I wrote this piece for Young Mormon Feminists but it totally applies to y’all, my original readers. Much love!
In recognition of September being National Suicide Prevention Month
Last year I got this close to killing myself, but I survived.
It hurts to talk, to think about the experience. I went to BYU for a semester and within a few months I was severely depressed—on the brink of suicide. My lifelong perfectionism had finally caught up with me, and it was tightening around my neck in an invisible noose. They were dark times, endless days of pain I can’t even put into words. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to wake up. There was no rest for my soul; not in prayer, in conversation, in closeness. An untouchable emptiness inside me itched constantly. I got headaches from clenching my teeth from anxiety. I moved through the days with a constant wish that a car would flatten me.
I made feeble attempts to live, one of which was joining a BYU therapy…
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