Attempt 2018
November 2nd, 2018.
I think it was a Friday. I can’t remember the day very well. I know I was in an excruciating amount of emotional pain that hadn’t let up for months. I was a senior. I (thought) I was depressed (actually bipolar). I was in the midst of the worst depressive episode of my life. I wanted to end my life, and that’s what I planned on doing after work. I went to work for 6 hours, uneventful and monotonous. When I got off I went over to the pharmacy and looked for something that I thought would kill me if I took too much of it. I found a bottle of non-prescription sleeping pills, pretty much just Advil but I didn’t know that until this year (2020). I went and checked out, I went through the register that my best friend was at. I almost cried when he was scanning them, I made some small talk and told him that he was a great friend. I was forcing a smile to make it seem like everything was fine and I just had trouble sleeping. When I got home I opened the bottle and shoved the bag into the bottle so my mom wouldn’t hear the pills rattling around. I was so scared she’d hear or see them. I told her I loved her and that I was going to bed. It was Friday night, probably 11. I was crying, I was in pain, I was alone. I wanted to end the pain, I felt worthless, felt like I was not meant to be on this planet. I opened the bottle, took the bag out and just stared. The bottle was clear. The pills were a bright blue, kinda pretty to look at if you didn’t know what they were going to be used for. At this point things get a little fuzzy. I don’t really remember too well that I was taking them. I took over half the bottle. There were 30 pills and I think they were 200mg a piece. I’ll have you do the math. I have a picture I took during all this, do I remember taking it? No. It’s just a picture of a scab on my arm. I lied to everyone saying it was from scraping my arm on a riser for show choir but I actually did it because I wasn’t even sure if I was real. I’m not sure how much time had passed but I somehow ended up downstairs. I can’t remember what I was doing but my dad found me either in the doorway to their bedroom or trying to open the front door. He could tell something was wrong and walked me upstairs. He saw the bottle. He saw all the pills laid out on my bed. I cannot imagine the fear that he felt. The pain he felt because he knew exactly what I was doing. He knew exactly why I took those pills. He was upset and asked why I did it. I lied and said I was just trying to sleep. He’s how I found out I took so much cause he counted them all. I don’t remember him waking my mom up. I can’t remember being put in the car. I do remember looking out and seeing all the lights passing by as we were speeding to the hospital. I don’t remember going in. I don’t remember any of the faces. I remember being in a small room with a bunch of different things on the wall, there was a man too. He seemed rude. I think he pissed my dad off by saying I was high off drugs. Technically I was but that wasn’t my intention. My intention was to die. Somehow I ended up in a bed, this is when I started seeing, hearing, and feeling things that weren’t real. I saw tubes all around me, they were probably just the IVs and other things used to measure my pulse or something like that. But I didn’t see that. I saw creatures trying to get into my skin. It felt like something was trying to pull me into the bed. I was terrified. I freaked out. It felt like the IV was a rock growing on my skin and into my arm. I started scratching at it and ended up ripping out out of my arm. I didn’t feel the pain at all. They tired putting the IV in my hand after that but I still started scratching at it so they put some mitts over my hands. I’m pretty sure that pissed me off. I didn’t think they were helping. I thought they were trying to hurt me. They gave me a shot of Ativan and I was asleep. I think I woke up throughout the night freaking out, seeing things. Hearing things. I can’t remember it all clearly but it still scares me. I remember my dad asking about the scars on my arm and asking if I did those before I took the pills. I said no I did this almost exactly a year ago. I hope I didn’t make my parents cry but they probably did. I can’t remember if any of my sisters showed up. I hope they didn’t because I’m sure if they saw me how I was they’d be scared. I don’t remember much of what happened right before I was feeling somewhat normal. Once I felt normal I think I cried a lot, both because I had realized what I had done and also because it didn’t work and I was even more emotional pain because of what I had put everyone through. They asked me why I did it and I kept the story the same, I was tired and hadn’t slept. My blood test came back saying I had methamphetamines in my system but it was a false positive. I ate French toast, some apple juice, and maybe eggs I can’t really remember. I ended up leaving and I felt very sick. As soon as we got home I went to my room. Laid down on my bed and threw up everything I had eaten. I cried with snot dripping down my nose and vomit dripping from my lips. I had to go to work a day or two after all this and my supervisor yelled at me for not being able to go to work the day after I took the pills. I hated her and still do. A few days later I had to go see a therapist and psychiatrist. Each time I lied and said yeah I just took them for sleep. The psychologist was very rude but the psychiatrist was cool. He suggested I was maybe bipolar but my mom said that I’m not. Looking back I can definitely tell I was and am. I went from partying and drinking and being so dumb but happy to being so depressed that I almost killed myself. I missed a week from school but I don’t think anyone noticed I was gone. I recovered and started feeling less depressed. Things went back to somewhat normal.
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That was two years ago. Since then I’ve been through two major depressive episodes and two hypomanic episodes and mild psychosis. The first day back at college I almost took an entire bottle of depakote. So I really should have taken a break from school as soon as that happened. I’d say I feel a lot better now but there are days where I’ve been so close to the edge and I’m honestly surprised I’ve lived this long. But hey, I’m here but I don’t know when that could change.
You’d think the attempt would change me to be like oh man I have so much to live for. It did that for maybe two months. But the thought of killing myself is on my mind all day every day no matter how great I feel. I’ve been on so many different medications, it took years to get a proper diagnosis, and a few close calls.
This is probably really weird to read but it’s something I think about everyday and it haunts me. I know other people have gone through this and want to do this to themselves but trust me it’s terrifying and no one should do it or have to go through the pain to bring them to that decision. Wow he’s telling me not to think like that even though he still does? Yeah I am, I care about other peoples mental health more than mine cause it’s easier to help other people more than me. This is all I have to say for now but I’ll probably add once I remember more.
If you are in need of help please reach out to friends or family. Someone is there for you. I promise. No matter how terrible you feel, no matter how hopeless you feel, there is always someone else wants to help.
