E Ellis Allen (girlonstilts.com)

A long time ago, fourteen years and some months, I decided to die. It was a long, hard decision, a last resort, or so I thought.

My attempt was well planned, and it should have worked, but it didn’t, and I still don’t know why.

When you plan a suicide, you know exactly why you’re doing it. You have evidence that supports the reason, ample proof as to why you should, and very few examples as to why you shouldn’t.

But, when you accidentally survive suicide, you become an alien, a sudden orphan alone in a world that doesn’t make sense. No one besides your therapist wants to talk about it. No one is okay with the idea of suicide, and why would you be unless you’ve been there yourself? And then it’s still a source of shame, pain, and humiliation that can’t adequately be explained.

Afterward, I wondered why I lived and what it meant for me from that moment on. Those questions became constant. Was I meant for something bigger than myself? Am I unique in some way? Did it take peering over a cliff to understand that depression and collected hurts over a lifetime had been for a single grand design? Did I have enough importance that God, Karma, and all the physical, spiritual, etc. elements had to conspire together to save me?

This became my new life perspective. Instead of surviving by grasping onto one more day, one more hour, and one more moment, I was out to discover why I existed. What was my sole purpose?

Every year on the anniversary of my attempt, I became like an elephant stumbling across the skeleton of another.

When an elephant senses death ahead, she approaches the fallen slowly as if establishing the boundaries of hallowed ground.

She stands to the side of the departed. She lifts her feet, one at a time, softly pressing her soles over the victim, absorbing its aura, leaching out the rest of its goodness and final memories.

The elephant drops her trunk, passing it over the bones, touching its wounded form, rolling it through the holes, feeling the shape of its skull, eye sockets, and the points of its tusks. She remembers it all forever, just like I knew I would. I was wrong.

Over the years, the intensity and pain of events leading up to my attempt, even the exact date, began to fade. And I was no longer an elephant stomping through the jungle, accidentally coming across death, nor was I waiting to stumble over my fate.

The question changed from What was my survival’s grand purpose to Why did my escape plan fail?

Was it because I had developed an unknown tolerance to Xanax? Had the pills lost their strength? Were the pills just placebos that hadn’t helped me all along? I don’t know, but I do know why I haven’t tried to die since.

I once believed that I only existed for someone else: my parents, my siblings, my husband, my kids, and even people I didn’t know. And then, by extension, every decision I made, big or small, could affect everyone else.

When I was depressed, I was failing others. When I was unhappy, I hurt the ones I loved. I thought that if I died, I would sever our tie, finally allowing them to be free.

It was a strange idea that I understand now, had no factual basis or sustainability. How could it possibly?

I couldn’t live for my children or husband, my parents, siblings, friends, or even for my religion and culture. I had to figure out how to live for myself.

I’m not saying that one should be selfish to be happy — there is plenty of proof that that’s wrong, too. I’m saying that I had to recognize that if I was stranded alone on a desert island, I would, and I could be enough to live for.

After fourteen years and some months, I still struggle with depression and overwhelming sadness, but I’ve never gotten as low as I had that day.

Since then, whenever I encounter someone else struggling with the same issues, I transform into an elephant. I slow down. I take in my surroundings. I feel the depths of the form in front of me. I mourn the pain and recognize the fall, but I no longer blame the problem on myself.

I’ve had to force myself to explore, question who I am and the point of my existence, and then be okay that I may never find the answers.

*This story was originally posted on 2/20/20