I Looked Fine on the Outside. Here’s What Actually Helped Me Survive Being Suicidal via /r/gratitude

I used to cry while brushing my teeth before work. Not loud sobs, just quiet tears streaming down without warning, like my body knew something was deeply wrong before my mind could admit it. From the outside, everything looked fine. I had a stable job, a group chat full of jokes, a pet who waited by the door every evening. And still, every day felt like wading through molasses.

I thought about not waking up more than I’d ever say out loud. During lunch breaks. During Zoom calls. While watching TikToks. I kept showing up. Met every deadline. Laughed at dinner parties. Checked in on friends. But behind all that, I was writing suicide notes in my head like it was just another to-do list.

Eventually, I whispered the truth to my doctor. I couldn’t even say it at full volume. My life didn’t look like the kind that warranted crisis. But inside, it was burning. Starting therapy was terrifying, but it helped. Not overnight. But slowly, like fog lifting one layer at a time.

One thing that stuck with me was something my therapist said: suicidal thoughts aren’t always about wanting to die. Sometimes, they’re just about desperately wanting relief. My brain wasn’t trying to destroy me. It was trying to help me escape. And once those thoughts become familiar, they can feel weirdly soothing, especially when the brain’s default mode network gets trapped in constant loops of shame and regret. But those loops can be interrupted. You can retrain the brain.

Therapy was the first crack in the wall. But books were what kept the light coming through. When I couldn’t afford more sessions, I turned to reading. Sometimes just short summaries, five minutes a day. Some days I only had the energy to highlight one line. But even one line helped me stay.

Noonday Demon by Andrew Solomon made me feel seen in ways I didn’t know I needed. His honesty about what it’s like to live with depression helped me stop disqualifying my pain just because my life looked okay on paper.

Feeling Good by Dr. David Burns showed me how much my thoughts were distorting reality. I used to take every harsh inner voice as truth. But once I started writing those thoughts down and challenging them, I saw how often my brain was gaslighting me.

Unwinding Anxiety by Judson Brewer helped me understand that anxiety and intrusive thoughts are learned loops. He gave practical ways to pause and notice what’s really happening underneath. That simple shift—getting curious instead of panicking—helped me interrupt spirals before they swallowed me.

Lost Connections by Johann Hari gave me a new lens. Maybe I wasn’t broken. Maybe I was just starved for connection, purpose, meaning. I started letting sunlight touch my face again. Started texting people back. Started letting moments of stillness be okay.

And that’s how the rebuilding started. Not some grand breakthrough. Just small quiet moments of choosing to stay. A paragraph here. A deep breath there. Some days I still freeze in the grocery store or go numb mid-conversation. But I read. Even just a sentence. It anchors me.

If you’re still here, still functioning while silently breaking, I want you to know this: you are not weak. You’re surviving something most people can’t see. Healing doesn’t look perfect. It looks like staying. Like reading one page. Like brushing your teeth again tomorrow. You’re still here. And that matters more than anything.