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Nearly 11 years ago I attempted suicide, and it wasn’t one of those cries for help attempts without any intent behind it. It was silent, no one was told. And it was legitimate. I ingested muriatic acid. To this day, no one knows how I’m still here. I no longer have a stomach or esophagus. I struggle to maintain weight because of it. But I’m here.
Read more: My Own Private Depression
Recently I had some bad news at work, and I posted something on Facebook that “I’m going to get really drunk tonight, or maybe just die”.
It didn’t even occur to me what that connotation would be to people who knew me and knew my story. That’s how far removed I am from it. It has been 10 plus very hard years, with lots of guilt, lots of memories, lots of physical strife as well because of all of it.
Yet, when I made that post, and it really didn’t click that it could be construed in that way, that’s when I knew that I’ve reached a point where I’m over it. I’m past it. I’m living my current life without a burden of guilt from a past mistake, and the ails of depression. I still have to fight it, it’s a never-ending battle, but I’ve seen the fruits of that battle, I’ve seen that it’s something I can win.