When I was around 9 years old, my father tried to shoot himself in front of me. I distinctly remember him shouting that he was going to blow his brains out then and there. My young mind couldn't exactly process what that those words meant, nor what the action entailed, all I could focus on was the loaded gun.
He was eventually forced to lower the gun and lock it away in his wardrobe drawer once more. When my father died a few months later, I rationalised the grief I was feeling by recalling that horrible scene I was forced to witness.
This tragedy imprinted a crucial bit of information upon my young mind. I realized that some people were deeply unhappy with life, and when that sorrow reached the point of no return, they would take actions to terminate that unwanted existence.
At the time, I couldn't understand why someone would resort to the act of ctb, but I became aware of the possibility I could take my own life too.
It wasn't until I became cognizant of the fact that I was being bullied at school due to my autism that I seriously considered suicide. I was only in grade 7, but I already knew I had missed the starting gun and was doomed to have a miserable life. Around this time, I witnessed my aunt attempt an overdose that landed her in a psychiatric ward.
Having to find my aunt in a state of disarray on multiple occasions after her failed ctb attempts awakened me to a grim reality. Some people just aren't meant to be happy, and they will keep trying to end their suffering until a result is achieved-whether that be a successful recovery, or a completed suicide.
I knew that I was going to be one of those people, even at age 12.
