Recovery After a Suicide Attempt: Belle Morey's Story

November 9, 2026

Belinda (Belle) Morey, CSAC, Author and Substance Use Disorder Counselor

Tom O'Connor, Publisher

⚠️This lived-experience essay describes a suicide attempt, substance use, and hospitalization. Please choose whether and when to read it. In the U.S., if you or someone you know is in suicidal crisis or emotional distress, call 988 or text 988. Chat: https://988lifeline.org/chat/.

KEY POINTS

Belinda (Belle) Morey describes recovery after a suicide attempt as a gradual process, one hard day at a time.

She reflects on a time when emotional pain felt overwhelming and on the years of recovery that followed.

She describes sobriety and the stability she has built in her family life.

She tells readers who recognize that pain that they are not alone and that even small steps count.

Late summer turning into early fall, 2010. I'm living in a rundown trailer in a sketchy trailer park in Boulder Junction, Wisconsin. Every night the same scene: people gathered around bonfires, drinking, then the yelling starts, the chasing, the screaming and crying echoing between the lots until the early hours.

I had just found out my boyfriend was cheating. In my desperation, I actually messaged the other girl: 'Hey, can you please leave my man alone?' Yeah… I was that far gone.

His mom handed me a couple of Xanax bars on my way out of her house. I popped them right there on the porch. I stopped at the smoke shop, bought a bottle of Bacardi Limon Rum, and climbed into my car. The .270 Savage hunting rifle I'd earned with my grandpa was in the back seat with a box of bullets. I twisted the cap off the rum and started guzzling it straight—no chaser—the lemon burn lighting up my throat as I drove County M back toward Boulder Junction.

The pain in my chest was so heavy it felt insurmountable. I didn't want to feel it anymore. At first, I thought about using the rifle on myself, but it was too long, too awkward. Then the idea hit: just speed up and crank the wheel hard into the woods. So I did. My foot slammed on the gas, both hands yanked the steering wheel, and the car screamed off the highway into the dark trees.

I don't remember the crash—just the sudden silence. Interior lights are still on. Blood is warm on my face. Someone was knocking on the window, asking if I was okay. Then flashing red-and-blue lights, paramedics cutting my clothes off, the cold air on my skin, and nothing…

From AnnMoss Rogers: They Said They're Thinking of Suicide. What Now?

I woke up a full day later in Wausau hospital with a tube down my throat, hands tied to the bed rails so I couldn't pull it out. My boyfriend wouldn't get me. His sister-in-law picked me up instead. When I walked back into our trailer, her clothes were scattered on the floor, her makeup on the counter, her scent still hanging in the air we used to share. That moment broke what was left of me.

But somehow I crawled out. It took millions of tiny millimeters — one hard day at a time — but I did. Ten years sober from methamphetamine now. I'm happily married to a man who shows up. My kids are thriving and safe. That dark drive didn't get the final word.

I told you this story because we all have our version of that dark drive, where the pain feels too big to carry one more mile. Has this ever happened to you?

My challenge to you is: if you're on that drive right now, know you can still come back. Progress is progress — whether it's a mile or a millimeter. You're not alone, and there is life on the other side. 

---

Read Belle's bio by clicking their icon at the start of this article.

If you enjoyed this article, please forward it to a friend or colleague who might benefit.

*Visit our Suicide Prevention Resource Page for more information on this topic