The Other Side of Suicide

This. Oh dear.

The Ochre Muse

I was depressed for the better part of a decade, and I spent most of it trying to die and not to die. I had become intolerant of the simplest parts of staying alive: eating, working, sleeping.

I crossed the road without looking.
I fell asleep in the bath.
I returned to suicidal matters for the third time that year.

I just wanted my brain to shut up, but on it went, year upon year. Then my emotions retreated, and I returned to numbness.

There are no easy ways to kill yourself, and few painless ways to die. Through all my planning, I was brought back to life raging, churning my suicidal ideation around and around in my mind as though it would curdle if I stopped.


Depression is relentless. It chips away your character until the only things left are the skeletal remains of your old self. I couldn’t…

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