This time last year, the one thing I wanted more than anything else was to die. Each day I was alive was pure torture, and I wanted it to end. The only way I could see it ending was to take my own life.

I did not get to such a low point over night.  It took years of untreated depression for me to feel so bad all the time.  In fact, I probably had been dealing with depression on and off since I was a teenager.  Each depressive episode I had was worse than the one that had preceded it.  Until finally the depression became debilitating.

Starting in the Fall of 2007, several upsetting events  happened that I think pushed this current round of depression to an extreme that I had never experienced before.  At first, I did not recognize what was happening because a couple of physical illnesses I had been diagnosed with had symptoms that masked the depression.  By the time I figured out what was really going on, I found it impossible to ask for help.

In my mind, the event that seems to have started my descent towards severe depression, was when I was diagnosed with Adult Onset Asthma.  The diagnosis came after a brief hospital stay, due to breathing problems.  Up until that point, I had been a fairly healthy person and I did not know how to cope with a chronic illness.

For some reason, it was a struggle to get my asthma under control.  As a result, I spent almost a solid year on steroids. At that time,  I knew that steroids really messed with a person’s blood sugar, what I did not know is that steroids can also mess with your brain.  Steroids have been linked to depression, hostility, rages, and anxiety.

After my asthma diagnosis, I never seemed to get back to feeling how I used to. I was always tired, and needed to nap frequently. I became extremely worried that I would have an asthma attack away from home and not be able to get it under control or to a hospital in time.  This worry fed an Anxiety Disorder that I had,  encouraging it to become increasingly worse. My husband and I figured that I was so tired all the time from the asthma, and I did not tell him about the problems I was having with anxiety.

In the Spring of 2008, my son and I had a falling out and he moved out of the house under very difficult circumstances for both of us. Having my son so angry with me and leaving the way he did devastated me. It felt as if my child had died. Looking back, I can see that was an extreme emotional response to the situation. However, at the time that reaction seemed appropriate.

After my son left home, I was diagnosed with Type II Diabetes.  My blood sugar was almost five hundred at the time I was diagnosed, and the doctor said that is what had been causing my frequent need to nap and why I felt like I had not bounced back from the asthma.  I had a hard time wrapping my brain around the fact that I now had two chronic illnesses.

My anxiety became worse after I learned about my diabetes.  Not only did I now have to carry emergency supplies for an asthma attack, I had to start carrying insulin, syringes and diabetic emergency supplies. The thought of having to give myself shots in public or at other people’s houses freaked me out.  I began staying at home more and more, until the only time I left it was when I absolutely had no other choice.

As I isolated myself more and more, my depression and anxiety grew stronger and stronger.  My internal dialogue became nothing more than a recounting of everything that I had ever done wrong and should feel guilty about, what a horrible person I was, how I did not deserve love from anyone, and what a burden I had become to my family.  The emotional pain that I was experiencing, began to feel like a constant physical ache.

The ache became more painful, and I began to entertain thoughts of suicide.  I was not totally committed to going through with it, but the suicidal thoughts were in my brain, acting as a constant reminder to me of how I could get rid of my pain.  I began to research the best ways to kill myself.  My thinking was, if I ever decided to act on my suicidal thoughts then I would have a plan that I knew would work.  I was very thorough in my research and before long, I had what I thought was a rock solid suicide plan.  All I had to do was wait until I got to a point where I felt like I needed to implement it and for the right time.

One of the things I believed I had to do before I could act on my suicide plan, was to get my daughter and husband to a point where they could rely on themselves and each other.  Until the depression got so bad that I could barely function, I had been the person who cooked the meals, cleaned the clothes, ran the kids places, and did errands for my husband.  Because my anxiety was making it impossible for me to leave the house, my husband was having to do more and more of these things.  That was perfectly fine with me, because it meant he was going to have to learn what  I needed him to learn before I ended my life.

The next thing I had to do before I committed suicide was to push my family away.  My thinking was if I could distance myself from them, then it would not cause them as much pain when I died.  I treated them badly.  I raged, I yelled, I became a very nasty person to be around.  I made their lives miserable in an effort to make them not want to be around me.  It worked.

A few weeks before I decided the time was right to die, I became obsessed with my thoughts of suicide.  Day and night, that is all I could think about.  Those thoughts seemed to be alive, and they kept morphing into stronger more persuasive entities.  My feeling of hopelessness became so strong, that it felt like that was the only emotion I felt.   I cried almost non-stop because the constant ache I felt had moved into my soul, and had taken over my whole being.

Finally, the day came when my suicidal thoughts became so strong that I had no other choice but to act on them. I could no longer bear the searing emotional and physical pain that consumed my body and brain.   My soul was weary from my constant feeling of hopelessness, and I no longer feared what would happen to me after I died.  The only thing I was waiting for was the right time.

On Sunday, May 17th, 2009 everything lined up the way I needed it to.  My husband and daughter were gone for the day, they had learned how to take care of themselves, and they rarely wanted to be around me. I had already come to terms with my death.  There was nothing in my way, and I no longer had the strength or urge to fight my suicidal thoughts.  I implemented my suicide plan.

At first glance this story may seem very sad and depressing, however, I do not view it that way.  From these series of events I learned gratitude.  I am grateful that my fool proof suicide plan did not go the way I thought it would.  Out of my hopelessness, I learned to be hopeful. I have hope for my life now that I never had before.  My inability to ask for help taught me that asking for help is  a good thing.  After I tried to end my own life and entered into therapy, I asked for help.  The help I received came in various forms, including medication and treatment for my depression.  Now I know, things never have to get to that low of a point again.

My desire is that my story touches someone.  Either a person who is feeling the way I did in the months and weeks before my suicide attempt, or a family member of someone who might be exhibiting similar signs and behaviors that I described in my story.  The message I hope they take away from my story is that people do not have to feel that way.  There are very effective treatments and medications that can prevent someone from ending their own life or trying to end their own life.

No, this is not a sad or depressing story.  It is a story of hope and healing.

If you or a loved one is in imminent danger of committing suicide call 911 immediately.

National Suicide Hotlines, USA

Unites States of America

1-800-SUICIDE–1-800-784-2433 1-800-273-TALK–1-800-273-8255

1-800-799-4TTY–1-800-799-4889 (Deaf Hotline)