An Open Letter From Someone Who Overcame Mental Health Struggles With Self-Harm & Suicidal Thoughts To Anyone Feeling Depression & Loneliness

Here's how I know.

By Leah Krinsky — Written on Jun 13, 2018

Photo: Courtesy of the author

An Open Letter From Someone Who Overcame Mental Health Struggles With Self-Harm & Suicidal Thoughts To Anyone Feeling Depression & Loneliness

Spring 2013.

I told my few remaining friends about my suicidal thoughts.

“What’s the big deal? I don’t enjoy my life anymore. If I were a dog, I’d be put to sleep. Isn’t that the criterion?”

They stopped calling.

I made an appointment at a pill mill in Orange County. I was going to tell them I suffered from anxiety. They were going to prescribe me Xanax. I would fill the prescription, come home, take the Xanax with a bottle of vodka I had already gotten delivered, and that would be it.

When the day of my appointment came, I was too depressed to leave the house.

I would take two, three, four Benadryl at a time and lie in bed, hallucinating shapes on the ceiling.

I tried to watch TV but could never find anything to watch and would just stare at the scrolling Apple TV screensavers: Polar bear, desert, penguin, bird, whale. Polar bear, desert, penguin, bird, whale. Polar bear, desert, penguin, bird, whale.

I cried and cried and cried and cried.

I couldn’t see how anything could change. I was old, broke, career-less, alone, and living in a dingy one-room apartment at age 53.

I had run out of second chances. I was done. It was over.

I did self-harm, punching myself over and over again on my left thigh. It still cramps up to this day in the spot where I hit it the most. I hit myself in the face and gave myself two black eyes.

I would bargain with the God I didn't believe existed.

“Kill me and I’ll believe in you. Give me terminal cancer and I’ll serve you for the rest of my time on earth.”

I did my research. The most effective ways are shooting and hanging. I’m anti-guns, so that left me only one choice.

I had the scarf out for weeks, tied to my bed frame. There were things that needed to be gotten out of the way first. Mother's Day. Birthdays. I didn't want my death to ruin anybody’s special day for the rest of their lives, that would make me even more of a loser.

In the meantime, I would look at the scarf and smile. My salvation. My deliverance from all this pain, from all my poor choices, all my failures, from the mess I had made of my life.

I wrote a note giving my bank account information and where to place Andy, my dog.

I apologized.

I wrote, “Don’t be sad, it’s better this way.”

I deleted all the contacts from my phone.

In October, when I finally couldn’t take the voices anymore, the endless loop in my head that said “I wanna die I wanna die I just wanna die why can’t I just die” every waking moment of every day,

I tied the scarf in a slipknot around my neck and let go with my feet. The knot tightened. My pulse pounded in my head. My vision started to dim.

And … I couldn’t do it. The void that had seemed so alluring for so long, as long as I can remember, scared me too much when I finally came face to face with it.

I untied the knot and called the one friend I had left and told him what had happened.

He barked at me, “You’re not gonna kill yourself! It’s not an option!”

I sobbed, “You’re not the boss of me.”

But I didn’t kill myself, and that was the turning point.

The days were still hard, but I began to claw my way out. I got on some effective medication and adopted an elderly Yorkshire terrier who was in worse shape than I was.

I started writing little jokes and posting them on Facebook.

To Anyone With Suicidal Thoughts — You May Be Lonely, But You Are Not Alone

Here's how I know.