Wednesday, November 29, 2017

Guest Post from Author and Advocate Taylor Nicole

I don't remember what got me to that place; a rough day, a fight with my boyfriend. It was over something so minuscule that I can't even recall why I was doing it in the first place. But I swallowed those pills by friend gave me and I went to sleep, leaving nothing but a note behind. I was ending my life. When I woke up it was bright outside; something very out of the ordinary for me since I was nocturnal at the time. I rolled over in bed with a massive migraine and checked my phone. It had been 18 hours since my suicide attempt. 

I spent the day walking around town, trying to process what had just happened. I wasn't supposed to be alive. There had to be some mistake. I wasn't supposed to survive. I wasn't supposed to see tomorrow. But by some miracle, I woke up. I felt so grateful to have survived. The day after my suicide attempt was the first day I didn't feel suicidal in years. I was so happy to just be alive. The air was fresher, the people in town seemed friendlier. Life has a positive outlook, no matter how grey it was. 

I think I don't remember what triggered me because the trigger wasn't important. In the grand scheme of thongs, the trigger was irrelevant. It didn't even cross my mind when I woke up. I didn't try to die by suicide just because of an argument or a bad day. It was years of build up. It took years of living in a suicidal mind state to get me to that place. It started with suicidal ideation; the passing thoughts of if I was to be hot by a car that it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. Then it progressed to self harming. Eventually it lead to manic states of writing suicide letters here and there, but never an attempt, not like this. I wasn't suicidal for one little thing. I was suicidal because I have a mental illness that makes me incapable to see myself in a good light. I was blinded by a biological self hatred. 

Depression and mania had a hold on me for years. My life was ruled by my mental illness. I didn't want help for myself until I survived my suicide attempt. From that day on I saw myself as worthy. I respected my body and stopped harming myself. I never wanted to get that "bad" again. I never wanted to be at the page where my life seemed invaluable. 

It's been 3 years since my suicide attempt. I would be lying if I said suicidal thought hasn't come to mind when my mental illness gets worst. It's scary for me to have to think like that again. It's like a reoccuring nightmare, and I'm paralyzed and don't know how to make it stop. I have found comfort in talking about it. The more I address it, the less power it has. I am fighting my inner demons by bringing awareness to them. I am battling monsters, and I'm learning that I'm stronger than them. 

My suicide attempt was the loneliest, saddest, most heartbreaking day of my life. However, it was also the most eye opening. I finally found my value. Although it will always be a struggle for me, I have learned that life is too important to leave. I have found my reasons to stay; mostly, being that I'm worth it. 

Twitter: @taycowrites

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