At 27, I’ve settled into a comfortable coexistence with my suicidality. We’ve made peace, or at least a temporary accord negotiated by therapy and medication. It’s still hard sometimes, but not as hard as you might think. What makes it harder is being unable to talk about it freely: the weightiness of the confession, the impossibility of explaining that it both is and isn’t as serious as it sounds. I don’t always want to be alive. Yes, I mean it. No, you shouldn’t be afraid for me. No, I’m not in danger of killing myself right now. Yes, I really mean it.
How do you explain that?
Not suicidal, but I’ve Almost died before and I wasn’t afraid and I didn’t have any regrets, I’ll accept it whenever it happens it’ll be alright
I’ve had a few on both sides. Motorcycle/car accident was easy when you’re in it. I just close my eyes and let whatever happens happen. On the other hand, deciding and actually taking that plunge has been the most difficult action I’ve ever experienced. Every bit of your body and soul screams at you to stop.