The final days before I attempted to take my own life felt a lot like the end of my dream; falling – I was losing complete control of everything around me, at the mercy of the mental abyss that was swallowing me up.
I was most terrified of the part yet to come though – the part where I was going to hit the ground. Obviously it was coming; there’s only one way for a free-fall to end, right? With a splat. When would I hit the ground and how bad would it hurt? The fear of the unknown became so overwhelming for me that I chose to take control in the only way I could think of – I wasn’t going to wait for the splat. I’d make it end before hitting the ground by committing suicide. It was the wrong choice.
Reflecting on that grave mistake and writing this book about it have revealed to me a magnificent irony. The terrifying climax of my dream – the falling; the part I spent most of my life desperately avoiding because the lack of control bred an anxiety inside me unbearable enough to kill me – embracing that part is how to be truly alive.
