I always have a birthday party (except during a pandemic of course). No one throws it for me. I do all the planning and even bake my favorite cake (carrot cake). I invite all my friends, there are many I am gifted to say, and I select a restaurant (I keep an eye out all year long for the perfect spot) and we all gather. I go around and take pictures of everyone with me so I can remember this time together and I can have pictures to look back on. I introduce everyone and talk about how we know each other. My friends are not friends, but they share one thing in common. They all love me.
The reason I gather with my friends is to celebrate that I have made it one more year. I am chronically suicidal and the fact that I made it to another year is a true testament to three things. One, my faith in God to give me the strength I need to choose life. Two, my friends and family who support me when I am on the edge and believe that I am not worthy of love. And three, my will to make it one more day to be here for my daughters. So, I celebrate I made it one more year and it gives me hope that I can do it again.
I attempted suicide in ninth grade and have struggled ever since to have the will to live.
So, when my birthday comes along, I must celebrate.
This was not how I viewed my birthday in the past. I saw it as another year of torture. Another year that I am ready to give it all up to end the relentless pain I was experiencing and felt I was causing those around me. I thought, “Why live and why celebrate a life full of suffering?” I saw my friends getting on with their lives and I was stuck in a depressed hell not sure how to release myself.
The good news is no one else gave up on me. My treatment team held out hope. My friends
friends
celebrities
suicide
