I referred to something called “black hole depression” in an earlier post. I don’t even know if it is a real thing – it’s just the best way I can describe what I have felt at different times in my life.
I’ve been there a few times before and it began in my childhood.
As Mommy would say, I was a sad child. But it all makes sense. I was traumatized. Ma, it’s yall fault.
By the time we moved to Georgia when I was 9, I had already lived the life of a 16-year-old, emotionally abused virgin. At this age, no one expects you to know how to fully regulate emotions, but I was aware enough of mine. I knew when to put on my poker face in order not to alarm anybody around by my actions.
My suicide attempts began at the age of 11. It was over something stupid. Something that could have been forgiven. I took a few OTC pills and waited for my heart to stop. Amateur. Til this day, I can’t drink red Kool-Aid. That was what I used to wash them down.
That didn’t work and I didn’t tell anybody. I just kept going to school, getting good grades and allowing the negative self-talk to run my psyche.
It’s starting to get cloudy.
Pills didn’t work and I still wasn’t happy. So then I started to cut on myself. My wrists took the most hits for the home team. I can vividly remember the stinging sensation I felt after accidentally spraying Cucumber Melon body spray on the open wounds before school one day. That shit hurt. But I didn’t tell anyone. I just put a scrunchie over my scars and went to school – sad.
Grab the shovel.
This went on for years. I think that is why when I reminisce about my adolescence I get a really grim feeling. There is no other way to describe that time than: dark. Empty? Painful? I don’t know. I just know it was not a good feeling and that it wouldn’t leave.
6-foot black hole.
So fast-forward a few years later and a couple more simple attempts to end my own life. I’m now at the end of my teenage years and nothing had gotten better. I might have been able to put a smile on my face but that was SURELY not what I was feeling on the inside. I was sad, sad, sad, sad, sad. I wanted out of this place (Earth).
I could not figure out why God had created me? I didn’t know why He had to make my family the poor family? How come I couldn’t be skinny and pretty like them other girls in class and on TV? Why was I the one who had to run the house when Mommy and Daddy were at work? God, WHY AM I HERE?
Well, fuck it. I’m out. For sure this time.
What better way to kill than with a gun? Whether it is a black person or yourself, you most definitely can get rid of your “problem” with a gun, right?
How do I know? Because I tried that too.
I went to the pawn shop, grabbed a deer rifle for $150 and then headed to the local department store. The gun part was easy. But now I needed bullets. I had NO idea what I was doing. Welp, the bullets proved to be just as easy to get as the gun. No questions asked by nobody (except this one guy I knew from school. He was in the back of the store being all nosey. An Angel 👼🏾). The cashier gave me both the product and the receipt to prove I had purchased my escape plan.
I’m sorry if this is too much yall. It’s just my truth. I don’t like it either 😥
So now, I have all the ingredients I needed to get out of here. I drove my car into the woods and parked. I called my family to basically tell them goodbye (read: cry for help) and everything.
I guess I cocked the gun. I mean, it made the gun noise. The bullet was in. Everything was in place.
I pressed the little trigger thing.
BOOM!?! Nope. That was all in my head.
Nothing happened. BUT HOW!?!
So I tried again. And again.
I couldn’t get any bullets to come out.
Mannnnnnn. I done failed AGAIN at trying to kill myself. With a gun.
Tip: It is not OUR will be done.
I know what happened that day in the woods. When I called to tell them bye, my family started praying. Thank you Grama for teaching us.
I had prayers coming in from all over the country and didn’t even know it. But Somebody heard them.
I know this because that day I drove away from those woods and back to the pawn shop to go get my money back for the rifle. Because I’m petty.
They only gave me back half. Damn how I’m out over $75 for trying to kill myself? 🖕🏾
That day I promised God that I was going to change my life. I didn’t want to die anymore because clearly, He wasn’t letting me go anyways.
About 3 months later I got diagnosed with HIV.
How ironic that at one point I was trying to take my own life and now I am fighting to live?
That was my last suicide attempt ever. I am healed and set free from that. 🙌🏾 I have acquired better methods to cope with my emotions.
What not to do: DO NOT think that you are in control of your life. There is a bigger picture. It gets better.
Hands up. Don’t shoot.
Hands up. Don’t shoot, Ci Ci.
+ Ci Ci +
*** If you EVER feel like you are so low that you want to end your life, pleeeeaaase reach out to someone. It gets better, I promise. Be blessed ❤️