I Used to Be the Girl Who Wanted to Die. Now I’m Fighting for the Ones Who Still Do.

Trigger Warning: This post discusses suicide, suicidal thoughts, mental illness, and personal struggles with mental health.

There was a time when I wasn’t sure I’d live long enough to become the woman I am today.

And that’s a really fucking hard sentence to write.

Because before I became the woman who answers 911 calls, before I became an EMT, before I started chasing my dream of becoming a paramedic and a psychologist, I was just a girl who was desperately trying to escape the pain inside her own head.

I was once the girl trying to end it all.

Not because I didn’t have people who loved me.

Not because I didn’t have dreams.

Not because I was weak, selfish, or looking for attention.

But because I was hurting in ways I didn’t know how to explain.

I was exhausted from fighting a war inside my own mind that nobody else could see.

I was tired of waking up every morning and having to convince myself to keep going.

I was tired of pretending.

Tired of being strong.

Tired of being the girl who could hold everyone else together while quietly falling apart herself.

And there were moments when I genuinely believed that the world would be better without me in it.

That’s what mental illness can do. It can convince you that you’re the problem when, in reality, you’re a person in desperate need of support.

And I believed those thoughts more times than I care to admit.

Nobody Knew How Bad It Really Was.

That’s the terrifying thing about someone struggling with suicidal thoughts.

Sometimes they look just like everybody else.

They go to work.

They laugh at inappropriate jokes.

They answer texts.

They show up for their families.

They tell everyone they’re fine.

And then they go home, close the door, and completely fall apart.

I know.

Because I was her.

I was the girl who could make everyone else laugh while secretly wondering how much longer she could keep living like this.

I was the girl who could give everyone else advice about why life was worth living while struggling to believe those same words applied to herself.

I was the girl who needed someone to recognize that her silence wasn’t peace.

It was exhaustion.

And what I needed wasn’t another person telling me to be grateful for what I had.

I needed someone to understand that I was fighting to survive my own thoughts.

I needed someone to sit with me in the darkness without making me feel ashamed of being there.

I needed help.

And I needed to know that asking for it didn’t make me less of a person.

And Somehow, Life Brought Me to the Other Side of the Phone.

Here’s the part that still gets me emotional.

I went from being someone who needed saving to someone who has devoted her life to helping save others.

I’m a 911 dispatcher.

I’m an EMT.

I’m working toward becoming a paramedic.

I’m pursuing a degree in psychology because I want to help people who are fighting the same kinds of battles I once fought.

And one of my biggest dreams is to work with first responders and military personnel struggling with their mental health.

Because I know what it feels like to be in a place so dark that you genuinely cannot imagine another way out.

Now, when someone calls 911 because they’re experiencing a mental health crisis, I don’t just hear a caller.

I hear a human being.

Someone’s daughter.

Someone’s son.

Someone’s mother.

Someone’s best friend.

Someone who may have spent weeks, months, or even years pretending everything was okay.

Someone who might have used every last ounce of courage they had just to pick up that phone.

And I know that behind that call is a person who deserves compassion, patience, and the opportunity to get help.

I can’t promise to fix their entire world in one phone call.

I can’t take away years of trauma.

I can’t magically silence the thoughts they’re fighting.

But I can listen.

I can take them seriously.

I can help get resources and responders to them.

I can treat them like a human being instead of another call on a screen.

And sometimes, that is where getting help begins.

I Know What It’s Like to Be on the Other Side of the Crisis.

I know what it feels like to be scared of your own thoughts.

I know what it feels like to hate yourself for struggling with things that seem so easy for everyone else.

I know what it feels like to wonder why your brain can’t just function normally.

I know what it’s like to desperately want someone to understand you without having to explain every painful detail.

And I know what it’s like to feel ashamed of needing help.

That’s why mental health calls will always mean something deeply personal to me.

Because somewhere out there is another girl who feels the way I once did.

Another girl who thinks she’s too damaged.

Too complicated.

Too difficult to love.

Too much of a burden.

Another girl who believes that her story has already been written and there’s nothing left worth staying for.

And if I ever have the opportunity to help her see that those thoughts don’t define her future, I’m going to give her every bit of compassion I can.

Because I know what it’s like to be her.

But Here’s What Nobody Tells You About Becoming the Helper.

Just because I help people through their darkest moments doesn’t mean I never experience my own.

I’m still human.

I still struggle with my mental health.

I still have days when depression makes getting out of bed feel impossible.

I still deal with anxiety, trauma, and a mind that sometimes feels like it’s working against me.

There are days when I can handle somebody else’s emergency with a calm voice and steady hands, only to go home and struggle to regulate my own emotions.

And there’s a strange kind of irony in that.

Being trained to recognize when someone else needs help doesn’t automatically make it easier to recognize when I need it myself.

The girl who helps everyone else still needs someone to check on her sometimes.

The dispatcher needs somebody to answer when she calls.

The EMT needs somebody to remind her that she’s allowed to fall apart.

The future paramedic needs to remember that she isn’t required to sacrifice her own mental health to prove she’s good at her job.

And the aspiring psychologist needs to remember that understanding mental illness academically doesn’t make her immune to experiencing it personally.

I’m still healing.

I’m still learning.

And some days I’m still fighting battles that nobody knows about.

But I’m learning that I deserve the same patience, compassion, and care that I give to strangers every single day.

Maybe My Past Is Part of Why I Care So Much.

I wouldn’t wish my darkest moments on anybody.

I wouldn’t choose to relive them.

And I refuse to romanticize what I went through.

Because there was nothing beautiful about feeling so hopeless that I couldn’t imagine continuing my life.

There was nothing poetic about the nights I spent crying.

Nothing inspirational about believing I wasn’t enough.

Nothing glamorous about fighting suicidal thoughts.

It was painful.

It was frightening.

And it was real.

But I can’t change what happened.

What I can do is decide what I want my life to stand for now.

And I’ve decided that I want to spend mine helping people.

Not because I owe the world something for surviving.

Not because I have to turn my trauma into some grand purpose.

But because I genuinely care.

Because I know how much it matters when somebody treats you with kindness during the worst moment of your life.

Because I know that mental illness doesn’t make someone less deserving of respect.

And because I want people to know that they are worthy of help long before they reach their breaking point.

To the Girl I Used to Be…

I wish I could go back and hug you.

Not tell you to toughen up.

Not tell you that other people have it worse.

Not tell you to stop crying or get over it.

Just hold you.

And tell you that I’m sorry you ever felt like leaving this world was your only option.

I’m sorry you felt like a burden.

I’m sorry you believed you were impossible to love.

I’m sorry you carried so much pain in silence because you were afraid nobody would understand.

I wish you could see us now.

We’re a mother.

We’re raising a beautiful little girl who has given us an entirely new perspective on life.

We’re a dispatcher.

We’re an EMT.

We’re working toward becoming a paramedic.

We’re studying psychology.

We’re chasing dreams that once felt completely out of reach.

And we’re building a future centered around helping people who are struggling just like we did.

But more than anything, I wish you knew that you never had to accomplish any of those things to deserve to stay alive.

You were worthy back then.

When you were struggling.

When you were crying.

When you couldn’t get out of bed.

When you didn’t know what tomorrow would look like.

You were worthy of love and help simply because you were you.

And you still are.

To the First Responders Who Are Silently Drowning…

This part is for you.

The dispatcher who takes call after call, hearing people experience the worst moments of their lives, and then goes home to fight battles of their own.

The EMT who can recognize every sign of a medical emergency but ignores the warning signs of their own mental health deteriorating.

The paramedic who has spent years saving lives but is terrified to admit they sometimes struggle to find a reason to keep going.

The firefighter who feels like asking for help will make everyone question their strength.

The police officer who has witnessed more trauma than one person should ever have to carry.

I see you.

And I want you to understand something.

You are allowed to be the emergency, too.

You are allowed to need help.

You are allowed to go to therapy.

You are allowed to take medication.

You are allowed to admit that you’re not okay.

You are allowed to be a human being underneath that uniform.

Your badge, headset, or certification does not make you immune to mental illness.

And you should never have to suffer in silence because you’re afraid of what people might think.

We spend our careers reminding people that their lives matter.

It’s time we start believing that about our own.

To the Person Who Is Where I Once Was…

I don’t know your story.

I don’t know what happened to you.

I don’t know what you’ve survived or what you’re currently fighting.

But I know what it feels like to believe there’s no way forward.

And I need you to know that the way you feel right now doesn’t have to be the way you feel forever.

I’m not going to feed you some bullshit about how everything happens for a reason.

I’m not going to tell you that life is always beautiful.

Because sometimes life is cruel.

Sometimes people hurt us.

Sometimes our own minds become the hardest places to exist.

And sometimes surviving one more day takes everything we have.

But you deserve the chance to experience a life that doesn’t hurt this much.

You deserve professional help, genuine support, and people who take your pain seriously.

You don’t have to wait until you’re at your absolute lowest to reach out.

And you don’t have to fight alone.

Please stay long enough to let someone help you.

Not for me.

Not because you owe anyone your strength.

But because your life has value, even when your mind is telling you otherwise.

The Full-Circle Moment I Never Saw Coming.

Sometimes I think about the girl I used to be.

The girl who once believed her life wasn’t worth living.

The girl who couldn’t see a future beyond the pain she was experiencing.

And then I look at who I am now.

A woman who answers emergency calls.

A woman who cares for patients.

A woman pursuing a career in emergency medicine.

A woman studying the human mind because she wants to understand it and help others navigate theirs.

A woman who has decided that compassion will always be at the center of the work she does.

And I think about how many moments I would have missed if my story had ended back then.

Not just the big moments.

But the little ones.

My daughter’s laughter.

The people I’ve met.

The friendships I’ve built.

The patients I’ve helped.

The dreams I’m still working toward.

The versions of myself I haven’t even met yet.

I don’t have everything figured out.

I still have bad days.

I still have scars.

And I still have a long way to go in my own healing.

But there’s one thing I know for certain.

I used to be the girl who was trying to end her life.

Now I’m the woman who has dedicated hers to helping people who feel the same way.

And if the girl I used to be could see me now, I hope she’d realize something.

Her life was never meaningless.

Her pain was never proof that she didn’t belong here.

And she deserved the chance to become the woman she is today.

I couldn’t save the younger version of myself from everything she experienced.

But I can show her compassion now.

And I can carry that compassion into every life I have the privilege of touching.

I know what it feels like to desperately need a lifeline.

Now, I want to spend my life helping other people find theirs.

And that, to me, is one hell of a reason to keep writing my story.

With love, scars, and a whole lot of unfinished chapters,

— The Girl Behind the Chaos 🖤

A reminder: If you or someone you love is struggling with suicidal thoughts, please reach out. In the United States, call or text 988 to speak with the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. If you’re in immediate danger, call 911. You deserve support, and you don’t have to navigate this alone.