There were two times I wanted to end it all. The first was in 1999, at the age of 17. The second time came in 2011, shortly before I turned 30. Both of these experiences were borne of circumstances that resulted in terrifying, all-consuming depressions. They forced me to question everything I had ever believed about life, hope, and the meaning (or lack thereof) of life.
But there is one fundamental difference between what happened in my first depression, and what happened years later. When I was a teenager, I attempted suicide twice. I was fortunate to fail miserably, but I had reached the place beyond despair. I was done. Life had had its way with me, and there was only one solution: death.
In the second depression, I did not attempt to take my life. This was true even though my circumstances were in some ways far more terrifying and dangerous than when I was younger.Read More