I Wanted to Kill Myself

In the middle of my freshman year of university I wanted to kill myself.

I thought about killing myself, about not existing, at least five or so times a day, everyday. I thought of how it would be better not to feel anything or to even have a sense of consciousness... I felt constant anxiety. I felt alone.

I did reach out. I did try to find comfort in my friends. But they couldn't understand the situation I was in. I was often met with blank stares or blank promises that everything would be all right.

So what was the problem? Why did I feel like killing myself? Because of a bully.

She made my life hell. She verbally would attack me on Facebook along with her friends, she prank texted my cellphone, she posted rumors about me on online gossip boards for my school, and she would pass rumors around school. For example, she told people that I stuck anal beads up myself, that I was a whore, and she hoped that I would get an STD/STI; she posted links to my video blog on a school gossip board telling people how pathetic I was, encouraging people to watch it, ridicule it, and comparing it to a car crash that "you don't want to look, but can't help but watch." She truly put great effort into hurting me. That thought is what hurt the most: her extremely driven intent to cause me emotional harm.

I felt degraded by this girl and I felt like no one was out there to help me. I had friends and I had people that told me things would be all right, but for this specific situation I felt alone. I was alone. It hurt. I told myself that I hated her, that I wish she would just stop. But it didn't stop.

From September til October, I fell into greater depression until someone I barely knew reported me to my school about my pattern of depression. I was made to go to the psychologist on campus, who couldn't help but scribble notes on her notepad as I would pour my heart out to her. It felt good to talk to someone, but the feeling of comfort didn't last since her constant scribbling convinced me that her compassion wasn't genuine. I was nothing more than a case study to this woman.

After all that had occurred, I don't think I found immediate closure. I don't know if I ever will. I know that I've become stronger and wiser. At the same time, however, even the thought of seeing her still makes me slightly anxious.

As fate would have it, I ran into her today. I was walking with a friend and she was holding tightly onto her friend. I didn't recognize her at first, but in the back of my mind a sense of familiarity clicked. As soon as I remembered who she was, I couldn't help but look away. Her friend laughed as soon as they both passed by me...

After that encounter, I stumbled upon her Tumblr account as I was curious as to whether she has recently written anything slanderous about me. I found a blog post that showed me her vulnerable side. A part of her that I didn't know existed. She wrote about breaking down and all of her insecurities. It made me feel better after reading all she had written. I didn't feel better because I was happy for her suffering. I felt better because it made me realize that she was human too. It shattered this notion in my mind that she was some untouchable entity that could hurt me, but could not be affected herself.

No matter how much I could be upset with how she treated me, I couldn't hate her or find pleasure in her pain, even though she had driven me to thoughts about suicide. At this point, I finally could find myself to forgive her for all she had done. At the same time, I feel as if I've allowed myself to be liberated from the fearful grasp she had on me.

I'm glad I didn't kill myself.
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(The following is the entry written by her.)
Tonight I messed around with a substance I haven’t touched since last summer. I can’t say that I regret it, but it made me feel excited and nostalgic in some way before I even indulged in it. I’m not sure if it’s the steady approach of another year of school or the absence of my boyfriend, but the strange waves of my mood since he left for Florida some days ago have me dysfunctional and restless, but so so tired. Last night I was in the kitchen of the bar I work at, folding silverware, thinking about my life, or the lack of stability within it, and began to cry. Fifteen minutes later I was pounding shots like a champ and went home feeling pretty empty, despite the fact that I spent the next hour engulfed in a rather heavy conversation with a female ex-coworker of mine. I have always known that despite all of my battles, I am very lucky to have the life I live. It is true that the grass appears greener on the other side, but I think of all the people I know who are blessed in terms of money and familial relationships, and I realize I am so rich in experience, strength, and my ability to connect to the smallest and faintest of things. There are moments, however, like this week, when I crumble thinking about how 90% of my peers have no idea what its like to work 60 hours a week as a 21 year old full-time college student, so what - I can pay for my medical bills, receive an education for my ever promising future, and afford the rent to a studio I hardly live in? Meanwhile, I’m accused of being a golddigger and a heartless bitch roughly every 3 months without fail from a bitter kid who has not a clue who I am anymore, but somehow manages to dig up the most insane shit to slander my name a year and some later. I am in tears as I pour out my soul to this blog that I’m sure no one reads except for my crazy ex boyfriends and the insecure Asian girls who strangely envy me. Sometimes I can’t help but indulge in self-pity as I accept that this life is not at all the reality I had hoped for 4 years ago, this is not the reality I had known could even exist 4 years ago, and that my parents would be crushed if they learned that their little girl works until 5am every day because they finally lost the war. I think that it has be awful that I can’t seem to think of a person I could say all this too. My words fall not on ears but a screen, in a box with a scroll bar that keeps reducing in size as these terrible thoughts seize my mind. I wish my boyfriend was here to make me feel better, because as much as it pains me to say something so cliche and trite, his arms really are the safest place for me - where my only worries are whether or not all boys sweat this much and how late I will be to do my next ‘to-do’ if he keeps squeezing me this way. I think, if he were here, that he would scoop me up and ask if I wanted to eat ice cream. I know that I would hesitate a little bit in fear of seeming childish before I nod kind of excitedly. It makes me smile thinking about it, and again, I realize how lucky I am and want to delete this entire blog post all together. And as always, it all ends with me being a hopeless lover with a sleeve full of emotions. Sometimes I think I was born to be living in a world of rainbows and unicorns and I really hate myself. I still really hate myself actually, because if I hadn’t wasted the last hour analyzing my uncompromising feelings, I could have called him before he fell asleep and would feel at least slightly better about being a poor 21 year old who jaded long before her time. GOD FUCKING DAMMIT.