Note: This piece talks about a suicide attempt in detail. Please use your discretion.
Dear Me,
I remember the torment that felt like it painted over every aspect of your life. The feelings of immense guilt that hung over you like a guillotine; sharp, daunting, impossible to live through. I remember locking ourselves away, taking the pills, and then taking some more, and trying to drift off to sleep.
That could’ve been the end of this story. You could have been discovered, cold and lifeless, in that tiny apartment miles from home. But your story doesn’t come to a close here. You lived. You went on. You changed, and you grew, and you overcame. I want to tell you about what came after. What you almost didn’t get to see.
Your family and friends extended you a tremendous amount of grace. Every wrongdoing was forgiven, every rift repaired, every mistake rectified. You patched up those relationships you thought were irreparable. You promised to be better. And you have been.
You participated in some intense group therapy, and you learned new things. You started writing again and wrote some beautiful and raw poetry. Your group members looked forward to hearing you share. You found a great sense of healing in this community.
You lost over 100 pounds and became a healthier and happier version of yourself. You worked hard and overcame obstacles, and now you are able to enjoy activities you only dreamed of before.
You became pregnant, something you didn’t know your body could do. And while you won’t meet that baby earthside, you learned the love of a mother. The terrifying, raw, and endless love that you never knew before. You learned not to let grief consume you. You learned to live, knowing that your son is now the brightest star in your sky.
You got married. You stood in front of the person who accepts you for who you are, and you exchanged the words that will hold you two together for the rest of your lives.
You got accepted into graduate school. You celebrated your 28th birthday. You got a great new job, you moved, and you spent time with family and friends. You changed. You grew.
You are still learning to live through the heaviest days. But you are also learning that good days aren’t so few and far between.
You take your medicine and go to therapy. You are on the right track. And I’m so, so proud of you.
Your friend,
Me
September is Suicide Prevention Month. Every 40 seconds, we lose someone to suicide. Your voice can help someone stay. Whether you’ve struggled with thoughts of suicide, have lost someone, or simply care—TWLOHA is inviting you to take actions that can provide hope for someone facing their darkest day.
This year’s Suicide Prevention Campaign is in full swing, and there are so many ways you can take action from wherever you are. Your support can change so much. Our goal, with your invaluable help, is to raise $250,000 by September 30th so that we are able to fund 2,800 hours of therapy for people who can’t otherwise afford care. We’ll also be able to support 26,000 searches through our FIND HELP Tool—connecting individuals to local, affordable mental health services, and we’ll be able to make space for 38 weeks of digital peer support, giving people a space to feel seen, heard, and not alone.
To learn more, start a fundraiser, or donate what you can, we invite you to visit twloha.com/suicideprevention.
For those struggling, you’re not in this alone. There are people who can and want to help. For free mental health resources, please go to twloha.com/stay. If you need immediate help, you can call 988 or text TWLOHA to 741741.