The Suicidal Girl Became A Woman Who Wants To Live Forever
Reparenting Myself Helped Me Feel Joy
*Trigger Warning — Suicidal Ideation*
When I became a teenager, I was deeply depressed. I’ve tried for decades to understand why, but it is complicated. A mix of physical, mental, environmental, and genetics. There were many half-hearted attempts on my life. I didn’t want to live, I didn’t want to die, and I was highly curious to see what the future held. It was a prison in my mind.
“Mother” was notoriously the star of her own show. Out of desperation I begged to see a counselor. I could never talk to her, but maybe someone else. It was my first solid lesson in the distrust of medical professionals.
The majority of my one hour sessions were spent sitting in the waiting room while she would talk to the counselor. Likely spelling out the unfair tragedies of her life that had left her with a depressed child. Yet another burden on her. She needed the sympathy. She needed the attention. She needed to hear that it was not her fault. Nothing ever was. She would not leave until that reassurance came.
I was given a few boxes of antidepressants and sent on my way. I wrote goodbye letters and swallowed all of them. I don’t think I really thought they would kill me, but maybe there was a…
