My Suicide Story
Pained mixed with guilt, anger, regret, disappointment, depression and an endless list makes it easier to walk away and end it all. Doesn’t it?
The one question everyone has asked without exception is why? Why did their fiend, child, parent, spouse, or sibling take their own life? Even when a note explaining the reason is found, lingering questions remain.
It is easier to hastily condemn suicide victims. Easier to question why one should dare end a beautiful life. Easier to judge and sermonize how cowardly the victims acted, give exerts from the Holy Books and play the infallible. But then, is easier to play a support cast than the lead role.
But then, it’s easy to forget suicide patients once walked around with a smile, once had beautiful lives, dreams and big plans for the future, oven joked and goofed around friends and family moments before pulling the plug.
Over the years, I have had my share of suicide thoughts. Most notably, a health issue I battled with during my service year.
I had taken ill few weeks to the resumption for the orientation camp Isele-uku in Asaba. I had been on a grueling routine of medication to get me ready for camp. I had dreamed and waited for National Youth Service Corps (NYSC), so ‘who would want to spoil this moment’? I kept asking myself. The African in me cursed my luck, and wondered who from the village could be ‘holding the proverbial remote control’. After all, being sick isn’t the best feeling in the world, is it?
Fast forward few weeks, and I was in camp, in a frail state. I spent every single day of the first week in camp at the clinic experimenting on new drugs; yet healing a distant reality. Activities passed me by as I battled with a rare condition of internal heat. My back, feet and hands burned like I was some flour getting ready to be baked. I prayed, fasted, spoke in every tongue I knew and those unknown, yet it worsened. There were days I had to lay on the floor not minding where I was, or who was watching. It was no surprised I was transferred to a hospital in Warri and only returned penultimate day camp ended.
Like a soldier I embraced my new condition since doctors had no possible explanation to the internal heat which made me feel like an alien in my body.
I felt bitter and disappointed in a God who couldn’t heal the simplest of ailments. I had prayed, fasted, and visited a few Churches. Why in Jesus’s name was He taking His time to heal ‘common internal heat’? ‘He wasn’t powerful after all’, I reasoned. I felt betrayed He deserted me, and vowed to have anything to do with Him till I was healed. God didn’t budge, so did i.
The cold war raged for months, and depression set in. It was safe to say it was the lowest point in my life. In all of this, no one knew the pains I bore. I joked and laughed in a good company. Ate, smoked and drank in a bad company. I took to alcohol and cigarate. I was on a free fall and the devil was the perfect driver for such an occasion.
Since I was depressed, malevolent inner voices orchestrated the activation of the self-destruct button. I became maudlin and impulsively contemplated taking my life to end the pain. Once sobered and calm, I felt ashamed of my selfish thoughts. I imagined how heartbroken I would leave my lovely parents, siblings and the beautiful world.
Few months later the prodigal son and His creator made peace and I was completely healed till this day.
Its easier to recount and laugh about it now. It’s safe to admit that suicide is never a means to an end. I had a philosophical reason to pull the plug, but in the end, we all eventually die, so why the rush’?
I would love to hear your suicide story. You can anonymously write to me via firstname.lastname@example.org.