I tried to kill myself a couple nights ago, and I have the physical damage as a reminder. I’ve been managing bipolar 2 through medication and frequent therapy. My family all knew how much of a hard time I’d been having with my depression, and I was under close supervision by my SO, psychiatrist, and therapist.

This has been building up for so long, that one particularly bad day where my boss tore me down and humiliated me in front of the employees, and the day continued to spiral down into complete shit. I get home after a long day and my SO said one wrong thing to me, and if you can imagine a snowball sliding down a hill getting bigger and bigger then that was equivalent to my emotions. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

I stormed off to my room all while my kitten (who was meowing up a storm while all of this is going on) tried to follow me. I shut the door in his face, I didn’t want him to see what I was going to do. I harmed myself. I cried the ugliest tears you could imagine. My kitten was outside my door basically screaming and throwing his body at the door. The noise must have signaled my SO to come check on me and he caught me before I did damage that I couldn’t take back.

I felt so relieved, and so pitiful all at once. He didn’t yell at me, even after I told him he was going to hate me. I could see how panicked he was, and in that moment I didn’t want to die. I’m glad my cat was so persistent with wanting to be with me. Without him I wouldn’t have gotten medical attention as quickly as I did. I’m still dealing with it, but it’s been a beautiful fight.