This is mostly a big vent for me, but I would also love to here your thoughts and experiences on this.

So, I entered 2020 feeling positive in my recovery. I was still struggling with the occasional episode and quite intense anxiety, but I knew I had made leaps and bounds. I was making progress! Of course, then in swoops Miss Rona and pulls the carpet from under my feet. I went from proactively making progress to developing cabin fever as I spent a year inside a tiny basement apartment with little to no sunlight or social contact.

And I coped! Honestly, I was almost thriving.... Social interaction and relationships with others are my biggest trigger, as I'm sure many of you can relate. But as the world has started to open back up, my mental health took a nose dive and I hit rock bottom.

This past Friday I tried to kill myself. 

Morbid it may be, but honestly it's pretty difficult to hang yourself when you live in a basement with such low ceilings and turns out none of the fixtures in my dirt cheap place can support the weight of an adult human. How embarrassing for me.

I thought it was important to be honest and open with my housemate (my only friend in this world, the only person that I trust in and love so dearly). I confessed to her what I had attempted and apologised but I had to be truthful with her in order to get help. She advised that I make the journey back to my family home to spend some time convalescing. I agreed and took a few days to rest at home, telling my mother that I was feeling unwell but not that I had attempted suicide.

When I returned home, there was a friend of my housemates sleeping in our living room which shocked me. My housemate knows that having unexpected guests can often send me reeling and I later told her that this had felt insensitive to not warn me that there would be an essential stranger in our home upon returning.

I thought that this was a healthy move. I addressed my issues, set a boundary calmly and moved on. Tensions were obvious from this point on. The vibe in the house generally seemed to be that she was just pretending nothing had happened which I understand. Things like suicide attempts are difficult to talk about. I respect that.

However, today I lost control. My housemate told me she was going out and was weirdly guarded. We tend to run all our errands together and when I asked if I could tag along (thinking some outside time would be good for me), she became more closed off and secretive.

I started crying and told her that I felt like she was deceiving me, hiding things and that I felt completely unsupported. I was hurting so much and here she was pretending things were fine. I am full of shame and regret of all kinds regarding this failed attempt.

She told me that I had been neglecting her needs and that I didn't understand how overwhelming and difficult this was for her. And I do understand that. I do.

It made me think of my last romantic partner, who I had been convinced I would marry and live a long life with. We broke up after I had attempted suicide and he hadn't been able to look at me anymore. He hadn't been able to cope.

I guess my point is how can we offer comfort and understanding to these people when in all honesty, I wish I was dead. I haven't attempted suicide as a rash decision, as a call for help. I have made those attempts after weighing up the guilt of hurting those that love me. I weighed up all that guilt, trauma and hurt and decided that it was still less than the pain of existing. I decided that the hurt of my suicide would be less in comparison to the positive outcomes of me no longer being around.

But how do I explain  that?

How do I comfort them, how do I reassure them when I have to suck it up and carry on, a failure even in death (or lack there of?).

What do I do to make it easier?

I am proudly proactive in my recovery. I exhaust myself trying to do better, trying to be better. I try so diligently to ignore thoughts of self harm and suicide. But I have this disorder that won't let me be. I only do these things because I cannot bear it anymore. That doesn't mean I love you any less. 


Right now I've checked myself into a crisis house, but I don't feel in crisis anymore. I just feel tired.