About 11 years ago, during a particularly low low, and for a lot of reasons, I made a plan to kill myself.
I won’t go into the details, but suffice to say, it was a “good” plan.
The tools I needed were accessible to me and I had the necessary independence to carry it out in full. I thought about it for a week or so, and even said something to a couple of friends of mine, but I made a point of not telling anyone that might stop me.
I set a date, and time marched dutifully towards it. On the morning of, about an hour before I was going to do what I was gonna do, I decided not to.
Instead, I took myself out on a date, making a contemplative stop off by the Pacific Ocean, and that was that.
Now, I cannot exactly describe what all went into that decision, because my head was a lot more jumbled back then, but essentially it boiled down to this: My life is unbearable, somehow it keeps getting worse, and
A) it’s not going to get any better so an end would be blessing, or
B) there is a chance that something is going to happen to make me feel differently about it, and as impossible as that seems I don’t even know what that is yet.
I just was not certain enough to bet my life on death being the best choice, and I was too curious to give up on the idea of sticking around to see what might happen next.
Looking back, I understandably feel like it was a pretty important choice, and I don’t regret it.
I would like to add that it also did not really change anything, not right away at least. Even now I still have suicidal ideation pop up, but it just doesn’t feel engaging in the same way.
Some of that same shit that was hurting me back then is still around, still sucks, some of it worse. But other things have changed, and I’ve learned a lot about how to support myself.
Maybe that’s the difference, knowing how to care for my own particular set of weaknesses and triggers. Maybe I’ll feel differently when my cat passes and there is no one left to care for.
What I do know is, for now, I’m still sticking around.