Writing my annual birthday/World Suicide message is getting “old.” I guess because I no longer find myself in the very dark spaces I once occupied. I feel so distanced from that person who was not-me for 42 years.
Now, at 50 years of age, and living happily, healthily, and according to my own needs and desires, I am no longer at the mercy of an unpredictable and invisible illness that torments and controls me. Rather, I control my illness.
It’s still very poignant to me, reflecting in my 50th year on World Suicide Prevention Day that I survived. And that my 37 year old, 39 year old, and 42 year old selves felt the need to kill the pain by killing the person. MY person. But that was the Stephanie who was not-me.
Folks ask me if I regret those 42 years. I don’t and won’t live in regret, or lament regularly what I did in the past. I will live for the moment and take everything day by day, eagerly approaching life — and myself — creatively and with great care. Because I AM me.