Suicide Prevention Month: My Story

Suicide Prevention Month: My Story

Trigger warning: mentions of suicide and mental health issues.

Since September marks National Suicide Prevention Month, I decided to share my story in hopes of helping others who are in a similar situation. When I was asked the common question as a teenager, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”, my immediate response was always, “Nothing.”

While many interpreted this as a lack of ambition or uncertainty about my future, the reality was much deeper. The truth was that I didn’t want a future at all. I didn’t want to live.

I wanted to end my life.

Growing up

My childhood was relatively typical. Nothing catastrophic or traumatic happened in my life until I was 10 years old and thought I was having a heart attack. I remember trying to sleep in my bed and immediately feeling like I couldn’t breathe. To this day I still remember how strong my heart was beating. I couldn’t sit still because I could just feel it pounding in my chest. I woke my mother, who immediately got in the car to take me to the hospital. While we were on the road, my heart suddenly felt good and we headed back home. Completely confused, I just tried to go to sleep.

Psst… Check out the free mental health support created for NYC teens

At the time, in 2010, I had no idea what anxiety was, but I knew what a heart attack was from reading the book. Ax at school and that’s all my childhood brain could focus on. From then on I continued to have ‘heart problems’. I turned on my grandmother’s heart monitor and went to doctor visits, but nothing came of it, so life went on. Although my heart was thankfully considered healthy, the intensity of the moment made a lasting impression.

As a child I always had a persistent feeling of nervousness. I often called my mother to pick me up from a sleepover. People quickly labeled me as a nervous and cautious child. By the time high school started, anxiety had completely taken over my life. My anxiety mainly centered around the fear of bothering others. Even the slightest stomach ache made me panic, fearing I would throw up in an uncomfortable place. This fear began to dominate my life, making it difficult for me to take long drives, attend large gatherings, or even fall asleep.

Fear of depression

Although I didn’t know it at the time, my persistent anxiety led me to spiral into severe depression during my freshman year of high school. I was generally a seemingly well-adjusted teenager and had many friends, but I found it challenging to enjoy my own company. I didn’t recognize this as depression. I also felt indifferent to my well-being and often dismissed my struggles as mere laziness. This led to me spending days in bed without even bothering to take care of my hygiene. It’s hard to admit, but that was my reality at the time.

Suicidal thoughts arise

I felt so wrong and empty all the time. I don’t know exactly when, but I decided I wanted to kill myself, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it either. Even though I wasn’t religious at the time, I remember being on my knees and begging God to kill me. I wanted a higher being to help me avoid contracting an incurable disease, getting hit by a car, or just not waking up. Day after day I became so frustrated that no one would put me out of my misery.

I thought the best time to end my life was when I graduated high school because then I wouldn’t have to worry about myself in the “real world.” This was another major stressor. When it came time to look for colleges, I felt no interest. Deep down I knew that no matter what I chose, I wouldn’t make it there.

Fortunately, mental health and suicide prevention are much more discussed now than when I was growing up. My mother wasn’t concerned and Googled why her daughter kept panicking and hiding in her room. I remember my mother asking me if I thought I had anxiety. I honestly didn’t know what that meant. As any high school student would do, I immediately Googled the definition and something like solving a math problem immediately clicked. My parents found me a therapist. I kept it a secret from all my friends.

Being diagnosed with depression and anxiety

My first therapy session included a series of multiple-choice questions, each ranging from “Strongly Disagree” to “Strongly Agree.” The number of questions felt overwhelming, as if there were countless choices to consider. I answered every question honestly: my body was too exhausted to lie. After analyzing my responses, my therapist diagnosed me with a severe anxiety disorder and a depressive disorder. Those words hit me hard. The diagnosis felt heavy and disheartening, but at the same time it was a revelation that illuminated my struggles. At that time, I also experienced a deep emotional unraveling and struggled with the thought of being labeled as broken.

After I was diagnosed, I went into a downward spiral. I didn’t want to feel the way I felt. I felt inadequate and isolated, even when surrounded by friends. Anxiety and panic attacks became my constant companions. I was so over everything. I couldn’t think about anything other than when my next wave of anxiety or depression would hit. I became obsessed and it reached a point where I was ready to end it.

The breaking point

I had written parting words and unsaid words to my parents, my sisters and some close friends. In the letters I shared my deep affection and assured them that they were in no way responsible for my struggle. I conveyed my appreciation for their presence in my life while simultaneously revealing my overwhelming sense of exhaustion, both mentally and physically. I remember a feeling of relief washing over me, knowing that I would not face an uncertain future and that all the pain I was feeling would finally disappear.

Ironically, the day after I wrote all these letters, I got into therapy. During this session I tried to act as nonchalant as possible, but my therapist saw right through it and asked me what was wrong. I finally confessed the truth and told her I was going home and doing something.

From there everything changed.

My journey to healing

After countless visits to hospitals, doctors and psychiatrists, I began to find my way to healing. Even now, years later, I’m still on that journey. I continue to face challenges with anxiety, depression and obsessive-compulsive disorder, but I feel fortunate to have access to the resources, tools and support that help me manage these conditions. I am incredibly grateful to still be here today, and I am indebted to the professionals, family and friends who have stood by me, helped me come out of the shadows and continually encouraged me.

Psst… Check out: Mental health problems affecting young children

When I look back on that difficult period in my life, I wish I had the understanding of mental health that I do now. It would have been reassuring to know that many teens experience depression and anxiety. Today, I am encouraged to see mental health issues being discussed and acknowledged more openly. Yet I am acutely aware that teen suicide remains a significant problem, ranking as the third leading cause of death among young people.

I was initially reluctant to share my own struggles with mental health and thoughts of suicide, but as an adult I feel compelled to advocate for mental health awareness. If my story can resonate with even one person and give them hope, that would mean a lot to me.

If you or someone you know is experiencing suicidal thoughts or crisis, please contact the Suicide and Crisis Hotline immediately by calling 988.