think about the details of that night, and every day, I feel a new level of pain.”
– Seneca
“Throughout my life, beginning as an adolescent, I have suffered from depression and severe suicidal thoughts. As I made the transition to college, I was thrown into a new environment and separated from my loved ones that brought me a sense of security. My depression elevated at an alarming rate. The numerous freedoms of partying each weekend, however, served as an escape, an opportunity to retreat from my overwhelming thoughts of sadness to a place of brief happiness and comfort. During my sophomore year of college, I entered a new relationship, which hindered the new methods I had elected to try to help assist with my condition. As spring semester approached, the sadness of being away from home, combined with my strenuous course load, led to an extreme desire for suicide. When I finally realized the severity of my depression, I committed myself to inpatient treatment at a local hospital, where I was officially diagnosed with bipolar disorder. The thoughts eased, but the memories of those haunting experiences will never fade.”
– Anonymous
“Suicide isn’t cowardly. I’ll tell you what is cowardly: treating people so badly that they want to end their lives.”
“I was a sophomore in high school. A former classmate of mine was brutally bullied every single day. Eventually, the taunting of others drove him to a place where he could no longer return. He committed suicide shortly after. I remember returning to school, where we learned through the grapevine that the student had killed himself. I shared my first period math class with him. Later that day, after his seat remained unfilled, the local police department discovered his body in the woods, where he took his own life. The impact the incident had on me, my community, and our school was truly indescribable. He was a radiant individual who always made an effort to make others feel valued and accepted. No one ever anticipated that he would be driven to suicide. The day after he ended his life, I remember returning to class, only to see his empty chair. My class was silent. The only noise that filled the room was slow and steady breathing. My teacher could not fathom the pain. She left the classroom to gather herself. My peers and I were distraught. We were not sure how to move forward knowing that one of our own had left this earth to never return. My heart was broken and my spirit was weary. I did not sleep for days. I felt this continuous haunting that no distraction to seem to disdain. That experience truly altered my life forever.”
– Ashley Purdy
“My experience with anxiety, depression and suicidal thoughts began when the relationship with my parents started to deteriorate. My father and I had already developed a very negative, distant relationship, and mental abuse was common. Physical abuse followed shortly after. These events took place during my freshman year of high school, a nerve-wracking time of transition and unfamiliarity. The anxiety that followed attempting to make friends, adjusting to the course load, managing my sports schedule and more bore a weight that my soul could not withstand. My grades began to decline, directly reflecting all of the issues I was dealing with. I felt suicide was the only resolution to my constant state of sadness and dissatisfaction. As I pondered suicide daily, the thoughts of embarrassment, anger and fright faded. I felt relief as I imagined leaving this earth, along with my internal struggles. I simply couldn’t bear the pressures of life anymore. The only thoughts my mind hadn’t completely numbed were those of death.”
– Anonymous
“In July of 2015, my best friend committed suicide. She had always been at war with her internal demons, as she attempted suicide on two other occasions. It was a Friday morning. I had recently returned from surgery, when I got the news of Kortney’s passing. I remember the daze and utter confusion. I struggled immensely to gather my emotions into coherent thoughts. We discovered her impregnated body, hanging from the bathroom ceiling, dangling from despair. Not only did I lose a cousin and best friend, but a little miracle that would never experience life. That horrific image, dismantling thought, and heart-wrenching emotion—they’ve never escaped me. No amount of prayer or sleep or hope have stripped me of that reoccurring pain. Each day, as I look into the eyes of her beautiful children, I see her. I replay the experiences we share together, the laughs, the tears. I experienced a brief state of false security, until I blink and reach reality, only to realize that she is gone forever.”
– Anonymous
“It only takes one shattering event of sufficient magnitude to change one’s core beliefs about life.”
“My struggle with depression was a culmination of factors from almost every aspect in my life. The first contributing factor was my extremely religious upbringing. The particular brand of religious belief I was exposed to was one that indoctrinated me with ideas that women are inferior to men and above all, that women are to be virginal. Although I raged against these ideas even as a child, certain aspects, specifically those pertaining to self-worth, morality and virginity had already infested my mind. Part of the reason I actually bought into these notions was that no one would ever like me if I was not entirely morally irreproachable. I felt compelled to be perfect. This was just the beginning. I quickly developed an eating disorder. I ate fewer than three-hundred calories per day, which included meals of vegetables and fruit only. I ran several miles every day and joined the track team in order to acquire a flawless physique. I engaged in destructive behavior with my former boyfriend, allowing myself to be used and treated disgustingly for years. Each time I attempted to kill myself occurred after interacting with him. I hated myself. Pure and complete hatred.”
– Anonymous
Each story has an end. For some, the end arrives sooner than we expect; for others, it is prolonged, sometimes surpassing our expectations. Why is this? Why is it that some humans are taken so soon, while others continue living, often neglecting the fact that their death could be impending? For these difficult questions, I do not have an answer. I do however, have a theory. I truly believe that each of us were placed on this earth for a purpose. That purpose is subjective—it is different for each individual human, which I find to be mysteriously beautiful. This life is similar to a personal adventure. Day by day, we wake up one step closer to that “given” purpose. For some, perhaps it is to show love to a heart that has been corroded by cruelty and distaste. Maybe it is to share lessons about peace and harmony, teaching others to treat one another fairly, in the light of kindness. Each of us has a reason to exist. Our hearts beat and our lungs breathe anticipating the next exploration of this journey. I never questioned whether or not I had a purpose, even when I was suicidal. I simply lost sight of the value within it. My mind convinced me that my purpose ceased to exist, so therefore, I should too. As for the other courageous individuals, living or deceased, I cannot speak for them. I refuse to release my thoughts where they aren’t welcomed. But, I will say this. Suicide is not selfish. It is not a romantic act of sacrifice. It is an act driven by depression, self-hatred, isolation, confusion and fear. Individuals who take their own lives are not attention-seeking. They are seeking salvation, an internal escape from the earthly hell they have endured.
If you are still present and experience the horrific effects of suicidal thoughts or actions, please take this opportunity to know you are loved. You are treasured far beyond your understanding. It may be difficult to see now, but there are individuals here that truly value your existence. They do not wish you gone. You are not a burden. You are a beautiful gift created for a unique purpose. Do not give up on that destiny. Do not allow the demons to take your most precious gift of life. Be courageous. Ask for help. Confide in a friend, a family member, a teacher, or a counselor. I and many others can assure you, you are not alone. Many have battled these same struggles, and while many could no longer carry the burden, many have conquered the pain, and have successfully crossed the vast ocean of despair. I assure you, my friend, so can you.