originally posted in 2010:

In 2003, on the 4th of July, I tried to kill myself.

from that time:

“I feel pain, and I don’t know where to put it or what to do. I am also SO FUCKING ANGRY that I wanna blow up, tear up, the world sometimes. I am striving not to take that out on the people around me. I am striving for “alone time”. I am striving for…clarity. I cannot make up my mind about anything. Everything I could do now that is good, feels like my second choice in direction, and not a close second either, but a booby prize. And I don’t know if I can do all the things the world wants me to do and that I’m supposed to do, because I feel utterly exhausted even thinking about the smallest thing.”

Mopery! (I know mopery actually means something else.) I was utterly destroyed at the time. I had been in my worst, lowest kind of depression for months, and then began a long protracted breakup as well, that weekend.

It was one of the lowest times of my entire life. I lived through it, and it’s a little fresh today, so I won’t go into too much detail right now. But I will say that I have not tried again, my life has changed for the better, and my ability to weather down times has grown- and that I am glad I survived, and am here.

I wasn’t selfish- I was in pain. I wasn’t a coward- I was at the end of my rope. I know that if you have never been that far down, inside, you don’t understand that. I am glad that you don’t because it really is bad. Suicide, for some people at some times, is like a dog chewing off a leg to escape a trap.

I’m going to spend today, unlike every other year so far- nurturing the crap out of myself, instead of partying with my people. It’s a good day. I’m free, and I’m alive.

You guys, light a firecracker or ten for me. I’ll see you at the next shindig.