Truthfully, I am a liar. I think I’ve always been skilled at bending the truth to get out of trouble, but my depression has allowed me to perfect the art of deception.

I saw what my suicide attempt did to my family and to others around me. I read letters, took phone calls, heard face to face about how my attempt to take my own life hurt others. I’m not sure if there is a “right” thing to say about a suicide attempt, I don’t think I would have said anything differently if the roles were reversed. I read something once that said “how do you kill yourself without killing those around you?” You don’t.

I will never commit suicide. I will never commit suicide because I can not bear the guilt of what it will do to those around me. I don’t know what happens to  you after you pass. Maybe you just sit in the ground and rot away. But I can not take the chance of there really being an afterlife where I have to see my loved ones grieve. I just can’t.

I quickly learned that people are happy to hear that I’m happy, that i’m on the path to being “cured.” When I slip up, I can see the pain in my moms eyes and feel the frustration radiating from my dad as he tries to rationalize something that will always be irrational. I know they want me to be happy. I do my best.

“It’s getting better”

“I’m doing okay”

“This is helping”

“I’m looking forward to my future”

“I feel good”

All these things I’ve learned to push out of my mouth just so I can see the relief from the recipients face. “I’m so happy that things are getting back to normal.” Every time I hear that it feels like someones laying a cinder block on top of my body. Trapping me under the weight of guilt.

Truthfully, I have thought about killing myself more often than not. I have a time, place, method, all planned out. But I have run out of people to talk to about it. I’ve created this facade of success that if people found out I value my life just as little if not less than the day I tried to take it, they’d be hurt. They’d be confused. I like seeing people’s spirits being lifted when they see someone come out of the darkness. It provides hope. I would rather provide that sense of relief than be honest about how I’ve been swallowed by the darkness and don’t think I’ll ever see the light again.

But now I’m here, cinder block on cinder block of guilt holding me to the ground. I can’t breathe. Fuck.