by Isela
My older cousin Mikaela was planning to overdose on a bottle of pills if she didn’t get the attention she was seeking in our group-chat. Mikaela has suffered from depression for three years now. She’s attempted suicide repeatedly. Mikaela has sent me pictures of her arms right after she’s just cut the surface flesh in attempt to bleed herself dry. In an attempt to kill herself, she takes a chance; a chance that she might live. But how many chances will life give her before death finally decides to claim her? She’s called me saying how much she wants to die, crying that she’s tired of the pain, tired of having to fight through all the agony she suffers in life. Forgiveness and accountability are difficult concepts to comprehend in a world with so much to forgive and so much to account for. Personal struggle can push us to the brink of suicide, and for my cousin, it almost has; her continuous attempts have also caused me untold pain.
We were raised like sisters, grew up in nearly the same households: always together. My cousin’s continuous attempted suicides have affected me in numerous ways. I’ve read the death letter she wrote me after the first time she tried to kill herself. I’m always scared over the thought that if I don’t answer a specific call, or text back fast enough, and Mikaela doesn’t get the care she needs in that crucial moment, I could lose her and blame myself till the end of time. If my cousin decides one day to kill herself, I would spend the rest of my life wondering if I could have done something to help, or to stop her, and I’d never forgive myself for it.
People don’t realize that her attempted suicide or depression has affected me in such an intense manner. In reality, I have been the person she has confided in about her depression since it began to consume her. I have heard her experiences and helped her the best I possibly can to survive her struggle. I’ve tried to help her accept her past experiences and move on with her life.
No matter how much we lose connections with people and however many times we mess up in life, we hope to always be able to count on our parents to be our anchor. Unfortunately, her experiences with past anchors have all been superficial and temporary. Her dad left her when she was five. Her mom continues to choose her religion over her daughter. Our grandparents refuse to take her in due to her being too much to handle. As of now, she currently takes residence with her half-sibling and their mother. To be this trouble and without a stable family situation, she’s always been at risk of suffering from depression. She’s always been like my big sister, so I have always tried to be there for her as best as I could. I have been at her beck and call, and have cried along with her, as if her experiences and pain in life are my experiences and pain.
If she ever decides to die, a piece of me will die with her. I dwell on the thought of how many times her attempted suicides will only be attempted. My main concern is how many chances at her life she will take for granted before she finally goes too far. How many times will she blame herself for every bad experience she’s had before she can finally accept it and move on? My empathy, my pain, and my hurt that I feel for her eats me alive because the lines between her life and mine have begun blurring. Being with a person I love through their worst struggles – giving them a second chance, a third chance, and so on – is what makes my heart beat. I always strive to do better, because her struggle is my struggle, in good times and bad.