Suicidal thoughts from my past and surviving sexual abuse

I’ve read about people wanting to commit suicide after going through certain amount of things. I always told myself that wasn’t me. And it’s true, I never attempted anything. But in full honesty yes, the thought has crossed my mind. Of course it has…doesn’t that happen to all of us at one point or another?


It was 4 years ago (in my mind I’m still stuck on 2 years- 4 years seems like longer than what it feels) and it was evening or afternoon. It was summer and the air smelled of sea and cigarettes. I stumbled out of my house in a haze. I don’t remember much.

It was THAT night. After what happened, the first time it happened anyway. I remember I had just showered and I still felt dirty and like I have a sign on my forehead showing how awful I was. Every muscle I had hurt. I walked around without an aim or idea, and frankly I don’t remember much of where I went. I just wanted to be out of the house (I was living in the same house as the guy that raped me). I remember the smell of the air and feeling how crystal cut and vivid everything felt, and how I felt nothing towards it. I had no feelings. Or so I thought.

Everything inside me was numb. Why was I there? Why had I crossed half of the world? It couldn’t be for this right? What was the point of being smart? I couldn’t get out of this. What was the point of being talented or pretty if someone will just use it against me? What was the point of education? I would never feel anything, ever again, so who cares if I have a good job? What’s the point of putting all that effort into things that don’t have any meaning after everything? The world isn’t grand, it isn’t worth seeing, it isn’t worth this pain at all. What’s the point of trying to hold onto concepts I don’t believe into anymore?
I just…I just wish I could feel.

I’m walking, crossing the street. There is a car fast approaching and beeping. The beeping comes muted like it’s under water. I look at the fast approaching red car like it’s a Christmas ornament. I should move away, but I can’t remember why anymore. I look at it frozen while it approaches. What would happen if I didn’t move and it ran through me? I felt curious to find out. What was left of my old world anyway? I move away at the last second, run off to the other end of the street, while the driver swears at the distance. My heart beats fast. For a second I’m alive again, and all I feel is my beating heart. But then that’s done, and the aching spreads between my legs and through my whole body. It hurts too much to feel anything.

And since I now know I can feel, I do it again. I walk towards cars and run off at the last moment. I do it again and again until it gets dark and I finally stumble into my own house (rented room, but anyway) like a thief, avoiding seeing him. I get to my room and to my bed and I lock the door like my life depends on it. I think it will be hard to fall asleep, but that is my last thought. After that, darkness pulls me under.

Next thing I know, it’s light outside, my alarm is ringing and I have no idea why my body hurts so bad and why I feel so worn out.


Anyway, many times after, I have thought life isn’t worth living, but I pushed myself to keep going and find a reason. That was the only night where I had no reason. I only kept going because the thrill of the cars rushing past me was better than thinking, thinking that would lead me to knowing that this guy has taken me without a problem and consequently my life had no meaning or value. That’s as close as I got to suicide. I still don’t know why I moved out of the way of that first car, I’m just glad that I did. My brain was hazy and not in much condition for logical decisions anyway.


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