A Faded Hospital Bracelet

I’ve only ever been in the hospital three times in my life – when I was born, when I had a spontaneous tear in my lung, and exactly two years for suicidal thoughts.

I credit that day for turning my life around. Although the most difficult moments of my life were still yet to come, I’ve never felt as hopeless as I did that night since.

I will say though that I have come very close. I become depressed when I’m lonely or experiencing other social issues. And for the past month and a half, I have been very socially isolated.

I’m not really sure how it happened. There are a lot of reasons – me facing criticism that I am not used to regarding my morality, other people’s changing minds and flip-flopping attitudes, new situations in other people’s lives, me just generally being annoyed with everyone for no real reason, and the fact that it’s winter and despite the fact that this is Canada, everyone becomes a little bit hermit-like.

Every couple of hours or so a thought will fleet across my mind that I’m just wasting time and my life is meaningless, because if other people don’t want me around then what is even the point of me? What is the point of life?



One year ago today marks the first of a series of turning points that made me who I am today and probably changed my life forever. I mean, let’s hope, anyway.

Last year I was struggling to stand on my own, caught in this place between losing everything and finding new things. And I just really wanted to die. Like, a lot.

It had been like that for the past several months but it only kept getting worse. Up until this point the only person who knew about it was my ex, except all he really knew was that I was really, really pissed at him. I had good reasons (and little did I know then that it was worse than I ever could have possibly imagined) but next to no ability to express them properly. We used to be able to have calm, rational discussions about our feelings and work through just about anything that way, but in the face of, “I don’t love you any more, not sure why,” I lost all of my ability to do that.

That wasn’t really his fault; yes it was an incredibly long and complicated relationship that was breaking apart, but most people could probably keep it together. Or at the very least, they would bounce back a lot quicker.

Until It’s Too Late

On Thanksgiving Day my brother found out that his best friend died by suicide, and in a way it was fitting because nothing reminds you of what to be thankful for more than loss.

My brother’s friend actually died an entire week before the police broke down the door of his bedroom and found his body. He lives with roommates, who I guess didn’t think to check on him. I can only imagine how they must feel now, knowing that he was there, dead, this entire time as they went about their daily lives mere feet away.

As someone who has contemplated suicide many times, a thought I always had was that if I made that choice, no one would notice for a very long time. I didn’t have a lot of friends and the ones that I did have were pretty absent, and I don’t talk to my parents regularly enough for them to worry about me. I attributed all of this to the fact that my life was just awful, so that was probably even more reason to do it. That was the depression talking, of course, but I still think about that every now and again, and I still felt like there was no way that that would ever happen to most other people, who are swimming in friends and family and so on.

But it does, doesn’t it? More than we like to admit. Our culture is so hands-off. We feel like we’re bothering people and being pushy or nosy if we ask questions. We think that they’ll come to us if they need something. We don’t say things that we should say because we assume that they already know. I do it too. Sometimes for those reasons but more because I assume that they don’t care about me, and since they don’t get involved in my life they certainly won’t want me getting involved in theirs.