I was about to blow a three-year record with an explosion that would incinerate all my achievements

Today I had an anniversary. It wasn’t one of the “six months to the day I almost killed myself,” “two years to the date of trauma X,” or “one year since my therapist called Hatzolah to get me to the hospital” anniversaries, either. I didn’t celebrate it with my husband, since he has yet to show up, and I have yet to start dating.

Today, I marked three years with no life-threatening, self-harming behaviors.

It was a miracle my previous therapist never believed would happen. During the first short period during which I’d restrained myself, she had repeatedly cautioned me not to be down on myself if I should ever feel despair again. She had prepared me, waiting for it to happen.

“If you had told me a year ago that you would stop self-harming, I would have told you that you were crazy,” she admitted later on. “In fact, I would have said I was crazy!”

We laughed together, but her frank admission hurt me deeply. But I only let myself feel that hurt much later. It was frightening to hear that she had once thought I would not recover, even while she kept working with me on everything else. I guess I too had once thought I was beyond hope, and there was good reason for her to share that concern. But today, I could rejoice.

All day I wanted to tell someone about this milestone, yet found I couldn’t. My family? No way. Friends? Somehow, I didn’t feel I could, not this time. My therapist? In a twist of Heaven’s hashgachah that had me mentally biting my lips in disappointment and frustration, my session had been canceled that day, delaying my sharing with the one person whom I wanted to tell.

All day long I felt more alone than ever, even as I tried to focus on what this day meant for me. I wanted to thank Hashem, do something meaningful, or maybe do something special for myself to mark the occasion and encourage myself onward. It was hard to remain optimistic, though. Outside, the rain poured down and the sky was prematurely dark. It matched my mood perfectly.

I hadn’t been doing well recently, and dismal thoughts sometimes still crept back into awareness. I got through the day, but in solitude, with no one who might understand if I shared my experience with them.

By that evening, the loneliness deepened, and I found myself despairing, with dismal thoughts again. Some part of me was hurting badly and thoughts of self-harm trespassed into my mind again. I started a caring monologue within myself.

“Today of all days I cannot self-harm. It would be too much for me to handle if on this special day I break my pattern of success and healthy coping. There had been so many near misses over the past few years, so many ‘almosts’ — it can’t finally happen today. Please. I can’t do this.”

But it began to seem like just too much. I felt myself sinking back into despair as my emotions shot higher and higher. A critical voice invaded my awareness: “See, this is where all your effort gets you! Just stop trying right now.”