Have you ever thought of death before? Go ahead… think of it right now. Maybe you’ll think of a loved one that recently passed away. Maybe you’ll think of those ants you used to so magnanimously bully as a young child- before the concept of death had fully become understood.
Or… just maybe… you’ll think of your own death. Maybe images will flash through your mind of experiencing a mugging gone wrong in an alley, or a freak accident on a roller coaster.
Or maybe, if you’re crazy enough… you’ll think of taking your own life.
Now, go ahead and think about something else, like your reason you decided to look at this for. Well… are you doing it? Was it the title? A mistake? Sheer luck? Or did you just randomly decide this one story amongst the others.
Or we can make it more simple; like the last thing you ate and why? Was that bowl of cinnamon toast crunch worth the sheer amount of sugar in it- maybe not.
Whatever the case, your mind managed to switch focus- and you’re no longer preoccupied thinking about death right? How amazing that must feel.
Who am I? Honestly, I’m not too sure sometimes- as I’m a man of two minds, and one of them… is truly ugly. What I am confident about is that I grew up in circumstances I would never wish upon another human.
Needless to say, death has been part of my mind ever since I was 9- which happened to be the first, and last, time I ever attempted to end my own life. After that, it stayed with me in one form or another: sometimes a contingency plan, sometimes a reminder of what I stood for, but more often than not… as an escape- *the* escape.
After the worst period of my life where I went about as insane as a political person high off LSD, I managed to let go of my anger towards life. I was no longer a nihilist, no longer anti-religious… and finally no longer depressed.
I became very spiritual, managed to meditate with absolute precision, and never felt the urge to go back to drugs ever again… My whole life remained basically unchanged for the final year I lived in that dungeon before college, yet my mind was as clear as it could ever be.
Sometimes, it seemed I was genuinely as happy as a spoiled rich kid with everything they ever wanted…
There was just one catch…when I first noticed it, I thought of it as nothing more than some sort of aftereffect of being in hell for so long. I’d be hanging out with friends having a blast… until one of them would mention something like guns- or heights. I would immediately feel an odd shift in my mood- because my mind would single out these sorts of topics… and ruminate about them.
I’d excuse myself- creating whatever excuse I could to leave the current environment I was in, and go somewhere that I could be alone for a while. I’d continue to just think about death- how simple it could be, how easy it was. Soon enough, I would seem to fall into a sort of trance, with the everlasting pull of ending my own life cycling through my mind over and over.
I’d stop thinking about anything else… and would sometimes become catatonic. Just one problem… I did not have a reason to continue thinking about death anymore… but as if parts of my mind mutated- it… had been with me so long that…
Eventually I noticed these… “episodes” had warning signs- those “ruminating” moments whenever I was reminded of death. As I started noticing these “precursor episodes”, I started fighting through them. They could last as short as 5 minutes, or as long as 30.
I would have maybe up to 10 of these every day- and they became something I did not look forward to. I’d walk next to a parked police car, and have visions of me smashing into the car and stealing whatever weapons were inside…
I would be talking to my friends in their dorms, only to glance at the window behind them- to the ghostly figure hovering outside the window. My attention towards them would trail off, their voice becoming garbled and distorted, and I’d feel this urge to run towards the window as fast as possible.
I was already a master at hiding my issues and emotions from others… oh boy didn’t that bite me in the ass. The episodes grew in frequency, eventually happening once a week- usually on saturdays.
My ethereal mind of happiness and resilience would be dragged into the void whenever one occurred- as if my self awareness would vanish during them. Once they started… it seemed only when the day ended, and I finally went to sleep- did the episode too go to sleep.
“Why won’t these stop!?”
I nearly yelled at my therapist- whom at this point had a very concerned look on her face,
“So you’re absolutely positive you’re not at any risk of hurting yourself?”
I wasn’t phased, understanding completely how crazy I sounded,
“Yes, in fact I’d say I’m at the lowest risk of that I’ve ever been in my mind- I’m happier than I’ve ever been, so why do I still want to do it?”
I had asked her so many times in the past about mental conditions I could have: bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, and even for a short while did research on DID- but she insisted they didn’t fit the criteria for those, and she was right.
I was so desperate I began questioning my own mind- if I was truly as happy as I thought I was. But this time, my therapist maintained eye contact with me as if she had waited for this moment as long as I had- and pulled out… her phone.
“You’re… not pulling out the DSM-5?”
She looked down at her phone and began searching something up, the white screen too blinding from my angle to get a good look at it,
“No, because this isn’t in the DSM-5…”
As she slowly turned the phone towards me, my eyes slowly read the phrase on the screen…
“Suicidal OCD”
She handed me her phone as I began reading about the unofficial subtype, and we both stayed in silence… until I broke it, still staring at her phone,
“My god… it all makes sense. So there’s no way out of this?”
She quickly responded,
“Of course they are… but they may fall under more general treatments”
We tried everything, from simple techniques to DBT therapy to medication for OCD… eventually we even tried electroshock therapy. My symptoms improved drastically, I kept giving my therapist great news… because that’s what she wanted to hear. In reality, the nagging voice only grew louder over time, with each treatment proving insufficient. I assure you though, I am as clear as I’ve ever been… because my darkest secret is one I’ve never shared to anyone- until today…
I stole a gun from one of my friends, it happened to be fully loaded- what an idiot am I right? Don’t worry, I didn’t steal it for the reason you’re thinking of. I waited… until it came- the demons. They poked out of my closet, phased through the ceiling, and glared at my body as I was “out of it” in the midst of an episode.
I pulled the gun out… and stared into the barrel- it would be so easy… it’s so close, so just one shot and… Well if it is so easy, then maybe I could go another day, just to see if tomorrow makes today worth it. I glanced up at the demons, they slowly retreated back to where they appeared from. The hands that had grasped my arms and chest slowly receded back into the bed, and I casually put the gun away… and fell asleep.