Irrational

Suicide takes effort.

I planned my suicide for a week before I actually attempted it. I had to put on a mask for everyone around me, to laugh and joke so that no could see that I was planning my death. I googled urns and cremation services so I could make sure I could afford to pay for my funeral expenses with the meager money I had saved up. I wrote and rewrote notes. I planned out what I would use, where I would do it, how I would avoid being caught. I looked forward to 11/10/22, counted down the hours with delicious anticipation. I was delighted. It was finally ending.

I was tricking myself with adrenaline.

My nights were spent reasoning with myself instead of sleeping. I kept telling myself, there's no other way. This is the best option. This is the only option. Suicide was the light at the end of my tunnel vision.

And then I survived.

The suicidal thoughts have not gone away. Every day I regret that I didn't take that step. The week after was spent in a state of constant panic and mania, the simultaneous thrill and shame of being alive. And then I had to force myself to get up and keep functioning. Because, unfortunately for me, I was not dead.

Suicide is different for everyone. Having never actually died, I cannot say what exactly goes through the mind of someone who commits suicide. But having attempted suicide, having stood on that ledge and looked death in the face with a smile, I can tell you the one thing we all have in common: irrationality. Because our lives, our minds, have driven us crazy. One tiny mistake is enough to deserve death. Every day that we stay alive is another reason to end it all. Before the body can die, rationality must be killed. The mind commits suicide long before the person does.

Has my mind committed suicide?

Maybe. Maybe not. But I haven't yet. And I suppose that's progress.