I am Kaitlin Marianne and I have been suicidal since around the age of 10 or 11 (it all blends together and I can no longer tell).
I typically type in all lowercase because it tends to be a thing of comfort for me somehow, but this is a serious matter and deserves a little more oomph in that regards, I think.
If you think that reading about this subject in detail will negatively impact you and your health, I advise you to not continue. Just in case, there are hotlines at the very end of this in case.
I am currently 19 years old, living in New Jersey, going to school in Philadelphia. I study musical theatre. It is extremely difficult as I don’t have much experience other than singing prior to coming to school here. I had only been in a few shows, had no acting class experience, no formal dance training, no knowledge of the industry, and could probably only name about 5 shows. The fact that I got into any programs was a miracle in and of itself.
It is also a miracle that I continue to wake up every single morning, and that I have for this past near-decade.
I have battled with depression, anxiety, and suicide for a really fucking long time now. It’s agonizing. Throughout all of these times, it has come and gone in waves. Whenever it was gone, I would think it was the end. Whenever it was there, I knew it was so much more than just a one time thing. There is nothing like the fucking hopelessness of waking up in the morning and wishing that you hadn’t. There is nothing like staring at yourself in the bathroom mirror at 4 in the fucking morning with as many different pills as you could find cupped in the palm of your sweaty, shaky hand, thinking that this would be best for everyone. God, when you look at yourself in the fucking mirror, you don’t look human anymore. You don’t. You don’t feel human because you feel devoid of all life and instead just exist in a chaotic state of hopelessness. Your features morph into those you have never seen before. You begin to look like that fucking monstrosity of a thing in your head telling you this is the only and best option. You start to look like it because you begin to submit to it. You begin to submit to all of the torment and you let it happen and you let it keep happening.
Yet you can’t get a single pill down even when you try.
You can’t even keep it in your mouth for more than a second.
Your mouth is so fucking dry that it sticks and glues itself to your tongue for a moment before you rip it away, put every single pill away, and collapse in a heap on the floor because you remember how much of a disappointment you would be to everyone if you did that. If you let yourself be the thing that kills you.
I don’t know about you, but the idea of disappointing someone else fucking eats me up inside.
And it is the only thing that has kept me alive.
But when do I start remaining alive for myself?
Being suicidal and being depressed isn’t always a handful of pills, though.
Most of the time, it’s pushing away everyone who’s important to you so that it’ll hurt them less once you’re gone because they were never close enough.
Sometimes it’s having to always be right about everything and hurting others without realizing it or owning up to it when it matters simply because you can’t handle another thing in your head telling you that you are wrong and undeserving of being on this planet because of it.
Sometimes it means clinging onto the people you love most despite it all just because you can’t bear to be without them even when they’ve already made up their mind.
Sometimes it’s all of these things at once.
No matter what the fuck it is, it all fucking hurts. Pushing people away hurts. Watching them no longer try for you hurts. But it’s your own fault because you hurt them. And it’s more agony than it ever would have been to at least try to admit that you were wrong and shoulder the weight yourself instead of making others shoulder it unknowingly. I didn’t know, but it’s still unacceptable.
I deserve to give myself better.
I deserve better.
I deserve life.
I deserve to exist at all.
I deserve to breathe.
But mostly, I deserve happiness.
I deserve long lasting happiness.
Because though I’ve experienced so much happiness through these years, not enough of it has come from me and stuck with me and been enough to keep me pulling through for myself and even to actually get better.
And at the end of the day when I only have myself, I don’t want to be staring in the fucking mirror seeing something entirely different.
I cannot rely on others for happiness anymore, and I cannot rely on others to fix me. I can lean on people sometimes, I can ask for support, I can ask for help here and there, but the saving needs to come from me. Nobody can save me except for me.
The light I need to get me through has to be my own.
It’s a fucking pain in the ass finding it. It’s not fucking going to be easy. None of it’s fucking easy. If it was easy I wouldn’t be in this situation right now. Scratch that, I would have never been in it to begin with. But this is something I need to fucking work on and fix within myself because I fucking owe it to myself. I owe myself abundant love and happiness to make up for all these fucking years without it. I deserve to address the situation and to say that no, I’m not fucking okay, instead of just glossing over it and downplaying it because that’s just doing myself an injustice. My livelihood is a very serious thing and I’m fucking sick of not treating it like it is and just burying myself in others ignoring it and ignoring the repercussions my actions have on myself and others so that, maybe, it’ll just go the fuck away.
I am suffering. I am mentally and emotionally exhausted. I have been all of these things for so fucking long and it feels like I’m finally owning up to it, finally no longer lying about how I’m doing.
It’s going to take so much fucking time because of both the severity of the thing and how fucking long it’s been with these things. I need time. I need to be here for myself so that I no longer hurt those who were also here for me. My being suicidal isn’t fucking fair for anyone. Definitely not myself, but not for anyone around me either. Nobody deserves to hurt because I hurt. I need to be better for myself, for others, and because I don’t want to be the reason someone else isn’t okay, especially when that person has always meant the world to me.
Somehow I remain optimistic.
I really don’t know how.
Honestly, that’s a miracle just as much as my breathing in this very moment is.
But I mean, I’m addressing it. I’m here. I’m owning all of my faults. I’m owning all the hurt I caused both others and myself.
And I’m fucking owning my progress, too.
Every single tiny step.
I need to be the reason I continue to be here. I fucking owe myself. Right now it seems so unachievable but I need to take baby steps. I have to trust that I will get there. I need to practice mindfulness and figure out reasons why I love myself and reasons why I should stay alive. There are so many. Life is bountiful. I am bountiful, too. I just need to convince myself of it.
If you are struggling as well, I urge you to seek help. I recently began therapy and it has been one of the best decisions that my mom has ever forced me into (because, let’s be real, I really needed a fucking push).
Here are some hotlines. Please call them if you are considering suicide. I promise you, it will not fix things for everyone else like you think it will. And it definitely won’t fix you. But you can fix you. Life is around you, but, more importantly, life is in you. And you deserve it just as much as anyone else does. I fucking promise.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: (800) 273-8255
Trevor Project Lifeline for LGBTQ Youth: (866) 488-7386
I am based in America, so here are hotlines from other countries – just in case.
Canada: 5147234000 (Montreal); 18662773553 (outside Montreal)
New Zealand: 045861048
South Africa: 0514445691
United Kingdom: 08457909090
I’m sending all of the love I can muster.
But please forgive me if it’s not as much as usual – I really need some for myself right now.