Today is an anniversary of sorts for me.

Anniversaries don't always have to be positive, good, wonderful things marked by a celebration and a greeting card. They can also be tragedies that have ripped and scattered the surface and thrown the grains to the wind. Anniversaries can be haunting reminders written in ink on calendars and in hearts. They can hurt with just as much force as the positive anniversaries can bring joy.

Then there are anniversaries like mine, where it's both a good and a bad thing. It's a positive and a negative, both elation and a painful reminder. Where people got hurt (and I got hurt) and yet where I found myself set free. Curling up in bed last night next to Angus, I looked at the clock and saw it was midnight, so I asked him a question.

"It's officially tomorrow." I whisper, moving his hand up from my hip to around my ribcage. "It's an anniversary of mine. Do you know what it is?"

From behind me came the sound of thinking. "No, I don't. What is it?"

"It's two years since I tried to kill myself." I replied.

"I'm sorry I didn't remember that." he said softly, and curled up like two little commas we fall asleep.

Today is the birthday of two people I care about. Today is the 60th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz, one of the most unspeakable crimes perpetrated against humanity. And today is the day that I tried to kill myself two years ago, followed by an evening in the hospital.

A sobering day in a sobering life.

I think about that day sometimes. Not often, just every once in a while. It's easy for me to recall some aspects of it, since I was watching a movie of myself, standing outside the doorway to the bathroom looking at myself, at the mess of blood and the empty pill bottle, but being so far removed from it that my movie thoughts were of which cleaning products will remove protein stains.

It's easy for me to remember that my day at work was unexceptional, it was just one day in a constant rain of stress. It's easy for me to remember the snowy evening outside, the ride home in the car listening to a certain song by Matchbox 20. It's easy to remember how incredibly tired I was-and the irony is, I can't find words to describe it. It's like the exhaustion was the coming from inside of my very marrow, seeping out into my heart and lungs and face, and even this is too insignificant a description.

Other aspects of that evening are bit harder to remember. What I was wearing. What I was cooking for dinner.

And the biggest one of all: Why.

Why. That's the rub, isn't it? If you ask me why, my single immediate response is: I was just so fucking tired. Bone weary, utterly sick of it, unable to carry the heavy carpet cape of memories, feelings, dreams, and losses. Is that a reason? Is that a good reason? Dunno. All I know is, it was my reason. More reasons would emerge later (BPD), haunting echoes of something much more profound, much more frightening than just being tired.

I don't often think about what happened, while at the same time I often feel different from everyone around me. Not better-this is no God complex, I am not manic depressive-just different. Like if you put on special lenses you can see everyone has a certain color, only my color is slightly off, slightly changed. Perhaps I often feel different perhaps because I know trying to top yourself is not a normal activity, it's not what normal people do. Maybe people like me get whispered about behind the back of hands. Possibly people like me get a wide berth in the hallways and super-saccahrine smiles from people worried about our stability.

Then again, maybe I'm just another average person who met their boundaries, and couldn't find a reasonable way of handling it all.

Two years ago I had a very bad evening. Two years ago I was scared and hurt and exhausted and lost. Two years ago a single act changed the road that I had been walking on, erasing the surface with a branch behind me.

I am very sorry that people were hurt that day. But I am not sorry that I was hurt that day, and I am not sorry it happened-sometimes you need a steamroller thrown in your path for you to realize that the cement of your life is broken and needs to be fixed. I learnt what I am made of from that experience, and it's of stronger concrete than I had thought, even if the brand is still dodgy.

My anniversary. I can say with authority that I am not remotely tempted to try to kill myself again-it's pretty clear to me that the decision of when my life ends will not be a conscious decision warranted from me. I have to stick it out, and it may suck sometimes, but this is contract I signed up for: I signed up for life and I have to live it.

Two years on. I rode the train to the office in the morning, and after writing up my blog post I turned off the laptop. I sat back in my seat on the crowded train, an older train, and listened to the tiny clacking noises it made as the frosty English countryside flew past me. I watched the sun come up, a shocking band of pink leading to the glare of an orange orb lying lazily on the horizon, dancing pockets of light melting the patches of frost. I let the sun slide onto my face and blinked into it. Ahead of me was a day of stress and difficulty, I hadn't slept well and don't like my job. I had a lot to do but I let myself sit there and stare out the window, at the country I love living in so much that the thought of having to leave is paralyzing.

I sat in the train and felt that, although I wasn't happy with some of the things happening in my life, I at least felt strong enough to try to handle some of them.

I sat in the train and was calm, just for one second.

I sat in the train and was, unbelievably, happy to be there.

In my mind, my anniversary is a good and a bad thing. It's a deciding moment, it's a point in time where my axis changed. It's where I was born and where I died, and above all, it has become something written on the fabric of who I am and of the will to survive. I broke that night, and even though I am not fixed, I at least know that there are pieces, and the relief of the shattering iceberg could be heard from miles away.

Two years on, and I am a totally different person. To that person, that Helen, that other life and that little figure huddling and crying in the bathroom, the one who snapped and lost the plot, I say this:

I love you, Sweetie. I am so sorry. I wish I could reach through my movie memories and hug you and hold you and rock you back and forth and tell you that you are not alone in that bathroom. I am glad you made it. I am glad you survived and continued, because you became me.

And you know what? That's a good thing. It's a good thing for one, single important reason that I never in my life consciously felt before, and I hope to never in my life lose sight of again.

I am happy to be alive.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 08:26 AM | Comments (24) | Add Comment
Post contains 1314 words, total size 7 kb.

1 There are a few other folks out here who are pretty darn happy you are alive too. Emensly proud of who you have become, and excited about who you will be. *hugs*

Posted by: Dane at January 27, 2005 09:49 AM (ncyv4)

2 I was there too, and along with you, I am happy to be alive too.

Posted by: Irene at January 27, 2005 10:45 AM (YzTkY)

3 Happy Anniversary. as in, happy you're still here with us. thank you for sharing. it's incredibly brave of you to put yourself out there like this.

Posted by: girl at January 27, 2005 11:55 AM (uZxXS)

4 I'm glad to hear you've come to terms with things. I'm also glad you're still around. Had you been successful, I wouldn't have gotten the chance to get to know you in this venue. It seems to me that this day marks a re-birth for you, so I'm going to wish you a Happy Birthday. May you have many, many more.

Posted by: Easy at January 27, 2005 01:35 PM (8RKHd)

5 Sometimes it's good to fail. Two years ago was one of them. I pray that you will have good health and a long, joyful life on earth.

Posted by: Solomon at January 27, 2005 01:53 PM (k1sTy)

6 I agree completely... anniversaries, whether for good or bad, should always be recognized. I'm glad that you went on to become this Helen, and I think that your letter to the other Helen is perfect.

Posted by: amber at January 27, 2005 01:56 PM (/ydz0)

7 Thanks for that Helen. I'm having a particularly rough time with life right now and your post touched my soul in ways you will never know.

Posted by: Rebecca at January 27, 2005 02:01 PM (ZHfdF)

8 I for one am ecstatic that you are here.

Posted by: Jim at January 27, 2005 02:14 PM (tyQ8y)

9 I am so very thrilled that you are alive, and here, and sharing yourself with us. I hope this anniversary reminds you of how happy you are to be alive for like, 100 years to come. Love, gratitude, joy ... Helen is still here on Earth and thriving

Posted by: Elizabeth at January 27, 2005 02:20 PM (bfmI/)

10 I like the person you've become, too. I'm glad that you did not succeed and that whatever demons drove you to that decision have been run off. So, happy re-birthday to you, Helen!

Posted by: RP at January 27, 2005 02:25 PM (LlPKh)

11 Congratulations. You have taken an incredible journey from that girl in the bathroom to the woman we all read and love each day. From your darkest moment you have triumphed, and we are all so happy that you're around to share your daily triumphs (and sometimes defeats) with us. You are so much more inspirational than I think you will ever know.

Posted by: amy t. at January 27, 2005 03:50 PM (zPssd)

12 We are all strong and weak in so many ways. And sometimes our weakness can bring out our strength, thank you and here's to the anniversaries that bring us closer to ourselves.

Posted by: syd at January 27, 2005 04:03 PM (XO3Ye)

13 happy anniversary. and thank you for sharing...

Posted by: martha at January 27, 2005 04:29 PM (5HJ2h)

14 For coming through the storm, you are a stronger person than 2 years ago. Been then, girlie girl. Maybe you are even a little wiser. We all have to grow.

Posted by: CarolC at January 27, 2005 04:30 PM (v5LbY)

15 I loved your letter to your younger self. I remember my younger self too and how tired and hurt she was. At one point in my life, I thought about suicide most of the time. It was like this tape loop running through my head all the time, in the background. "I could do it, it would be easy, I could, I want to, so badly, but...oh, but I'd hurt the kids. But I'm so tired of living this way...but I'd hurt the kids. I can't...but I'm so tired of hurting.. I want to do it. Just to be done. For the relief. Peace. I can do it this way and like this..or like that..." I'd fantasize about suicide a LOT! So much so, that I didn't realize how much it was a part of me until I finally moved out and it stopped. It's gone now and I know that no matter what, it's never coming back again. So glad you found your STRENGTH, Helen! {{{hugs}}}

Posted by: Amber at January 27, 2005 05:26 PM (zQE5D)

16 Helen, Labor Day weekend is my anniversary. Reading this brought tears to my eyes. Thirteen years have gone by and for once, I am so glad that I failed at something! And I'm glad you failed, too. Life is sweet. Thank you for sharing something so personal.

Posted by: ms.quilty at January 27, 2005 06:05 PM (WUM14)

17 it's been four years for me. i'm very glad you're still here helen. xoxox

Posted by: kat at January 27, 2005 07:41 PM (QkuGS)

18 I am so glad you are here.

Posted by: Sue at January 27, 2005 07:57 PM (+7VNs)

19 I'm happy your alive to tell your story. Proud of who you've become and who you will come to be! WHATEOWITWWA! it means WE'LL HELP AND TRUST EACH OTHER WHEREEVER IN THE WORLD WE ARE! I MADE IT UP MYSELF. LUV YA! -RICH*BITCH (JK ITS A NICKNAME)

Posted by: Christina at January 27, 2005 09:24 PM (+7VNs)

20 Why. That's the rub, isn't it? If you ask me why, my single immediate response is: I was just so fucking tired. To quote the Bard... "To Sleep.. perchance to Dream." Either you understand.. or you don't.. the lucky ones don't....

Posted by: LarryConley at January 27, 2005 10:08 PM (hJJHG)

21 Nine here. Happy - sincerely joyous - anniversary. You are loved.

Posted by: Jennifer at January 28, 2005 02:31 AM (Mc6uB)

22 I'm glad you survived too. I find myself wanting to say more here, but I don't know you beyond reading your blog and so anything more would be assumption on my part... So just that. I'm glad you've survived. I'm so glad you're happy to be alive. Be well.

Posted by: cari at January 28, 2005 04:12 AM (HMcIX)

23 Thank you for your honesty, thank you for writing about your anniversary. I really don't know what else to say except I am moved by your insight and willingness to share.

Posted by: Andrea at January 28, 2005 10:16 AM (M+S8T)

24 Proud of ya kiddo! Kickin blog. Life can be a kick in the ass....so...kick it back!!

Posted by: PMann at January 29, 2005 04:20 AM (f+6vj)

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