If My Heart Could Speak

I want to preface this with a trigger warning. There will be mentions of suicide attempts and self harm. If you are sensitive to these topics, I suggest skipping this one.

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Death and dying have always peaked my interests. Not because I believe in after life: heaven, hell, purgatory. Simply because I want to know what it feels like to just .. die. I ponder the idea of a last breath. Is the theory that the last seven minutes highlight your favorite memories true? I want to know everything. The sad part is, I can’t ask anyone how it feels for obvious reasons. When I bring this up, some have said “what about people with near death experiences” which to that I say: fair. I had my own near death experience, it was self inflicted and it simply was not enough for me to understand death and feel the satisfaction of letting go.

When I was 17 years old I tried to kill myself. It was mid covid lockdown and I was in the worst condition to be at home all day. I was in a relationship with a 23 year old since I was 16 and I knew it was wrong but what did I care. He was “mature.” He ended up harming me emotionally to the point of no return. He would tell me I was very mature for my age, that he would marry me as soon as I turned 18. For a teenage girl who had never experienced anything like this, I was over the moon. He was going to take me out of my toxic household and take care of me. Little did I know what would happen next. I didn’t agree to having sex with him. I wanted to wait will we were married, not just in the back of his beaten down Honda Civic. The day after I refused, everything changed. He would call me names. Suddenly it went from beautiful, princess, baby girl to fucking bitch, dumbass, idiot. He said my ass wasn’t even fat enough to want to fuck me anyways. A knife in the heart to little me who was struggling with gaining weight. He told me he would leave me for someone his age, not speak to me for weeks and then come back apologizing. This behavior continued for months. I accepted because I was lonely and he was the only human interaction I had at the time. One day after hours of arguing about his treatment he went silent right before saying the words that would eventually replay in my mind for days. “I wish you were fucking dead.” I froze. I hung up the phone, went on airplane mode and paced my room. I myself had already wanted to be dead, but now this person who I cared for despite the hurt .. also wanted me dead. My relationship with my family at the time was so tainted that I thought maybe they would have been fine if I died too. So I knew it was time.

I had already been self harming. I would burn my skin with a lighter in discreet areas, I would then cut myself on the patches of burned skin because it hurt more than the typical way to cut yourself. I self harmed again that day but it wasn’t enough. I wrote my note first. For a writer, it was one of my worst pieces to date. I think the grammar was completely off and it didn’t flow the way I thought it would. I waited a few days. I contemplated back and forth whether or not I would go through with it. But I wanted sweet release. I wanted to stop feeling the pain of everyone hating me regardless of how good I was to them. After weeks of pondering death, I finally decided it was time. I grabbed my dad’s belt and I went into my parents closet whose hanger rack was high enough for me to hang myself. I neatly folded the note into an envelope and I gave it a kiss with my signature burgundy lipstick I loved back then. I tied the belt around the rack tight. I propped myself up on the laundry basket I flipped upside down and secured the other end of belt around my neck. I stood there for a little bit before I kicked the basket away. I didn’t cry, I wasn’t scared. I was hesitant but I was ready. I heard someone coming upstairs so I kicked the basket away so I had time to die before they could save me. My only immediate thought as my body lost oxygen was “fuck. I forgot to close the door.” My brother found me just in time. He held me up to release the pressure on my throat and I was immediately wracked with guilt. All I could do was apologize as he helped me down. As I was hysterically crying, I remember one thing so vividly that my brother kept saying; “you have to choose life.”

I remember the struggle to breathe. With every gasp of air I felt my body getting lighter. It was almost like a head high. What was realistically less than a minute felt like an eternity. But what most stuck with me the most was my brother’s words. Choose life. Every day since that day, I have chosen life. Even when I’m at my lowest, when I think I can’t ride it out anymore, I choose life. I’m still not afraid of dying. I still wonder every day when I will die, how it will happen, but now I know I wont take myself. Death is inevitable, the only certainty we have in life. The idea of death hugs me, it’s my consolation in times of need. But I overcome all desire to die, because at the end of the day, you have to choose life.