I’m writing this with a trembling hand, but a strong will to live. Right now, as I write this, I’m still fighting suicidal thoughts. This isn’t a story from my past, it’s a battle I’m still in. But I believe someone, somewhere, might need to read this. Maybe to understand. Maybe to feel less alone. Maybe to survive.

What It Feels Like to Live With Suicidal Thoughts: 

It’s hard to explain what it really feels like to live with suicidal thoughts, because it’s not just a feeling. It’s a whole existence that gets swallowed up by something heavier than words. Soft and slow. I could be brushing my teeth, scrolling my phone, laughing with someone, and then suddenly, out of nowhere, a thought just lands. “You don’t have to keep doing this.” Other times, it storms in. Loud, brutal, like my mind has been hijacked. No warning. No mercy. And I find myself holding my breath, trying to push it back down before it drags me under.

And then there’s the hiding. God, the hiding. Smiling when I want to scream Laughing so nobody asks questions. Saying “I’m just tired” when the truth is, I’m barely holding on. It takes so much energy to look okay. To not scare people. To keep the darkness behind the curtain while pretending to live a “normal” life. And the worst part? Even when I’m screaming inside, the world keeps spinning like nothing’s wrong. 

Sometimes, it makes me grind my teeth so hard, bruxism, they call it. I didn’t even know I was doing it until the pain showed up. And then there are the sudden moments, when I hear something as small as the sound of a nylon bag rustling, and my heart jumps so violently I think it might stop. Like I’m about to pass out. Like I’m having a cardiac arrest. My whole body tenses, alert to danger that isn’t really there. My mind is running 360 degree, It’s like living in a body that’s always bracing for disaster.

But maybe the most painful part is the fear. The fear of being judged. Of being labeled “dramatic” or “attention-seeking” or “ungrateful.” I’ve heard people say suicide is selfish. That people like me just want pity. That I need more faith. But they don’t see what I’m fighting. They don’t see that I am trying. Every. Single. Day.

It’s not a cry for attention, it’s a cry for relief. For understanding. For someone to look at me and say, “I believe you. I’m here. And you’re not alone.”

I wish people would understand that suicidal thoughts aren’t always about wanting to die, they’re about wanting the pain to stop

That you don’t need people to fix me, i need them to sit with me, believe me, not abandon me

That I am trying. I won’t lie and say I have it all figured out. I don’t have a list of magic things that made it all better. Some days, I survive by doing the bare minimum, just waking up, just breathing, just being.

Survival, for me, is not neat or inspiring. It’s messy. It’s breaking down and still showing up the next day. It’s crying silently during the night and washing my face before stepping out in the morning. It’s feeling like giving up at 3 p.m. and somehow still being alive at 7 p.m.

There are days when I don’t want to talk to anyone. When I shut down completely. When I feel numb, like nothing matters. But then, there are also tiny moments like when someone sends a message, or when I hear a song that feels like it understands me, or when I write something and feel just a little lighter. Those small moments don’t fix everything, but sometimes, they’re enough to carry me through the hour.

I’m not here to say, “Look how strong I am.” I’m just here to say, I stayed. Even when I didn’t want to. Even when I was tired. Even when everything in me whispered, “Let go.” I stayed.

That’s what survival looks like for me right now: not winning. Just staying.

To those fighting suicidal thoughts:

You are not weak. Surviving is hard, and you’re doing it. That’s brave. I see you. Stay.

To those who don’t understand:

You don’t need to have all the answers just be kind and considerate. Your compassion could save someone’s life.

To those who stigmatize:

Judgment doesn’t heal. Silence doesn’t protect. Please, choose empathy over shame.

With love,

Yetunde.