My first remembered thoughts of suicide was when I was 7. I remember this because this was the year I had the best teacher. And although she didn’t know what I thought, she tried her best to make me feel like a good child worthy of love.
Although I had just been adopted, and I knew my parents loved me (because they chose me), deep inside my brain was rooted that I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t good enough for lots of reasons. (But That’s a different post.)
Any mistakes I made, meant I was not a good person. I don’t remember (thankfully) much about my early life, but my brain learned that mistakes were bad, and I deserved punishing. If I wasn’t learning not to make mistakes after punishment, then why should I keep living? I was just making things worse for everyone else. Why should they have to deal with me? I was a nuisance. (Although at that young age I didn’t know that word, I knew that’s how I felt when I made mistakes.)
As a kid in the 90s, I had no idea how to free the world from my presence. The only thing I knew to do was to hurt myself as a punishment. I hid in my room and inflicted pain when I made mistakes. That’s what I deserved.
No one knew when I was growing up.
My parents didn’t know. They didn’t know how often I punished myself. They didn’t know the nights I cried myself to sleep because I was a terrible person and hated myself. They didn’t know in my mind I shouldn’t be living anymore.
I tried to be very good. I tried not to make mistakes. I did all I could to follow the rules. I was a good student. I did what I was told (at least I think I did.) I didn’t show weakness. I tried to be perfect.
My teacher didn’t know that the girl who was a top student was hurting herself at home. She didn’t know that the little 7 year old who messed up in the classroom hurt herself when she got home. She didn’t know that when I missed questions on my assignments, she went home and told herself she was stupid and not good enough.
My younger sister didn’t know even though we slept in the same room sometimes. I would choke myself at night. It was the only way I knew I could attempt killing myself. Stopping the airflow was the only thing I knew back then. I couldn’t hold it long enough. I wasn’t strong enough. I just ended up having a coughing fit. Then I’d curl in a ball under my sheets and cry till I fell asleep.
It wasn’t until I was a teen that I heard about using a knife. Although I could swipe across my wrist, the knife pressure was never strong enough. I could never push it into the skin hard enough. Again another thing I sucked at. Too weak to cause blood. I was mad at myself both times I was unable to break skin. I couldn’t even do something good for the world.
As a teen, my best friends didn’t know. My church leaders didn’t know. They didn’t know because I showed up to church being exactly who I was suppose to. I was trying to feel God’s love. I was trying to be so good to feel like I deserved life.
No one knew as an adult.
In college, I found more purpose. I was going to school to be a teacher. I was going to help children. This made me happy. It gave me purpose.
I only had 2 dark moments in 4 years college. My roommates and coworkers didn’t know. My church leaders didn’t know. But only one of those times did I consider driving off the road. I didn’t because my parents had bought me a nice car and that would have been a jerk thing to do with such a nice vehicle.
When I became a teacher, a good chunk of my depression and self loathing got buried. I loved the classroom. I was happy. Being with kids gave me purpose. My sole responsibility was to teach kids they had worth and were amazing. I could see they were amazing and I tried my hardest to make sure they felt my love. I might not have been successful with every student, but for the first time in my life I felt like I had a reason to be here. I loved the mental freedom of that time.
However, postpartum hits. After my second baby, my brain spiraled down. I only saw the worse in me. I only saw my failures. I only knew I was back to sucking at life. The only place I didn’t suck at was school. I didn’t have suicidal thoughts though. I had a reason to be here and a teacher was it.
My most recent suicidal thoughts was 6 years later after my 4th baby. That postpartum was harder. I was 34 and still screwing up at life. It was just a quick thought quickly pushed away because there was no “realistic way” I could do it. Suicide was selfish, and I couldn’t cause any of that pain onto my kids or financial burden onto my family. My suicide thought turned to running away. Saving my family from dealing with me. I knew I couldn’t think like that. I had a friend who had posted a year prior she needed help and got meds. I went to the doctor.
The doctor didn’t know all the details, just that I needed something to fix my depression. I lied when she asked if I had suicidal thoughts. But it wasn’t a complete lie. I had them, but had pushed them away.
At this time, my husband and family didn’t know I was suffering. They didn’t know I thought they would be better off without me. They didn’t know if I had found my replacement, I would feel justified.
My colleagues and students didn’t know that happy teacher was hurting inside. They didn’t know that the school was the only place I felt I was doing good in life.
My dancers and baseball players I coached had no idea that they were what gave me the extra love I needed to push through. The pride I felt in their growth is what helped me when I felt like I was failing in my life as a mom and housewife.
No one knew.
That’s the thing. Some will hide away when they are suffering. Some will give signs they are struggling. Some will hint.
However, some will fake it so well no one will know.
Some will show up exactly who the world needs. They will show up for others. They will show up happy and outgoing because they are doing it for others. They do it because they want to make others happy. They want to bring joy into others’ lives, so they don’t suffer like they do.
It wasn’t till I was in my 30s that I realized I am an excellent actress. No, not for tv and movies. I have been an actress in my life since I was a child. I have been able to make others believe that my smile was genuine. I have been able to hide so much pain. I have shown up countless times for everyone else faking how I truly felt.
We must seek to know.
No one knew because I made sure no one knew. Back then mental health wasn’t talked about. Back then the world was different.
The world we live in, we MUST SEEK TO KNOW. We must learn to ask the questions. We must learn to read between the lines.
Kids now a-days KNOW how to commit suicide. I didn’t back then, but what kids are exposed to now tells them how. We live in a world where it is talked about to know exactly how to do it. We might be trying to “prevent” suicide, but that information is telling them how to. So WITH that information of how people commit suicide, we need to ask the hard questions and seek out what they are truly feeling.
We have to battle the phrase of NO ONE KNEW.
