I got a souvenir for my failed attempt at offing myself a few days ago.
This is not a post for sympathy, pity, “feel better”, “I’m so sorry” or judgement of any kind etc….etc….words fall flat when you’d rather be dead.
Suicide is a real thing. It’s a monster that hides in unseen cracks and pounces when you’re not looking. It puts you in handcuffs and controls your actions. Actions without feeling.
No one saw it coming, I didn’t see it coming.
Yes, dead……..and if you’ve never felt the yearning for that final peace, consider yourself lucky. If you’ve never felt hopeless to the point of seeing only blackness, consider yourself lucky. If life has never felt so heavy that your tired body can no longer carry it, consider yourself lucky. If you have felt these things I see you, I understand you…………..
Something snapped in my brain. Broke into a million shards of self hatred, discontent, unanswered questions, an ocean of shame that is no longer swimmable.
I was on a walk, came home and……….
I slammed a handful of klonopin, a handful of sonata, and an entire bottle of muscle relaxers. Downed them all with a glass of wine.
I sent my 4 kids a text letting them know I love them more than life and I will forever be sorry for the may times I’ve hurt and disappointed them. They are my world.
The next thing I remember is waking up in a weird place with magenta scrubs on. My first sentence “Where the FUCK are my underwear. Which one of you assholes took my underwear off?”(being a rape victim your undies are your most prized possession in life)
Then a squad of police officers put me in a van. The driver was a woman and was listening to heavy metal music. If I had the energy I would have pounded on the glass and screamed “Bitch! I just tried to kill myself, enough with the death metal you stupid cunt.”
Once at the mental health facility I had to completely undress in front of 3 nurses so they could check me for bruises. It was humiliating and I told them to just let me fucking get dressed.
They put me in a room with nothing on the walls, 2 plastic beds (think crib mattress) 1 pillow and a chair. The blankets on the bed were thinner than my favorite threadbare t-shirt. I cranked the heater up to 90.
The first doctor came in. She began her spiel that was clearly scripted. You know the one she says to every new patient. I said “Have you ever slept on one of these shitty beds?”
Her face went blank. “um no, I haven’t”
“Well, it should be a requirement for all the staff to sleep in one for at least a night. We are people here, not animals that can sleep on anything. And by the way I’m done listening to your scripted spiel, kindly get the fuck out of my room. This place is depressing and disgusting and I can’t believe you think you can actually help someone who’s hurting by putting them in a prison cell.”
“Um, we’ve been told this is a very nice facility.”
“Well it’s not, now get out of my disgusting room”
I was there 2 days. Refused food, refused meds and refused vitamins. At one point I tried to escape.
They let me go because I’m on Medicaid, government cheese. I lied to all their questions and said I was fine because people on Medicaid are treated differently than those with higher paying insurance.
Our landlord is pissed that I’ve been “exposed” to the coronavirus. He wants us out by the 1st because I’m now a liability. He doesn’t want to be responsible for a dead body. All the neighbors know and god forbid he’s embarrassed I’m here.
The terrible truth is that I’m pissed someone found me too soon. Life gives me an exhaustion to heavy to bear. There are too many problems to fix and I can’t see a way out of them.
I don’t care if you think suicide is selfish. It’s not. It’s an answer for problems that are too big. It’s rest. Maybe you think I’m a whiny ungrateful bitch, so be it.