Lesley asked me to write about my suicide attempt. So here it goes. I’m sorry of it’s confusing, I don’t understand it much either.
Thoughts of suicide have plagued by my mind since I was about 12 (I’m 22).
I was 15 when I tried to kill myself. It was December 20th. At one point in the day, I had cut my wrist. It had become my favorite coping skill.
Where I live it gets really cold, but it never really snows just ices over, so I was wearing a long sleeve shirt and a sweater even though my house has nice and warm.
Dad and I had been arguing about something. Then he hung up, but see I was already thinking about killing myself. The idea was growing stronger and stronger with each passing minute. I felt alone and worthless. I knew no one would miss me because I had no really friends and my family was anything but a family.
I think my depression started around 12, along with the suicide thoughts. It’s a numbing depression where I can’t feel alive, so at 13 I started to cut myself because I needed to make sure I was alive and not dreaming. I was in a place so dark I couldn’t imagine myself being awake. Being awake was supposed to be happy, fun, joyful, a gift not everyone was blessed wit.
Being awake for me was a nightmare full of screaming and physical and emotional abuse as I pretend for the world to be something I wasn’t. I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t awake, at least not fully, but I always had a smile and acted like my life was together.
Whenever I would cut, I praying it wouldn’t hurt because that would mean I was dreaming, but it always hurt. I always bled and I knew I was awake which made me more depressed, not sad… Never sad. Numb. Empty. Dead.
That December night as I was watching television, I got up. I went to the medicine cabinet, mom had been prescribed sleeping pills for her pain (she had surgery a few days before).
“Death is like sleep. I’ll sleep forever.” “I’m worthless.” “I’m useless.” “No one would even notice I’m gone.”
The thoughts kept racing in my mind.
“You won’t have to pretend anymore.” “You’ll dream forever, and nothing will hurt.”
I grabbed the pills and took them to my room. There were 20 left.
“No more screaming.” “You’ll be able to escape the nightmare of being awake.”
I wrote a goodbye email to a few close friends (3).
I went to get the bottle of vodka in the alcohol cabinet, I had read in the bottle not to mix with alcohol.
“This is it.” “Next stop dream land.”
At once I shoved all of the pills in my mouth and drowned them down with vodka.
I went to my room and closed my eyes.
All I remember was darkness and cold and thinking “I don’t want to die.” I was scared, but I knew none would care, so getting help was pointless.
I opened my eyes with bed restraints around my wrist. I saw a police officer outside my door and my mom and grandma sleeping in the couch.
I knew I was awake because there was my mom and light and my stomach was in pain. Pain has always been a sign of being awake.
I’m still struggling with being awake. I know my depression is getting bad when I sleep for 16 of the 24 hours.
Lesley captured it perfectly in her ranting of a mad woman no. 2. Unlike her, I sleep to escape the pain of being awake. The numbing pain.
I still cut once in awhile, thoughts still pop up here and there, but I’ve learned to live with the pain of being of numb. My meds help some, but sometimes they further numb me.
I ask myself, what’s worse losing my life or losing myself?
What’s keeping me here? Good question. I am a member of a suicide hotline. I find comfort helping others feel. I keep a memory jar of all the good things that happen to me, and when I’m in valley of the shadow of death, I read all the good memories and know that soon I’ll feel again. Soon being awake will truly mean being awake.
Lesley will be posting later today. It’s late (midnight) sorry about that, it’s been a busy day. Just know you are not alone. Fighting to Find A Way the post before this has hotlines, please if you need to talk please go get help.