The Easy Way Out (Possible Trigger and Language)

I’ve heard it referred to the easy way out many times. “You hear about Dave? Things were getting too much and he took the easy way out.”
But is it really easy? I've been close and planned my “easy route” a few times. Been right on the brink, but haven’t gone through with it. The easy way out, isn't the easy way out at all. I found it one of the hardest things to do. Not because I wasn’t sure if I want to end my life, I did, I still do at times. But because I was scared of the questions and stigma should I fail. Scared of waking up in the clinical white hospital, the looks and questions from family, the “why didn’t you tell us?” the “we could help you” and all other promises of understanding and support. The look of disappointment in the faces of those who no longer know who I am.

Do I even know who I am?

Who am I? Well, my name is Mark; I'm 28 and have thought about suicide for many years. The earliest memory is when I was a 7 year old. Not through a deep depressed reason or a victim of abuse. I just wanted to know what happened when I died. There were one or two things that had upset me around that age, but nothing that most kids don’t go through.
How close have I been? I've been on the outside of a building, holding on to the window frame as I stand on the sill. Feeling the air in my face and wanting to let go and fall, that was aged 7, looking back, it wouldn’t have killed me, it was my bedroom window of our normal 3 bed semi house.
I've been sat in the kitchen, my back to the units and a knife on my wrist (aged 23) but the knife wasn’t sharp enough and only grazed me, so I had to try stabbing it and that seemed too brutal, although left me scarred.
I've planned how I would gas myself in the car (aged 27), right down to the last detail of taping the inside of the windows to improve the seal and cable tie my hands to the wheel so I can’t change my mind.
All these times I have bailed, not been able to go through with it.
So, the easy way? No, I wouldn’t call it the easy way. It’s a way, but not the easy way.
It wasn’t my way. My way wasn’t drink or drugs, although I did consume more than my fair share of both in my early teens. My most recent way seems to be the act of cutting my skin. Either on my arms or thighs, I have even done fingers or thumbs at times….its fucked up, no two ways about it, but it was my “way” of doing things. Am I proud of it? Sometimes, as messed up as it is, yes. I have to hide it a lot, but I also like having a secret that is mine. I haven’t used my way for around 3 weeks at the time of writing this. Before that it was closer to 3 months.
Should anyone be interested in the path that led me to and subsequently from suicidal ideologies and the addiction of self-harm, read on. For those who don’t, thank you for stopping by. Be well.