For my fellow survivors on World Suicide Prevention Day.
The first year after my suicide attempt, I felt unstoppable. It was a Phoenix Year from which I emerged deeply in love with life, with my goals, with a man who looked at me like the sun rose and set in my eyes, and with my resilience. I’d looked death in the eye and emerged victorious. I wasn’t a victim. I was a warrior, capable of surviving whatever storm life brought my way.
As the years went by, that power slowly became more difficult to access. The life I’d envisioned in my recovery, the future that kept me moving toward the light, crashed and burned. The relationship exploded. Making myself vulnerable to public critique via writing became exhausting. My adrenaline-fueled go-getter attitude dissolved and my natural tendencies toward introversion resurfaced. Things went dark and I was once again confronted with the same demons whose graves I’d happily danced over two years prior.