Finding Hope After My Cousin’s Suicide: How Tragedy Inspired Me to Keep Fighting

This is going to be the hardest thing to talk about because I’ve never completely shared it like this before, and I’ve never put it into writing. But here it goes.

In September 2010, I lost my first cousin, someone who was more like a younger sister to me. It was the kind of loss that you never see coming, one that shakes you to the core and leaves you questioning everything. Her death hit me hard, and I wasn’t prepared for the wave of grief that followed. At first, it was just sadness, an emptiness that lingered every day, but then it evolved into something deeper, more complex.

I miss her so much. There are days when the ache of not having her here feels unbearable, and all I want is to hug her one more time. I would give anything to hear her laugh again or to tell her how much she meant to me.

I’ve struggled with mental illness since I was a teenager, and self-harm became a way to cope with the pain I couldn’t express in words. So, when she took her own life, it brought a different kind of pain—one that went far beyond my own struggles. It felt like the person I shared so much with, the one who could’ve understood me the most, was gone forever, and I couldn’t help her.

There were times when I felt angry—angry at her for taking her life, for leaving us all behind. I would ask myself why she did it and wonder if there was anything I could have done to stop it. That anger soon turned into guilt. I felt guilty for not being able to save her, for not recognizing the signs, for not doing more. It was a constant tug-of-war inside me, swinging between anger and guilt, and neither gave me any peace.

Depression crept in, stronger than ever before. I’ve struggled with it for a long time, but after losing her, it felt unbearable. The thoughts of not wanting to be here became louder, more frequent. I can’t lie—I’ve had moments in the past when I thought about suicide myself. But after losing her to it, something shifted. Seeing how her death affected the family, how it tore through the lives of those who loved her, made me realize that I couldn’t do the same. I couldn’t leave that same kind of pain behind for others to carry.

Looking back now, I’m grateful that my own attempts weren’t successful. I’m here, and being here means I get to talk about it. I get to tell others that no matter how dark things seem, there is always a reason to keep going. I get to be a voice for those who are struggling, and I can say with honesty that life is worth fighting for, even when it feels impossible.

If there’s anything I’ve learned from losing her, it’s that we can’t always save others, but we can save ourselves. And by doing that, by choosing to stay, we can help others see that they can make it through too.