After 2001, I started doing stuff to cheer myself and wound up beating it... for the most part. I won't lie and say I never thought about suicide again. I just got to the point where I didn't think about it as much anymore. I was ready to say goodbye to that depressing chapter of my life's story...
A few years ago (2008, maybe?), one of my dad's cousins died. His name was... Roy Martin. I was named for my dad's grandfather, Roy Hamilton Martin. So, he and I had that much in common. Anyway, this particular Roy had been suffering from cancer and just couldn't deal with the pain anymore, so he committed suicide. I felt that this was symbolic.
2008 was a big year for me because I had decided to go to college and make something of my desire to be a writer. When another Roy in the family committed suicide (and for a reason that seemed much more sensible than any of my attempts'), I decided it was time to lay that part of my life to rest. I wanted to go to his funeral, but my family was unable to go. It bummed me out a little, but I held a RIP service of my own. Every now and then, I rid myself of baggage by burning souvenirs of people who'd hurt me in the past; cleansing by fire, as it were. I didn't burn anything that night, but I prayed on it.
My point is, a Roy in the family had committed suicide, and it wasn't me. It will never be me, if I continue on my current path. Roy Martin left behind siblings and cousins, nieces and nephews, and an aunt (my grandmother). In that way, they are suicide survivors. If I had been successful in my attempts, my immediate family and friends would be suicide survivors. If you know any such people, hug them today and tell them you care. I plan to call my family... whether I have the guts to mention this or not, I cannot say.