Until Then

I was inspired by a friend who had the courage to share his experience. In fact, I feel like I know him better now, knowing what I know and recognizing something we have in common.

I, too, have been challenged by suicidal ideation. I spent a lot of my life in a downward spiral that often led me to think that ending my life would solve a problem. I was the problem.

Much of that came from feeling like I did not fit anywhere. I struggled with belonging, and there are still times when I struggle to understand where I belong. I often felt like an outsider looking in, included only when there was some service I could provide. I was invited because I would bring the food, so to speak. More than once, when the service was no longer needed, I felt discarded and moved on to the next need.

I attached a heavy sense of value to what I could do for others. I began to confuse what I could provide with who I was. I created a narrative about myself based on that belief, and I carried it for a long time.

I have struggled with this since I was young. Being gay did not help. Having little agency in my own life did not help either. These experiences stay with you. They change you.

Once suicide becomes an option, it stays with you. It becomes something you know is available. It may not always be the choice you make, but it remains on the table until you decide to take it off.

For me, that meant deciding that suicide was no longer a choice. It meant recognizing that there were other options.

After the last chain let go, life began to feel lighter. I started to regain a sense of who I was, who I wanted to be, and who I wanted to become. I began removing the voices of people and their expectations of who they thought I should be. I began separating their definition of me from my own.

I learned to dismiss the opinions of people I did not value or respect. I learned to work through and heal from violence. I learned to recognize the people who were violent toward me, including those who made me believe I would be nothing without them, that I needed them to survive.

I felt this in many of my romantic relationships and professional relationships. I carried those beliefs into my career, my partnerships, and my friendships. They weighed me down.

I chose to leave a career because staying meant that, one day, I would kill myself. I left partnerships for the same reason. I allowed connections and so-called friendships to fall away because continuing to live according to someone else's expectations was becoming unbearable.

I let those expectations fall.

And slowly, I began creating reasons for myself to stay.

Those reasons belong to me. They do not belong to anybody else.

Learning that I could step out of the void, or even find some light while I was still in it, helped me understand myself. It helped me understand what had brought me to those choices and what I needed to change.

It also helped me step into the role I have now: being able to sit with other people who wrestle with those same choices.

Maybe I can support them too.

Maybe we can both find the light in the dark.

What stands out to me most is that I only made one attempt. It happened in 2016.

I would have been gone for ten years.

But in another way, I did die ten years ago.

That version of me let go.

He sank into the ocean along with the chains.

And the person who came back was someone who had to learn how to live again.