Last year was a big year for me, a life shattering earth shaking kind of year. The kind of year that changed me fundamentally, and changed just about everything about my life.
I don't remember how the year started, but I remember how it ended. I was working 70+ hours per week. I hardly ever saw my kids. I worked at home, so I rarely left the house. I didn't have many friends that weren't on the internet. In fact, I rarely talked in person to any adults other than my husband for weeks at a time from about June on.
I tried to change it. I tried to fix it, to patch it, to stop it from getting worse. But I couldn't or I didn't. It only got worst. I spiraled farther and farther down a hole, until there was no way out. No way up. Only down, only further, only darker. And so down I went.
It got to the point that I was numb. I couldn't feel. I couldn't find anything about myself that was worth sticking around for. I'd done terrible things in my attempts to flee the life that I felt was trapping me into this terrible apathy. I'd hurt people, not just in the pit of darkness, but before that. I had a long string of hurting people, and that's all I could see. How horrible I was. How cruel, how worthless. How the world would be infinitely better without me in it.
I even convinced myself that my kids didn't need me. They would be better off without me too. I was only going to teach them how to be hurtful, horrible people. I would eventually hurt them, too. I couldn't forgive myself for that.
There was only one answer that I could find. I wanted out so badly. I hated myself so much. I saw no hope, no alternate escape, no other way out. I was miserable, and I would always be miserable.
November 6th, 2014 I tried to kill myself.
I went into the hospital after I tried, rushed to the emergency room, and then taken to an in patient psychiatric hospital. I spent ten days there, walking through days that ran together. Counseling, and group therapy, medicine and food and sleep. Repeat.
There was only one thing they told me in there that I really remember. One thing that I hold on to. One thing that made it an impossibility to do what I had done.
They told me that people who have a loved one who commits suicide are much more likely to commit suicide themselves. Especially children. That last part got me. I love my friends, and my family immensely, but my children? I couldn't bear that. I can't stomach the thought. It makes me lurch every time I think about it, and that's been a sufficient deterrent.
After I got out of the hospital, I started making changes. I started seeing a therapist and a psychiatrist to start treating the bipolar disorder I'd ignored for the last dozen or so years. I quit one of the jobs I was working. I studied math, and read books and listened to music and spent more time with my kids. I tried to actually live life, rather than just wading through it.
But the other things that were wrong with my life were still wrong. They weren't going to get better. So, early January of this year I told my husband I was leaving him. I'd asked for a divorce at least once a month for the last year. Every time I would end up thinking about the kids, and how much it would hurt them, how selfish I was being. I would tell myself that it was only 15 more years. That wasn't so long. Surely I could hold on for that long. I could fake it. I could make myself smile, make myself laugh, at least for them. They deserved that. This wasn't their fault.
I couldn't do it anymore. I didn't know where I was going to go, or what I was going to do, or how I would handle three kids by myself; but I knew I was going to do it. I had to do it.
And so I did.
I thought about what kind of life I would live if I could live any life I wanted to. The city. I love the city. I wanted a job at a larger company with bigger challenges. I wanted culture, I wanted friends. All of that converged in New York City. I've wanted to live here since I was a little girl, and finally it seemed almost possible.
I started applying at companies in New York City, talking to my friends that lived here to see if they had any leads on people who were looking for Engineers. In the beginning I really didn't think that I would actually get a job. I wasn't good enough. I hadn't done enough. I didn't know enough.
Turns out, I was wrong. I did get a job, and I took it. I accepted an offer in early April to start at Refinery29 on the platform engineering team. The team is amazing, the work is challenging is all the right ways.
The city is amazing. It's busy, and culture rich, and I have friends here. There are a million things to see, a million places to get lost in. I made it, and I'm happy.
The last year hasn't been perfect. The last few months of the summer were really hard, and then it got better, and I got stronger. Then, it got worse again. The last month has been really taxing. My children came back at the end of August. Having them home is amazing, but it's also very lonely. It was pulling on me so hard that I started dropping down again, into the darkness.
Then something happened. I saw a calendar and that date popped out. November 6th.
It hit me. I made it. One more time around the sun. I did it slowly, one foot in front of another, one step at a time. I did it even though I was terrified; even though i didn't know if I could make it. Even when I thought I would certainly fall straight on my ass. I was fearless, even when I was afraid.
I. Made. It.
Being reminded of the day you tried to kill yourself seems like it should make you sad. Like it should be a somber time, or a shameful one. It seems like maybe you wouldn't want to talk about it. It's not like that for me. It's triumphant. I conquered this, at least so far, at least for now. I climbed up out of that darkness, and though sometimes I dip back down, it's not nearly as bad as it was.
I can do this. I've already done it. Every day I do it. I just have to keep doing it. One day at a time, one step after another.
This year, on November 6th I'm going to get a tattoo. Right along my collar bone, two words and a punctuation mark. I picked that spot for two reasons. 1. I'll see it; every time I look in the mirror. Every morning after a shower I'll see it and I'll be reminded. 2. It's going to hurt like hell and it's supposed to.
Every time I look in the mirror from then on, I'll see the words "not today;". Because what do we say to the God of Death? Not. Today. Not today is enough. I don't need to think about tomorrow, or five years from now. Just not today.
The semi colon at the end is due to Project Semicolon.
“A semicolon is used when an author could’ve chosen to end their sentence, but chose not to. The author is you and the sentence is your life.” It seemed fitting.
If you're in the darkness, know that it can get better. It does get better. Don't give up hope. Don't leave. And if you need me, I'm always here.
I though for a couple of minutes about what to reply, and I think the best thing I can say is just 1 word:
"Congratulations!"
Also, the semicolon is a GREAT touch :)