The stigma of surviving a suicide attempt feels exactly like its definition: a brand; a scar; a mark of shame. It’s the proverbial Scarlet Letter that never washes off no matter how much you succeed in life, even if you regret your action.
They will never let you forget what you did. It’s a social scandal in a small community, everyone knows the basics, no one knows the details.
Somehow, you become a second-class citizen of sorts, someone lesser, someone almost not worthy of a full and happy life. Why?
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