Surviving My Late Twenties: Self Harm/Suicide **Trigger Warning**

I have, in the past, associated self-harm and suicide with an intrinsic self-loathing and hate for one's life- not just the breath within the body, but the people, situations, and circumstances that collectively make up a person's existence. It was until my recent experiences with both self-harm and suicide that I realized that self-loathing is only one possible reason why anyone would want to inflict pain on themselves, or even the ultimate, death.

While going through a particularly low point last year, I had an experience where I was triggered by a loved one. I remember feeling pain and becoming short of breath while I was crying in by bedroom. I don't remember ever feeling anything so intense, it was as if there something tearing me apart from inside which I needed to let out so I could finally breathe. Still short of breath, and with shaky hands, I went into my closet and got out a pack of cigarettes that I'd bought earlier that week. I lit one up and took several drags, enough to get halfway through the cigarette, and then, without thinking twice about it, I put out the cigarette on my arm.

It hurt like hell, but then again it felt like I'd finally let out the thing eating me up from within. Even if only for the time being. It was worth it. I wasn't crying anymore. I was back in my bed and feeling a lot calmer.

I'd never self-harmed before that. I mean, I'd played around with candle wax for the fun of it, but never as an attempt to relieve me from emotional pain. This was new, and the relief I got from doing that scared the shit out of me so that a few days later, I signed up with an online therapist. She helped a little bit but I had to let her go by the end of the year.

I didn't hate myself; I don't hate myself. I have dealt with issues of self esteem/worth in the past, and if I'm honest, I'm still yet to be comfortable with the idea that I am a fully worthy human being. However, that was not the reason why I had inflicted physical pain on myself. Perhaps low-self worth and self-harm are linked, but if you had asked me that night in my room, I was just seeking relief from what felt like an unbearable sensation. (And I guess it's counterintuitive to fight pain with pain, but what can I say? It made sense to me then, and it helped.)

I feel the same way about suicide. I was suicidal between ages 8 and 9, and had attempted suicide twice during that time. I'd been going through a lot of pain at home (related with my mother) and didn't want to deal with it anymore. I believe that was around the same time my uncle had sexually abused me for the last time. As you can imagine, I was dealing with a lot. In hindsight (and because I'm at that place again), I feel that I had given up the will to live, because shortly after the failed attempts to take my life, I became sick, inexplicably so. I remember my parents being afraid of losing me, and the fact that the doctors could not find anything that was medically wrong with me further pushed my parents into their misery.

I definitely didn't hate myself at 8 and 9. I was just a kid who had felt enough shit to be fed up with life already.

I mentioned that "I'm at that place again" with reference to the will to live. I don't feel attached to my life anymore. This lack of attachment has nothing to do with hating myself, or hating my life (even though it's not quite where I want it to be), it has everything to do with the fact that I just do not want to be here anymore.

There was another attempt on my life three or four weeks ago. It involved sleeping pills and whiskey. While no damage was done, I do know that if I'd had taken at least three more pills in addition to what I'd swallowed that night, then I very likely wouldn't be here.

Alas, I'm here, and still not interested in being here.