I think there comes a point in all of our lives where we find ourselves in uncharted territory . By this I mean a complete dissolution of identity and self worth. It happens when we reach our lowest ebb of tolerance. So much so that, for some people the only means in which to regain that sense of control is by doing the one thing that is truly irreversible – they take their own lives.
In that singular, premeditated act, they are granted complete control over their destiny, and yet conversely they also forsake any claim of dominance once their life force slips from their body. It is an act made often on some kind of emotional impulse dictated to by the pulls and throes of mental distress, as opposed to any sense of logic or reason.
Of course, I would be the last person to pretend that I am able to remain calm and objective when things go wrong. It is immensely challenging to think about anything other than how much I despise myself and the state of my life when these moments occur. More often than not, I can only think about committing suicide and the various ways in which I could go about carrying out the deed.
One memory that particularly stands out is when I was celebrating my final few weeks at university.It was the last ever quiz night at the local student union bar. Attending it had become something of a tradition during my alcohol fuelled student days. So there I was, living in the moment, and relishing the inner contentment that goes hand in hand with such a mindset. Yet as soon as I returned back to my small, cluttered excuse of a room everything changed.
Being caught between the relatively carefree life I had indulged in during my studies of on one hand and the seemingly cold, harsh world of working life on the other felt like walking on a tightrope I had no hope of crossing. This thought triggered a rather unusual reaction when it comes to the way in which I typically experience depression.
In short, I had a complete mental breakdown.
Tears poured down my face. My vision was so blurred that I could barely see my hands in front of me. Eventually I found myself rocking back and forth like some demented thing, pausing only to let out a gasp of pain or to wipe my eyes. It was though I had completely lost touch with reality and anything that kept me grounded.
In the end it was only because of the help I received from several close friends that stopped me from spiralling into an even darker pit.
I do firmly believe that had it not been for their interference, I would have walked off into the night. To God knows what.
To this day I have not experienced the extent of terror and helplessness in so short a time as that I did on that night nearly two years ago.
The real question is, did I really want to die? Or was it all a cry for help and due to a combination of my personality and other factors, the only way I found I could express this desire was through an act of sheer desperation.
All I do know is that, back then, I truly did believe that death would be a preferable alternative to the thoughts and sensations that I was otherwise feeling.
Has there ever been a pivotal moment in your life where you believed that suicide was the only way our of your current situation? Did you act on these thoughts? Or has hindsight made you realise that it. Do we actually want to die? Or do we simply want to stop living and feeling as we do at this moment in time? I would love to hear your own views on this matter.