I’ve decided to be very candid in this post. What I’m going to say isn’t easy, and I’ve never really shared it with anyone before.
I always thought that suicide didn’t affect me. I mean, I didn’t know anyone who had done something like that. My 7th grade health class was the first time I had ever really talked about it, or heard about it. I thought, “Oh, how silly. Like, who would even want to kill themselves? That doesn’t even make sense!” But, I was wrong.
My uncle, from whom my middle name (Shane) comes from, committed suicide before I was born. I had never taken this to heart. I didn’t understand it. I had never fully understood the impact that it had on my mom’s family. But I see it now.
I’m sitting in my room. But I’m doing more than just sitting, I’m crying. I’m sixteen years old, far too young to be having a breakdown of this magnitude. “Hell.” That’s how I’d describe the past year. I lost my brother, my best friend, my rock. I cry about him almost every night, but tonight, I had a lot more on my mind than Logan. I’m not just alone in my room, I’m alone in my house. My parent’s are home, and I’m sure they’re crying too. But I have to be strong, I have to show them that it’s all going to be ok. I need to show them how strong I am. I’m alone because I don’t want them to hurt too.
I wish I was just crying about him, but I’m not. Finally I roll off my bed, stumble to the cramped upstairs bathroom, and flip on the light. There I am. My face. My glasses. My thick hair. My chubby neck. Underneath it a chubby body. I look to the toilet. I feel like vomiting. Back to the mirror. I pull the door closed, place my hands on the edge of the sink, and start to shake violently. After three minutes I have to pull myself together. There’s my face again. I watch my lips separate and my mouth open. “I’m gay.” The words tumble out of my mouth like they were never supposed to leave. The words I never thought I’d hear myself say. It’s been said by certain theorists that everything exists until you say it, or write about it. Then it is only a memory, wherefore it cannot be real any longer. That is a lie.
It’s real now. But what’s even more real, are the thoughts rolling through my head. If I’m gay, my parents are going to lose another son. The question is, do they lose him to “The World” or do they lose him to ground, six feet under in his own paradise away from this pain? I go back to my room. I’m a chicken, a coward. I can barely swallow two pills at once, how could I overdose? And on what? I can’t even bring myself to pull a pocket knife out of my nightstand. I can’t decide. Am I scum for wanting to kill myself, or for not being able to go through with it? I digress. I get back into bed, and cry myself to sleep for yet another night.
I wish the story really ended there. But it doesn’t. I’m not trying to make you feel bad for me. That’s not my intent at all. We can assume from the fact that I’m writing this that I never went through with any suicidal plans. Thank God. But, it really only got worse. Even after I came out. Even after I felt accepted. Even after I moved off to college. Thoughts of suicide never really went away. Maybe they never will. I mean, my mind always seems to find another reason: “You have no friends.” “You hurt all the people around you.” “He doesn’t like you, he’s just using you.” “You’ll never find love, and if you do, your family won’t accept you.” “You’re fat.” You’re ugly.” Etc.
Finally, to end on a lighter note, I can say with all honesty, that those things are not true. No matter how much I believe them in the moment, they aren’t. I just take some melatonin, flip on my heated blanket, play Devin’s angst mix, put my little head on that pillow, and give life another try tomorrow.
I’m sorry if this is a little sporadic, but it’s the best I can do at this time of night. Thanks for reading. 🙂
Resources – If you or someone you know is contemplating suicide or self harm:
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline – 1-800-273-8255
The Trevor Project – 1-866-488-7386
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