Content Warning: This post discusses topics related to trauma, suicide, suicidal ideation, and chronic suicidality. Please, do what you need to take care of yourself as you read and interact with this post.

Before you read: Yes, I (the author) am in therapy. No, I am not in danger of hurting myself. This post is meant to inform and lead to discussions about chronic suicidality.

Living with Chronic Suicidality

September is a very meaningful month for me. First and foremost, it is my birthday month! (Yes, I am a September Virgo – we are the best!) It is also Bisexual Visibility Month, CPSTD Awareness Month, and National Suicide Prevention Month. This last meaning of September has been the hardest for me for two main reasons. First, I almost lost my mother to suicide. Second, for most of my adult life, I have struggled with suicide.

I don’t think about suicide or have suicidal ideations all the time. It comes in and out of my life in phases, usually when I am going through traumatic events or an ongoing period of reliving triggers. There are periods of my life when I don’t even think about death. Then there are the times when I need it. It slinks back into my life in many forms. There’s Death disguised in the intrusive thoughts. The Stress Response. The Trauma Response. The days when I think I could easily. The No One Would Miss Me. The Finally Being Free. The Escape Plan. The My Mission Is Complete. The Cold Dissociation. The “Death running his hand up my spine to cradle the back of my head, holding me and loving me in a way no human ever has”. The “I can’t hold this pain anymore, so I am going to let Death hold it for me”. Then there are the days when I am standing at my kitchen sink, shaking, my whole body trembling, begging me to die.

I crave death to the point where I can’t even feel my own body.

Then, I go to therapy. I take medicine. Seek treatment. And the cravings slowly go away. But what I thought I had defeated was really on hiatus. I was treating the symptoms of suicidality I was experiencing in each episode, and not dealing with what I had: Chronic Suicidality.

So, of course, I was frustrated when I started thinking about suicide again this year, after going through the death of one of my abusers and, around that same time, coming out trans to my friends and family. I was going through two really challenging things at the same time. On the one hand, I was reliving a lifetime of trauma caused by that family member. On the other hand, I finally felt safe enough to be the person I always was and start living as my truest self. This process is hard enough without having to go through it at a time when the hate against people like you is magnified. It’s hard enough without the outside world reminding me every day of why I hid myself for so many years, reminding me of the fear of what people would do to me if they found out or if I “looked too masculine”. Making me relive the day I knew who in my family would have killed me, how they would have killed me, who would have helped them, and where the police would have found my body.

I was struggling with surviving one abusive male family member and another abusive male family member who would have killed me (just for being liberal) only to face a world that claims to hate me, and all the while craving death.

So, what keeps me going?

Some days, not much. You know the bar is in Hell when finding the will to live becomes the sheer spite of outliving a piece of animated Cheeto dust.

Other days, I can’t face the shame of attempting suicide. My mom attempted back in 2020. She wasn’t supposed to make it, but she did. She’s the one miracle God granted me in this life. Now, every time I think about ending it, I’m ashamed. I know what it feels like to almost lose someone to suicide. How could I do that to someone else? How could I put someone else through that pain?

When the thoughts get to be too much, I either let them pass (by shaking and/or crying it out) or I turn to a list of other things like:

• Writing. I can confess things to the page that I could never tell another person; I can say everything I never got the chance to say. And in poetry, I am the loudest and the freest. I can declare myself boldly without worrying too much about structure or syntax. In poetry, I feel my truest self and my strongest voice.
• Planning life as my true self. If I die now, I will never get to see my true self, be my true self, or live as my true self. It helps me to see a future where I am finally free to be the man that I always knew I was.
• My cat. I live alone, so it helps to have a companion. My cat, Theodini (or Theo for short), is an orange, tabby cat who looks like a real-life version of Puss in Boots, and he’s horribly independent, which does not make him the best emotional support pet. However, he has been learning to read my moods and knows when I am in distress. When he senses my distress, Theo will come over and lie next to me and let me pet him while he purrs. Sometimes, he will even tap his nose to my arm or leg, as if giving me a little kitty kiss.

When it comes to other people: what helps me and what doesn’t

Knowing that I am needed and some people or you would miss me. This one goes both ways. It is enough to keep me from attempting, but mostly, it makes me feel guilty that I am letting people down and ashamed of my thoughts of leaving them. It makes me feel like I am failing the people in my life who I am supposed to be showing up for. In this case, I feel like you are focused on the shock of my talking about suicidal ideation and your feelings around the possibility of me committing suicide. It doesn’t make me feel seen; it makes me feel like a failure and a burden.

Being told that I am an inspiration in your life, or how inspiring you think I am. Again, this is just centering you. While you think this is affirming me, it puts pressure on me to be around and show up for you and to show up as this idealized version of myself. When I feel suicidal, I already know that I am not living up to this version of myself. I don’t need to be reminded of that.

Sitting with me and listening or just being present. This one helps more than you would think. It’s soothing just to sit there with someone who isn’t trying to fix you. You don’t even have to talk or have all the answers. Sometimes, I just need to know that someone’s there, someone sees me, and someone has my back.

Encouragement and affirmations. No, this does not mean encouraging me to follow through with my suicidal ideations. What I mean by encouragement is giving me true hope, one that feels real in the moment, and not distant or unachievable. Encourage me in my goals. Remind me of my dreams. Talk to me about the silly, stupid things we always wanted to do, but have never done. Affirm me. Put a mirror up to me and tell me about the person you see. Not the heroic, idolized version of me. The real me. The me you get to see that no one else does.

Don’t just tell me “It gets better,” remind me of how it has already gotten better. When I hear “It will get better,” my immediate response is “When? When does it get better?” especially if I feel like I am not making any progress or seeing any changes. Take me back on the road this far and show me the highlights of my progress reel. Remind me of all the times it really did get better.

Approach with comfort. This can be creature comforts, food comforts, or anything else you know brings this person comfort. Like for me, comfort has typically been given and received with food. So comfort for me would be herbal tea (or a lavender latte) with a sweet treat or carbs.

Ultimately, what truly helps is being present and attentive, holding space, listening, and de-centering yourself.