I died. And came back to life.
By: Andrea Knopová
Tags: Strength, Mindfulness, Entrepreneurship, Mindset, Suicide

I survived my own death. Physical and more importantly, emotional. It’s not even two weeks ago when I was bleeding to death, overseeing the mountain´s meadows, completely at peace with leaving this world behind and moving on, kind of curious about learning what is or isn’t behind that curtain. I was enjoying my last cigarette as my blood was spraying from my veins and in my mind I could clearly see and hear my former horse Mowgli right in front of me, biting off big chunks of grass and chewing on them. It was beautiful. Peaceful. Calm. That’s when I started losing consciousness.

I must have been out for about 2–3h. I remember trembling. Shaking. Feeling sick to my bones. Sweating. Feeling cold. Wanting to puke. Wanting for it to be over.

But it wasn´t. My body betrayed me and managed to keep me alive. Had I just woken up, I’d have surely finished off the job. Instead, I was woken up by the loud and unexpected sound of a nearby motorbike which had no business being there. I panicked. Last thing I needed was for somebody to find me like that before it was done. So I got up and ran across the meadow to hide in the nearby forest. It was not an easy run. I could feel my wounds opening up again, blood running down my arms, my head dizzy, my vision all foggy, and my legs shaky to say the least. The adrenalin had done its job though and I managed to disappear into the nearby forest.

But the adrenalin did far more than that — it made me want to fight for my life, instead of ending it. My brain and soul were still emotionally dead but my body wanted to fight. So even though I was not at all ready to live with the consequences of what I had just done, I pulled myself together a bit, washed off what I could, covered all the visible blood marks, and called myself a help. More specifically, messaged my fabulous aunt who lives nearby.

When she arrived, I could barely talk. She knew I wasn’t doing great for the past couple of days and thought that what she was seeing was just her beloved person coming down with a heavy panic attack. I left her with that thought and got into the car — it was already hard enough for her to see me like that. We’d agreed she´d drive me to the psychiatric clinic. She thought they’d just inject me with something to calm my nerves and we´d drive home, but I knew this wouldn’t be the case. I could never let her see my open wounds hidden underneath my clothes. So after the discussion with the doctor, I agreed to stay at the clinic for a couple of nights.

Only after I was admitted to the clinic and my aunt was gone did I show my arms to the members of staff, who sent me to the surgeon right away after seeing the damage I’ve done to myself. Yeah, it wasn’t pretty.

A while after my initial admission to the clinic, I was sedated & lying in bed with my arms stitched. My soul and brain were completely dead — just like they had been for the previous several days. All I could keep thinking was: “How the fuck did I get here? What the fuck am I going to do? How am I going to live like that?” I felt nothing. Literally nothing. I felt just like an empty shell. A stubborn body with a dead soul.

So how did I get there?

To answer this question, I need to go back. All the way back. I´ve got no shame admitting this now. But I sure as hell did in the past. I was abused as a child. Severely abused. Physically, mentally and sexually. The last one I know off, but luckily almost don´t remember — it must have stopped when I was still young, but some foggy memories remain. (Plus, I remember my mother mentioning having some pictures which she was going to use to get more money out of my father when they were getting divorced which she probably did, but never publicly — her goal was to look after herself, not to protect her kids, but I will get to that later.) But the physical and especially mental abuse, that’s something I remember well till this day.

When I was 15, I moved away to boarding school. Specifically an equestrian academy on the other side of the country. I was very much broken at this point, yet being surrounded by horses and a few really good and positive people all the time helped me begin dealing with my issues — at least on the surface. I was still very much under control of my parents who played me like a violin though and did a good job keeping me away from the rest of my family — the good part of family.

Then, shortly after I turned 18, I came home for the summer. I remember it clearly even till this day. My father started going nuts once again, aiming to abuse me mentally and physically (looking back, I really feel sorry for such a weak person who can only make himself feel better by abusing weaker ones). But this time, I stood up to him. I was not going to participate in that and I decided to step away from this situation. I told him I´m going to leave and he can give me a call when he calms down. Not so surprisingly, he did not take it well. Fast forward a few moments, I was hiding in the forest and he was chasing after me with a gun. No joke there.

I managed to get away without him finding me and that was the last time I saw him for several years. The next time I saw him was when I took him to court for the alimony — it was partially about money at the time but mostly about showing him I can beat him one way or another. Looking back, I really wish I´d have called the cops. But I did not even think of that — that’s how well he “trained me” my entire life into thinking that this was “normal”.

After this event, my aunt, with whom I had little to no relationship (as mentioned before, none of my parents wanted me to be close with the rest of my family), stepped in and ensured I’d end up as far away from these toxic family members as possible so I could begin to heal. She paid for my education abroad — two years in London..

I´ve got to say that this mission was successful to a large extent. I managed to deal internally with what my father had done and truly, truly forgave him and moved on. Or at least as much as I could have at the time. It was a difficult process but it gave me a lot of strength, too. I finally started partially believing in myself. I knew I was not complete, but I sincerely believed I was on a good path to getting there.

Then I moved back to the Czech Republic. Not to my hometown, but to the capital city — Prague. I was going to finish my degree but ended up dropping out and starting a business instead. I started ImpromptMe Ltd, with the goal of helping people build new, fulfilling in-person relationships with others around them. Completely based on what I needed and what helped me in the past to get over some of my demons. We pivoted this business later on and started focusing on connecting people during (back then) in-person international conferences.

Then came another slap. And it was ruthless. I think it was 2019 when I learned what kind of person my mother truly was. You see, for all these years I knew that my mother wasn’t the brightest or in any way strong person. I even felt sorry for her. I never blamed her for not divorcing my father earlier in order to protect her kids. I simply believed that she was nice, but didn´t have it in her to leave the tyrant. Talk about Stockholm syndrome…

But somewhere around this time a series of events took place which made it painfully clear that my mother, the one person who should have loved me and my brother more than herself, was always only looking out for herself, her financial well-being and never, ever, put her kids first. Never. She wasn’t weak. She just loved money and herself far more than her kids. This was when I started remembering everything all over again, but looking at the events of the past from a whole new perspective. My world shattered. I tried talking to her about this, but was only met with laughter and shaming. That’s when I cut off the relationship with her for good.

Realising this was an incredibly hard slap in the face. One I simply did not see coming, never expecting such a betrayal; but I had to deal with it and move on. Luckily for me, I had the business to focus on. And that’s where I put all of my energy towards.

2020… was an incredibly difficult, stressful and exciting year all at once. Covid-19 surely mixed up a few things on the business side but I´ve got to say I was enjoying the process. It kept my mind busy, it kept my mind focused and didn’t give me much time to stress over things I could do little to nothing about. I met many more people — even if most of them were purely online I enjoyed the constant rush and I especially enjoyed the fact that I met several truly inspiring people who, even though they knew little about me, placed their trust in me. This really made me feel good and made me want to work harder. There were also several other situations developing at the time including the one when my very close, brother-like figure ended up in a hospital and some other family dramas unfolded. This all kept my mind busy from going into dark places.

Yet, there were a few evenings when I stopped working, and when I wasn’t surrounded by friends or other people. That’s when my mind started wandering. And it always ended the same — I felt abandoned, unwanted and worthless. A completely natural feeling for a kid with parents like mine. I well realised that, but that never changed how I felt when letting myself think of it. So I did everything I could to avoid it.

Then came 2021. Busier than ever in Q1. Crazy busy at some points, and I loved that.

But then, everything stopped. A series of events took place which resulted in me essentially killing ImpromptMe Ltd and looking to start a new business. I´m not gonna bother you with details but yeah, it was hard. Nothing I couldn’t have handled though. If only it wasn’t for the darkness at the back of my mind… In between Q1 and the end of Q2, things almost literally stopped. I suddenly found myself in the situation when I was mostly just dealing with admin stuff, lawyers, ex-co-founders and employees, but spending very little time on actually creating value, being creative and being busy. That’s when things started going south. I suddenly had the space to think about all the things I did not want to think about. And it started hurting. Big time.

The last imaginary nail in my coffin was my boyfriend at the time. A great guy in his heart with a similarly painful life story to mine. One major difference though — he never had anyone like my fabulous aunt. He really was all alone. Looking at him and understanding all his pain was like looking into the mirror and seeing a darker version of myself. I tried to focus on helping him to find his way, showing him he truly found the place where he belongs. But it turned against me. We broke up over me challenging some of his messed-up views of reality.

After that, I was all alone with my messed up mind. And suddenly everything, and I mean EVERYTHING I spent years sweeping under the carpet came bubbling back up to the surface. All at once. This all plus the stress from work (which normal people would call burn-out but fuck that) — got me into the stage where I completely lost myself. Worst of all, I completely lost trust in myself. In my abilities. In my mind. In my spirit. Everything.

That’s how I ended up in the psychiatric clinic.

Even at the clinic, I still felt like nothing. The pills didn’t help. The doctors didn’t help. I felt nothing. I felt empty. But I always put myself together when I saw people — other patients around me who needed help. That I could give them. I suddenly pulled myself together, started being chatty, funny, supportive… whatever they needed to feel better. But the second these people who needed me left the room… I felt nothing again.

That’s when I started realising one thing. Basically nobody, not even my closest people know anything or very little about me. I have always been hiding my pain. When it was too much, I was masking it with anger and later on with laughter — from others and from myself. I never put myself out there into the open, but I’ve always been here for others. That’s what powers me. For the longest time I thought it was hatred, but it’s not. It’s the feeling of fulfillment when I help others to achieve their goals, to grow as a person.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not gonna be around helping dickheads. Those I will put down the second I get a chance and crush them hard. I’ve got very little compassion for those who hurt others. Nobody is going to fuck with me or people I care about. But I will always be here for others. That’s what makes me energised. That’s what makes me feel like I’m worth living. That’s what makes me feel accomplished. And I need that.