A Journey Through Darkness: My Story of Survival
Trigger Warning: This post discusses sensitive topics, including suicide and hospitalization.
September is Suicide Awareness Month, and this time last year, I made an attempt on my life. It’s a topic I haven’t talked much about, but today, I want to share my experience, hoping it might resonate with someone who needs to hear it.
A few weeks before my attempt, I experienced a traumatic event that sent me spiraling. During this time, I had a friend who was a lifeline. She stayed on the phone with me while I was at the hospital, waiting to undergo an exam. Although she wasn’t physically with me—because I was in a different state—she texted me constantly, making sure I was as okay as I could be in that situation.
As the days passed, my mental health declined rapidly. I found myself in an extremely dark place, struggling to keep going. It reached a point where my therapist suggested I consider a voluntary hospital stay to stabilize myself. I was terrified and desperately tried to find reasons not to go. But this same friend, who had been with me through the worst of it, calmly dismantled every excuse I came up with.
We eventually agreed that I would go to the hospital the next day, after my friend got off work. The reality was that no one trusted me to take myself, and in hindsight, I understand why. As soon as she was able, she came to pick me up with my bag of essentials and drove me to the inpatient unit.
Each day, I tried to convince her that leaving the hospital was a good idea. Each day, she met my pleas with a firm “no” and a logical reason why it wasn’t. I was desperate, hopeless, and teetering on the edge of giving up entirely. One night, that desperation overtook me, and I attempted to end my life.
The staff reacted quickly, but the details are blurry. I remember waking up in a local ER. They let me talk to my friend on the phone because she was my emergency contact, and the hospital had called her. It was the middle of the night, and they had woken her up several times. When I heard her voice, I could sense both worry and love. She helped me advocate for myself when I had no voice left.
After being medically cleared the next morning, I was sent back to the initial hospital. I was placed on 1:1 observation, which I hated, but it was necessary. Everything I was used to had been stripped away, but it was all done to keep me safe, not to make me comfortable.
Very few people knew where I was during this time, and I pretended as much as possible that everything was normal. Each day, I asked the provider if I could go home, and each day, I was told, “Not yet.” Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I was cleared to leave. Even then, I tried to leave earlier than they recommended, but I knew I had to comply.
Once I left the hospital, my therapist insisted that I participate in their Partial Hospitalization Program (PHP). I did, and it turned out to be a positive experience. I appreciated the therapist running the group and found solace in the other patients’ stories. During my inpatient stay, I was also fortunate to have an amazing roommate who made the experience a little more bearable.
Looking back, I still wonder: Did the hospital contribute to my attempt, or did it prevent something far worse from happening? The truth is, there’s no perfect answer in these situations. Hospitals can only do so much, and safety is always the top priority.
If you’re feeling unsafe, please reach out for support. Talk to a friend, family member, or provider, and if you’re in immediate danger, don’t hesitate to call 911. You are not alone, and while asking for help can be incredibly scary, the people who care about you would much rather you reach out than face the alternative. Find someone you trust and let them help you find safety.
You are loved. You deserve to be here. You deserve to be safe.