I remember when I was a kid, I thought suicide was the ultimate act of selfishness. “How could people do that to their loved ones, knowing that it would be completely devastating to everyone who cared about them?”

You see, that’s The Thing…they don’t know that.

In fact, they’re usually thinking that they’ll be doing those people a favour. Or that they are so utterly worthless that no one will miss them.

And no, it’s not about self-pity. No, it’s not about “Poor me, nobody likes me.”

It is a terribly deep sense of having zero value in the world. Zero worth. It’s a deep sense of taking up space that could be better used by others.

It’s about not deserving to breathe.

How anyone even gets there…well, there are a million roads to that place. But it sure as hell isn’t, “Poor me, nobody likes me.”

As for putting a derogatory spin on the idea that they’re “just doing it for attention,” or “It’s a cry for help,” well…HELLO. That’s exactly right. They do NEED ATTENTION. They’re CRYING OUT FOR HELP.

I’m not talking about those people who just threaten suicide to be manipulative and have absolutely no intention of attempting it. The ones that say it to get a romantic interest (or someone else) to come running and save them when meanwhile, they just enjoy the drama and the “proof” that the other person really does care.

Yeah…those people have got a whole other brand of issues that are well beyond the scope of this writing.

I’m talking about the people who are truly suffering.

There’s a difference between, “I don’t want to live anymore,” and “I want to be dead.”

Often, it’s the ones who “don’t want to live anymore” who will hint at suicide or who might even say it outright.

But here’s the thing: They don’t usually mean that they actually want to be dead. They’re trying to express that something’s really wrong. They’re often distraught, stuck, feeling depressed and discouraged about life and they don’t know how to feel better.

They need help to figure it out and are often afraid to ask for it or don’t know where to go.

Sadly, too many of these people actually do end up dying when they didn’t intend for it to happen. They thought someone would find them in time; they figured it wasn’t enough pills — or whatever.

But oops. They screwed up and now they are really and truly dead. Just because they didn’t know how to ask for help in a more productive way.

Or because no one saw past what they thought was just a childish attempt at getting attention.

What about the ones who truly want to be dead?

They are the ones who don’t say anything about how they’re feeling. They are the ones who make a plan and just do it. They are the ones whose behaviour might have changed in the days or weeks prior to it but the changes were so subtle, you missed the cues.

That was deliberate on their part. They didn’t want you to know. They didn’t want to be stopped. They really and truly did not want to be alive anymore so they made a plan and did their best not to share how they were feeling.

It’s not your fault.

There have been way too many periods of my life when I felt like I didn’t want to live anymore. I’ve dipped in and out of that for decades. I wasn’t usually talking about it at those times; I just kept getting through one day at a time and trusting things would be better, but couldn’t feel any joy.

Even though I knew in my head that I had “this or that” to be excited about or that I was blessed to have people in my life who loved me, it was as though someone had reached inside me and switched off my ability to feel anything.

Well, anything but indifference, or an awful flat numbness. I could not manage to rouse any sense of happiness. Life had been such a long series of struggles and challenges; I was beyond exhausted.

I just wanted it to stop.

I remember smiling one day — just a little one — and noticing that it felt unfamiliar on my face, which only served to make me sadder.

When I’ve been in those states, I wasn’t planning to end my life but to be honest, there have been plenty of times I thought that if I just didn’t wake up, I’d be okay with that.

Then there’s the other side of this terrible coin

I’ve also been actively suicidal at times and there are simply no words for how horrible it is…The first time, I was 19, a mess of anxiety disorders, a divorced single parent after a toxic, suffocative relationship with no support system or friends.

I was living in my parents’ basement, dealing yet again with the alcoholism and abuse that had driven me out of that house at the age of 16. I swore I’d never go back, but there I was…

I began having thoughts of suicide. I had a 10-month-old baby who needed me. I was utterly alone and without any friends, I had nowhere to go with my struggles.

My mother had never liked me (understated) and let’s just say her behaviour toward me had been extremely toxic most of the time. She was cold and prickly and my tender heart was desperately in need of warmth and kindness.

I felt myself sliding into a terrible place that might see me losing control and offing myself, leaving my baby without a mother.

Forced to do something — anything — I spent a couple of days trying to muster the courage to tell my mother.

Remember, this was back in the day when nobody talked about suicide. No one talked about self-help or psychologists or counselling. There was no Dr. Phil on TV.

And I was barely more than a kid.

I had no idea where to go or what to do, or whether my mother could help me figure that out. I just knew that I was desperately in trouble and couldn’t stop that growing desire to die.

Eventually, I managed to tell my mother how I was feeling. I choked out the words. Awkwardly. Painfully. Shamefully.

She carried on cleaning while each awful syllable slowly found its way out of my mouth. Every one of them lay between us as if I’d just vomited radioactive slime on the kitchen floor.

She didn’t look at me. She just said, “Oh, don’t be so stupid,” picked up her cleaning supplies and moved on to the next room.

I’m not quite sure how I managed to pull myself out of that hole; I just kept looking at my baby and willing myself to feel better.

I knew what it felt like not to be mothered; I didn’t want to subject my daughter to actually not having a mother at all. It was my love for her that finally shifted those terrible thoughts of death.

And slowly, I crawled back from the abyss.

Without her, I’m sure I would have succumbed.

Fast forward a couple of decades where you’d have found me engaged in a long and awful battle with a life-threatening illness. I was in considerable pain every day. Had been for some time. Couldn’t take the suffering anymore.

I was in a desperately miserable marriage. My kids were wondering which day they’d come home and find me dead. I couldn’t attend their events at school or be involved in their lives unless, by some miracle, I had a good day.

Even then, I couldn’t offer much.

The way I saw it, if I were dead, my kids would go and live with their dads. My husband wouldn’t have to put up with me. I figured they’d all be better off without me. Whether or not they would have agreed wasn’t the point.

I believed I was doing them more harm than good by being alive.

I was so ill and hurting so much and was so, so, so tired of the struggle…one day I came up with a simple, foolproof plan for suicide, although I wouldn’t have called it that. It was just an end to my suffering.

I didn’t tell anyone. With my background in the social work and counselling industry, I knew this meant I was high risk, and I didn’t care. I wasn’t playing around. I wanted out. So why the hell would I tell anyone, knowing they would intervene and stop me?

I kept my mouth shut.

I can’t even tell you what sweet relief it was to have that plan. I had a way out; I wasn’t going to have to suffer for God-knew-how-much-longer before mercifully, I would finally die.

But for the moment, I would keep going.

As a homeopath, I had an office in my home. I was still seeing patients part-time. I was making a difference in their lives and their health on all levels, even though I felt like a complete waste of space as a wife and mother.

I could plaster on some make-up and cover the rest with excuses about being tired. I’d get through the appointments and as soon as they left, I’d stumble down the hall and collapse into bed.

It was easier to cope with each moment, one at a time, knowing I had a way out.

It took a couple of weeks but eventually, something shifted. I managed to regain some hope that there might be a cure for me and that perhaps one day I might be well again.

And with that tiny decision to hope just a little, I crawled back from the abyss once again. The first time, it had been because I clung to the belief that my daughter needed me. The second time, it was knowing that my patients needed me.

Summing up

Suicide is never an act of selfishness. It is an act of complete and utter desperation beyond all description.

Check out this highly insightful and informative

If someone is talking about suicide, take it seriously. Even if someone means “I don’t want to live anymore” instead of “I want to be dead,” that person still needs help. Pain is pain; listen and see what you can do to assist in finding the right resources or support.

A botched attempt might mean someone didn’t actually intend to go through with it but didn’t know how else to get help. Clearly, something is wrong; ask questions, find the right support.

Or…a botched attempt might mean a committed plan failed and a better one is in the works. Do not ever believe someone who suddenly claims to be fine, or says, “I didn’t really mean it.” Never leave someone alone in this condition.

Do whatever you can to get help.

If someone you love commits suicide, it’s not your fault. Whether or not you knew about those thoughts, whether or not you tried to help. It is not your fault.

At the end of the day, unless they choose to accept help, those who manage to do it would have found a way, come hell or high water.

It’s not because they didn’t care about you. It’s not because you didn’t love them enough. And it’s sure as hell not because they’re selfish.

It’s because they’re drowning in such dark and terrible pain and desperation — the likes of which you can never begin to imagine unless you’ve experienced it — quite simply, they cannot bear the suffering for one more moment.

Spiritual Arts Mentor and Master Teacher, Liberty Forrest, guides you in discovering who you are, why you’re here, and how to follow that path.

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