Dating a Suicidal Person as a Suicidal Person

I do not recommend having your first romantic relationship be with an unstable person while you are currently overcoming depression. It’s difficult for me to talk about this and be this vulnerable. Truth be told, I’m worried this topic might be too dark to submit, but this relationship had a huge impact on my life so I figure it’s worth sharing. This is my first time laying out the whole story with all the details to anyone, including my therapist.

Almost exactly a year ago, I met this girl in high school. Let’s call her Emery. We chatted for a bit, realized we had almost identical personalities plus common interests (and I found out she was also not cisgender but rather genderfluid which was another experience we shared), and we exchanged numbers. Emery would text me frequently over the next month. We wouldn’t call because both of us don’t like calling; in fact, calling made Emery nervous. We talked about all kinds of things. Hell, we even played video games online together.

I only got to go to her house once because her mom is super protective. I’d heard a lot about her mom during that first month, but never about her dad, who didn’t live with them. Her mom never let Emery go to other people’s houses unless she fully trusted the person. The mom hardly ever let people over period. Emery wasn’t allowed to go out and meet someone somewhere too. The mom seemed really conservative. I heard all of this when I just met this person. Emery was extremely open with me. She’d tell me everything: when she woke up, when she completed her homework, when she was back from her shower, how restrictive her mom was, what’s been going on with her sister, when she was feeling sad, and every other thought she had. Emery always responded immediately as well. When we texted, we had our read receipts on and our full attention was on each other. We’d apologize if we didn’t respond within two minutes.

It’s important to note that the high school we went to was all girls. Yes, you read that right. I’m transgender. Students at the school were either already aware or were assuming I was actually a guy and used he/him pronouns by that point. My hair was as short as it is now. I wore masculine clothing whenever I could. People were calling me by the right name, Zane, and referring to me with the correct pronouns. The staff and parents? Oblivious. To them, I was a girl. I was going to an all-girls high school, what else could I be? But this is important because, to Emery’s conservative mom, I was also a girl ― just like Emery.

One night, Emery starts sending me some pretty dark texts. “Why do you talk to me?”, “You wouldn’t miss me”, “No one would miss me”, “I wish I could disappear” and she just goes on and on. Again, I’m someone who knows what it’s like to have these thoughts. I’ve had awful, overwhelming dark depression. I’ve been standing on the edge; I’ve looked into a dark tunnel and been unable to see the light on the other side; I’ve almost made myself disappear, but I survived. Reading those texts shot fear straight through me. I was not only afraid for Emery’s safety because she was sounding pretty suicidal, but I was also triggered by what she was saying and that terrified me. I sat staring at my phone, waiting for responses from her, for what I thought was hours. It felt like I couldn’t breathe the whole time. Emery, the person who always answered immediately, would suddenly disappear for fifteen minutes. Then half an hour. The worst part was that, when she wasn’t texting me, I had no idea what she was doing. I didn’t know what she was planning. I didn’t know if she was following through on her plans. I didn’t know if she had killed herself ― so I begged for her to come back and talk to me. Hours later, she finally managed to calm down and push aside the suicidal thoughts.

She had something else she wanted to tell me but was scared to admit it. Naturally, I encouraged her to spill. She revealed that she was into me and wanted to be my girlfriend.

I didn’t know what to say. It was the first time in a number of years someone had found me attractive and “like-liked” me. I wasn’t completely certain how I felt about her either. A whole new wave of feelings hit me, so I said I’d need a little time to think about it. I will say this though: that was the first in three years that I had felt truly, completely happy.

Emery didn’t respond to what I said until we went to school that day. She took me somewhere secluded so we could talk. She apologized for freaking me out yesterday and said it’s okay if I need time to think about it. Later that day, I’d tell her I was into her too.

We had a lovely initial two months. Any depression I had practically vanished due to this relationship, and Emery who I suspected also had depression claimed the same. We were communicating constantly. Flirting, goodnight and good morning texts, getting small gifts for each other, holding hands at school, walking to classes together, using sweet names for each other ― I can go on and on about all the sweet little acts we did for each other, but here is the main takeaway: to this day, I still think Emery would have been the perfect spouse for me. Emery said a similar thing about me. We even joked that I could propose to her using a fidget ring since she loved stealing my fidget rings for a day.

One weekend, Emery visited her dad. I never found out what happened; all she told me was it didn’t go well. She sent a text to me the next school week saying she feels the urge to cut her leg. A couple of days later, she had a talk with her family. I was told later that she had come out to them, both saying we were dating and admitting she was genderfluid to them. Her conservative family was less than supportive and apparently, her supportive sisters, who already knew, did nothing to back her up. We went to school the next day only for me to get called into the office.

“Both staff and students have reported seeing you hold hands and show other public displays of affection with Emery at school,” the lady dressed up in a formal outfit says, “We’re going to have to ask you to stop. There is nothing wrong with you and Emery ― if it were a boy and a girl, or a boy or a boy, we’d ask the same thing. However, this is a catholic school. An all-girls catholic school. Since you are a year older than her and you are a student leader in Campus Ministry, I thought I’d talk to you about it first. You are not allowed to do those things with Emery at school or outside of school while wearing your uniform. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” My voice was shaking.

“I’m going to call in Emery now.”

“It’s really not a good time for her―”

“I’m sorry, but I really must inform her of this. It’s school policy.”

The administrator called in Emery and told her the same thing. I was on the verge of crying. Emery didn’t talk to me for the rest of the school day. She never responded to my texting to check in and asking if we still wanted to meet at her locker. While I was waiting to get picked up that day and chatting with my friends, she called me three times. If I had the chance to go back in time, I would have taken my phone off silent so I could’ve picked up those calls. I texted her once I noticed to ask what was wrong. She never calls.

She said she almost ran away from her family.

She admits still feeling incredibly suicidal when she arrives home. I pace my room, my mind spiraling downwards as panic overruns me. Unable to sit still, I left my house and started walking to hers. I didn’t care that it was an impossible task. I had to do something to comfort her and help her hold off on suicide at least. I continued texting as I walked, urging her to tell her mom. Finally, she caved in. Her mom was more than understanding. Emery would be in and out of school the next week. She always let me know when she was skipping a day or when she’d leave early.

The one time she didn’t tell me that was when it mattered most. Emery had sent me no texts that day. I was walking into the school building with my friends after lunch when Emery and her uncle walked right past us and to the parking lot. I looked back at her in shock. She didn’t even see me. I tried to contact her. It took hours before she told me that she was at a hospital. Emery was evaluated and going to stay at a mental institution for a bit for her safety. She had no idea when she’d be out. Phones weren’t allowed inside. She said I could still visit though. The last words she sent to me were that she loved me and was looking forward to when she’d see me again.

I texted her older sister a few days later to check in and ask if it was possible to visit Emery sometime. The sister responded by saying that, due to COVID, only family members were allowed to see her. I think that was the moment I broke down crying finally. Emery was the one thing that cured my depression. When we were together or talking, I was happy. Being in that relationship made me overjoyed. I could operate normally like everyone else with her. What was I going to do without her for who knows how long?

She was in the hospital for about two and a half weeks. The first week was during finals week, and the second through third weeks ran into winter break. My mental state slowly deteriorated more and more as time passed. I was doing everything I could to hold on in the hopes that, when Emery came back, everything would get better. I was trying to stay strong for her, but it was difficult when I was spending most of my winter alone since my friends all went on trips out of LA. I stayed in my room, all by myself, with nothing but the thoughts and gifts Emery had given beside me for two weeks.

I had to find out by asking her sister for an update that Emery had gotten out. Of course, I did what any excited partner would do and I texted Emery. No response. A couple of hours later, I tried again. Still nothing. I turn to the sister and ask if she’s okay. I’m told that Emery is taking a break from all social interactions and media, including me.

The pain I felt when I heard that is indescribable. To be told your love is back after almost three weeks only for you to be informed that you’ll have to continue waiting to even talk to them for who-knows-how-much-longer is total agony. Not only that but, in the back of my mind, I began to question if I was good enough for her. Maybe that was the reason she didn’t want to talk to me. Maybe I had stressed her out or made her feel worse somehow. I didn’t know. I was left in the dark for another few weeks. I kept texting her goodnight and good morning. I kept praying that one day, just once, I’d wake up the next day and see that she had texted me goodnight too. Every day I held onto hope that she’d return, and every day was a disappointment that piled onto the growing stack of pain and mental deterioration. Often I feared I’d get a text from her sister saying she died.

I never once was angry at Emery though. That’s important, I was totally understanding at the time. I internalized everything, but I didn’t blame Emery. I understood what it’s like to be suicidal and seriously depressed. However, looking back, it’s hard for me to find excuses for any of this anymore. I felt like I was losing my mind, slowly, and everything she did or rather didn’t do made it so much worse.

She finally stopped her social media break after winter break while school resumed. She didn’t text me first when she did stop her social isolation either. She briefly texted her friends, who had no clue and, to this day, still have no clue what was going on with her. A couple of days after she talked to them, Emery sent me a text while I was asleep saying, “we can talk tomorrow ☺”. Of course, I was overjoyed. Finally, Emery would be back!

I texted her…a few times throughout the whole day. She never came back nor said anything. The following day, I sent another good morning text. I watched as, the second the message was delivered, she saw my text and then put her phone on “Do Not Disturb” to shut me out. I would have given anything for her just to say, “I don’t want to talk today.” That would have been fine. I would have understood that, but she never said anything. I was left in suspense. I never knew what was happening on her side of the phone. I never knew if she was going to text me that day. I never knew if I was doing something wrong or if she wanted me to stop. I didn’t know if she loved me anymore. I was left guessing constantly. Days passed and finally, we did get to talk. I offered to put the relationship on hold or straight-up end it if it would be best for her. She opted to pause the relationship for the time being.

A month passes. Emery and I talk sometimes but it’s frustrating. She only texts “when she wants to”. She drops out of conversations “when she’s bored or doesn’t know what to say”, often doing it at random moments or even mid-conversation. Sometimes she reads what I say. Other times, she disregards my words altogether. I’m not joking. After weeks of begging for us to talk and discuss her communication by having a full-on conversation with no distractions, the first time she drops out of the conversation randomly, and the second time she admits to me all of what I said in this paragraph without sugarcoating it. I quoted her word-for-word.

She goes back to the hospital a bit later. The last thing she said to me was that she did something stupid and now no one trusts her. I still don’t know what she did. I had to find out that she was in the hospital by, once again, having to text the sister several days after Emery had gone radio-silent because the sister never once thought Emery’s boyfriend should know vital information like that. She returns from the hospital and says two things. One, she had blocked me before she went to the hospital. Two, she wanted to resume our relationship. I decided to focus solely on the second part so I was thrilled.

The first week after that was great and back to normal, or at least, we went back to how we were prior to Emery's first visit to the hospital. It was amazing. Emery even said she was going to go back to school for a week. I hadn’t seen her in person for three months now.

She didn’t text me that Sunday nor that Monday morning when she claimed she was going to attend school. I only found out she was on campus because two of my friends spotted her and rushed to tell me. She was missing the breaks between classes. At lunch, I worked up the nerve to approach her friends and ask if they knew what was going on with her. Her friends didn’t even know she was at school. We all joined together and went looking for her everywhere. Right when the bell rang, she finally showed up from some secret hiding spot (I suspected one of the bathroom stalls). Emery hugged her friends upon seeing them, but when she noticed me, she ran off without saying a word. Apparently, she found me intimidating.

Tuesday, she didn’t interact with me at all. On Wednesday, she finally worked up the nerve to approach me at school and, although she ignored me while I was around her, I thought it was still progress. On Thursday, she skipped school.

We texted despite the fact that she skipped school. We discussed her communication a bit more, but throughout the whole conversation, I was getting the sense that she had something else she wanted to say. Of course, I urged her to say it if she felt comfortable sharing.

“For some reason, I’m not happy we are together even though I wasn’t happy we were apart either,” she started.

I asked if she wanted to take a break or stop the relationship.

“It’s weird. Before I always wanted to be with you, but now, I wouldn’t be sad if we broke up.”

Oh.

How long has this feeling been going on?

“Constant ever since the first hospital visit,” she admitted.

My heart shattered upon hearing those words. This was the exact moment that my whole world fell apart ― but now, looking back, all I feel is rage. Why hadn’t she told me that earlier? It had been three months since her hospital visit. She kept me on a leash for three months, leading me on only to break my heart in two. I had asked her several times if she wanted to stop or if she felt differently now, and she never said anything. Why did she do this to me? Did she not know how much these blatant, brutal words would hurt? Did she not understand that her actions had consequences? If she had put me down earlier, it would have hurt so much less. It would have been kinder. She chose to wait, to drag it out, and for what?

I had to ask her at least twice more if she wanted the relationship to get her to confirm that we are breaking up since she was unable to say it out loud on her own. Emery also added that she wanted to stop talking to me permanently. I don’t remember what I said in response but I know inside I was already crying.

Did she feel better now at least?

“Not yet, but that’s probably because it hasn’t kicked in yet.”

My whole world was breaking at the seams.

“Are you okay?” she texted.

That was the first time in three months she had asked me that.

Everything I felt was now twisted and distorted, built on a lie. I was distraught, depressed, and lonely ― but I had held onto hope for her, while she was apparently doing just fine without me. I wish she had turned me down right when she got back from the hospital. Now, after so much time of silent suffering, to be told it was all for nothing was a breaking point. I snapped that night and told her everything I had felt at that moment and the past few months. She became horrified. She realized that I was extremely suicidal, and now I was on the verge of doing something incredibly stupid and dangerous.

I’m going to be completely honest here: the next morning, after my parents and brothers had already left the house, I opened up a bottle of champagne in one of the dusty old cabinets and started drinking. I wanted to take some pills with the alcohol but I learned quickly that I despised the taste of champagne, so I didn’t. The only thoughts running through my head were that I just lost the love of my life, and that I couldn’t imagine living alone and unloved again. It was my first relationship ― I was an idiot. I still swear that Emery could have been my soulmate. I keep thinking that if one thing had changed: if Emery’s family wasn’t homophobic and transphobic, if the school had let us keep holding hands, if we were allowed to see each other more, if her mom had acknowledged that Emery had depression sooner, if Emery had said one word to me at all during those months maybe we would still be together. I would have died to hear just one word or sentence or even a complete thought. I cannot stress how suffocating the silence was. For three months I was drowning but now it was like I was burning alive ― so I chugged the champagne until the taste made me want to throw up.

I went to school that day and got called into the office. It wasn’t because of the champagne scent (thank god we were all still wearing masks), but rather it was because of Emery. She told the school I wanted to kill myself. I was sent home. The school counselor said I should be in a mental hospital.

I was suicidal for the next month. I almost killed myself three times. My body was covered head to toe in red marks. To this day, I am terrified of going back to that dark place where I was as suicidal as I was then. I don’t even think about that month because of how bad it was. Sometimes I’m surprised that I’m still here at all. At the time, I know that I wanted ― no, I needed to be hospitalized and away from everything in life. My therapist and psychiatrist tried to put down that idea gently. They insisted that it would make me feel isolated and so much worse. Weeks went by so they decided to shut down the option of me being hospitalized altogether, forcing me to own up to the fact that I’d have to face my current situation and it was like I finally was awake for the first time that whole month. My mind started to clear. I realized I either had to die or keep living. Was I going to let this one event stop the rest of my existence?

No.

I came out on the other side, and the person I am today is not who I was before that relationship. I had to relearn how to piece back my self-confidence and self-worth all on my own. While I can say with confidence that I believe I have done just that, I also can say that I no longer trust that people who have romantic feelings for me will stay with me. I don’t believe in true love anymore. I am convinced that people will leave me and stop caring for me at any given moment. I had anxiety over texting for weeks and would freak out whenever people put me on hold for long periods of time because of the past months of agonized waiting I had been put through. I thought everyone who claimed to love me would one day take it back and turn on me.

But you know what? I wouldn’t take back that horrible relationship experience for anything in the world. I’ve learned what it means to grow attached to someone without fear of losing them. I learned so much more than I thought I would from those months. I’m scared to death of people I love leaving me, but at the same time, I feel so much freer to love people and am prepared to let them go if that is what’s best for them. I don’t believe in true love anymore; that’s okay because I do believe that there are multiple people out there that could be “the one” for me, which gives me so much hope for the future. At the end of the day, I am still a person who has value on my own, and hopefully, I’ll be with someone I adore but if they want to be separated from me then I’m okay with that too. I’ll survive. There will be someone else out there for me. We’re all trying to figure shit out. Of course, it’ll hurt if someone leaves me, but I also know that person is doing what they have to.

This past summer, I got sent a text from Emery. She apologized and thanked me for saving her life (twice). She wanted to reconnect with me. No, more than that, she wanted to resume our romantic relationship. She said she never actually lost feelings for me (to which I wanted to respond, “why the fuck then did you tell me otherwise before and put me through a suicidal downwards-spiral?”). Maybe my story is just another random dumb love story gone wrong. Maybe all the pain I felt over Emery was stupid and childish ― but the pain that built up over their three months only for it to reach a climax off me feeling suicidal for a month was not something that I easily got over. In fact, I’m still getting over it. So how did I respond to her?

I turned her down as gently as I was able to. She may have been one of my soulmates, but she cut me deeper than anything I’d ever felt. I couldn’t trust her the same way I had before and that’s okay. It happens.

This year, I find myself having to reflect on everything that happened as I walk toward the possibility of a serious relationship. It’s terrifying yet electrifying at the same time. While I’m not quite there yet, I’m taking steps towards loving someone completely, trusting that they won’t leave me, and letting go of the fear that love is just going to hurt me in the end. In a few years time, who knows, maybe I’ll still be with this person and see that I can finally stop being afraid.