I realized as I began this post that this week is the thirteenth anniversary of my suicide attempt. A strange and macabre anniversary to be sure, but perhaps one of the most significant moments in my life history. The person I am today is vastly different from the person who tried to take his life. I still consider things deeply and intensely, but I do not worry as I once did.
Worry is about the weight of my thoughts at that time. Everything felt too heavy to move. I felt buried or lost in a labyrinth of caves. Every feeling was a complicated net of issues that seemed impossible to unravel. I couldn't find a way out. Every new facet I discovered seemed only to lead me into greater complication and darkness. All my hope was overwhelmed by the burden of my feelings.
I would like to note on the side of safety and communication that today, despite the difficulty of my current set of life circumstances, that I do not in any way feel suicidal. It is simply that the time has come to share these pieces.