My First Lifeaversary

Today, I’m celebrating one full year of choosing to live.

On this day, one year ago, I sat on a park bench, watched the sunset, and decided to banish forever the idea of killing myself. That makes it the first anniversary of my choosing life for myself.

I don’t know what to call this, so I’m inventing a new term: my first “Lifeaversary.”

It’s the first annual celebration of the day I chose to put all thoughts of self-harm and ending my own life behind me.

(To be clear, to any haters or cynics, this is not a plea for attention. I was not—and am not—looking for kudos, sympathy, clicks, or anything like that. I am simply writing this today to hopefully help reduce the stigma of suicidal ideation and to encourage people to be more open and honest about suicide, especially among people who would normally be too afraid to talk about it because it seems too taboo.)

Until last year, I don’t think I ever told anybody—not even my wife—about my own very personal, very private struggle with suicidal thoughts.

But as I realized last year, right around my 38th birthday, when I thought back on my life, I could not remember a single day I had on this earth where I didn’t think about ending my own life. Those thoughts have always been with me.

My goal in writing this today is two-fold:

1. I am personally celebrating one year of choosing to live.

2. I am inviting other people to celebrate with me, both for myself and for themselves.

These days, I try to talk about suicide fairly regularly, loudly, and publicly for the purpose of rendering suicide powerless over me and others.

A major factor in why suicide is such an insidious and evil form of death for our loved ones is precisely because we’re not willing to name it and blame it. I’ve written about this many times over the years. I want people to say the word “suicide” out loud and in writing, without shame.

I feel very strongly about this: we cannot allow suicide to have power over us, and the way people empower an evil force is by telling themselves they can’t talk about it.

Just like a sexual abuser who tells a victim: “You can’t tell anyone about this; just think of how embarrassing it would be for you!” I believe that only when we start talking about it can we finally take the steps needed to address it and neutralize the threat.

Think about it: by forcing you to endure the pain of abuse silently, an abuser can have complete and utter control and power over you. But if you aren’t afraid of speaking out, even at the risk of great personal cost in shame and social stigma, you are pulling the rug out from under your abuser.

Their blackmail is no longer effective if you break the silence, so it’s no longer a secret.

Suicide is a vicious, murderous thug—a slimy, disgusting bully that terrorizes innocent victims and rips families apart. Nobody escapes the collateral damage: mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, and children.

Most people suffer in the aftermath of suicide silently, and few people even know they’re victims of suicide until it’s too late.

I have never heard anybody talk about this idea of rising up against suicide by celebrating life before, and I’m confused as to why this is. I think this is something we should start doing.

Everybody knows about birthdays and wedding anniversaries, obviously. And I’ve known enough alcoholics to know about their “X number of days sober” celebrations and sobriety medallions they use to remind themselves of how long they’ve been able to slay the dragon of addiction (one day at a time).

And, to be very clear, I have total respect for 12-step programs like AA, and I fully support all of this.

But I’ve never heard anybody say, “I’m celebrating 365 days of life today.”

I think we should. Let’s start doing this. I’ll start with me:

“Hi, I’m Ron, and today, I’m celebrating 365 days of living without thinking about dying.”

I am encouraging other people to help me create something new. As I drink a toast to my first Lifeaversary, I invite others to do the same. (And, if you’re an alcoholic, of course, I encourage you to fill your glass with iced tea or root beer.)

To be clear, it hasn’t been easy since I chose to never seriously consider suicide again. In fact, last year, when I made that choice, my life got much, much harder.

The year since that day (my 38th year on this earth) turned out to be one of the worst years of my entire life. It was so bad I was tempted to renege on my decision to completely swear off all thoughts of self-harm or suicide. But I haven’t, and I’m thankful for that.

Today, I am consumed with thoughts about the future. I have a HUGE year coming up in 2025. Next year, Lord willing, here’s what’s on my schedule:

• My wife and I will both turn 40

• My wife and I will celebrate our 20th anniversary

• My second oldest child will turn 18, giving me two adult children

• I will have two kids graduating from high school

• My youngest child will turn 13, giving me five teenagers

No matter how bad my life gets over the next year, I can’t afford to not be around for all of those. I can’t miss all that.

So, despite the crushing amounts of self-loathing I’ve had for my entire life, the persistent inner voice filled with self-hatred I deal with on a daily basis, my overwhelming imposter syndrome, and the debilitating inferiority complex I’ve had for as long as I can remember…

Today, I am choosing life for the second year in a row.

It is an active, intentional choice. I’m saying, “I’m thankful that I have one more year on the calendar, and I now am choosing another one.”

So, happy first Lifeaversary to me! (And also, to anybody else who celebrates.) I look forward to celebrating my second one next year.

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