Several years ago, I tried to kill myself.

I was unemployed, I had no friends, and in 23 years no one had ever once told me they loved me (at least not romantically).

Consumed by loneliness, I had built within my mind several walls to keep myself ‘safe’. Ironically, these walls were built from nothing but superstitious phobias and self-imposed conditions that did nothing to keep me safe. All they ever did was prevent me from moving forward with my life and actively improve my situation. These walls cost me opportunities for both employment and personal relationships.

Eventually, it all became too much to deal with and one afternoon I walked deep into the woods with nothing but a box cutter and a note. I tried eight times to gouge the blade into my left arm before breaking down and conceding that I didn’t have the strength to do it right. I returned home with blood running down my arm and the greatest sense of shame I have ever felt in my life. Returning home and admitting what I had done to myself to my family was the first real step forward.

Now, whenever I look at my eight scars, I don’t feel any shame or loneliness. I just debate whether or not to get the word survive tattooed over them (feedback plz).

You can probably tell I have a sense of humor about my attempt at suicide. Truthfully, I feel a hell of a lot more relaxed about a lot of things now after breaking my walls down. It didn’t happen overnight, and it still takes a lot of work, but I’ve come to realize that not only am I capable of solving the problems I have created for myself; I am also responsible.