I was 9 the first time I tried to kill myself. I jumped off a train bridge. Result I broke my ankle when I hit the water, If I stayed on the bridge another 2 minutes I would have been hit by an ore train.
At 11 I free climbed the face of lovers leap at Starved Rock State Park. I had climbed out under a ledge so that I would miss the trees. I was just about to let go, to fall the several hundred feet into the Rock River, when hands came over the side of the ledge and grabbed me. For the record, I was not visible under that ledge, and I was not calling for help. To this day I do not know how they knew I was there.
At 16 I rode my bike down a trail with the intent of hitting the rocks at the bottom of the cliff, instead I clipped a log on the trail and wiped out. All I got was a concussion, and short term memory loss.
Was I really trying, I think so. Still, Both my mother's family and even my ball busting step-monster were catholic. I didn't want my family stained by a suicide. But an accident that would be tragically acceptable. After each of the three attempts I had the same emotional result feelings of; shame, guilt, and abject failure. Oh, and my family dismissed me as a clutz.
I have to look back at my young adult years, I was a HUGE adrenaline junky / risk taker. Was I suicidal or just proving I was still alive, I do not know.
I am so grateful I survived. I have had too much in my life taken from me, without adding to the balance sheet.
After 40 years of just living with it, I am "ready to thrive"
"There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind" C.S. Lewis