I think that one of the hardest things about depression and suicide is that you don’t know where the line is. That line where you cross from thinking suicidal thoughts to actually trying to kill yourself. Until you cross it, you can only guess where it is. For yourself and for others.
I know I came very close to a breaking point several years ago. The experience left me fragmented with pieces of my old self barely strung together and gaping holes that I’ve only begun to fill in. As I try to rebuild myself, there is one question that haunts me. How close was I to crossing that line? An hour or a year? An inch or a mile? One step or one thousand?
At the time, it felt like there was no way I could take another hit and keep going. I could barely get through the day then. There was no way I could deal with any more. But what if I could have? What if that pain was only a fraction of what it would take to push me across that threshold? What if I wasn’t as near that edge as I thought I was?
I don’t know the answer. I’m not even sure which possibility scares me more.