I tried it, in February. I taped my arms together, and my legs too, so I couldn’t save myself. I made a noose of some nylon tie-straps and tied then to a beam, in the attic, in the garage. I was making my final preparations (freaking out) when my husband opened the garage door.
I jumped off the ladder I had been on. I remember hearing him say “No!” and remember him trying to lift me up, yelling at me to “stand up on the ladder” and then I remember nothing. That took up about 5 seconds. It wasn’t painful at all. That’s all I remember.
Until I woke up, on the floor of the garage, covered in blood, and wet. I couldn’t believe I was still here. I hated him.
He said that he was trying to get me to lay over the ladder, so he could grab a knife, to cut me down, but I didn’t leave enough lag in the noose (careful planning) and while he was trying to figure out what to do, he said my body went completely limp, and my nose gushed blood, and I peed myself. He knew I was dying, but didn’t have a knife.
So he let me hang.
He said my face was blue and my tongue and eyes were bugging out. He said he had to let me hang, while he ran inside to get a knife.
I hope that image haunts him.
Anyway, he cut me down, and he managed to cut the noose off my neck, and he called 911. And then I woke up. The paramedics came, and took me away, and I got to have a 2 week vacation in a mental hospital. It sucked.
The after-effects were not so bad, because the noose was made of a nylon tie-strap, there was hardly any rope burn on my neck. My eyes though, they were a different story. They were COMPLETELY dark blood red, for about 2 months. Most people thought they looked very cool, something that you might see in movies. Nobody would ask why they were that way though, they just looked at me strangely. If they had asked, I would tell them, but hardly anyone asked.
In the hospital, I met several young kids that were there for “trying to kill themselves” by taking 10 to 15 xanax bars, or whatever… I wanted to tell them “Pst, that was hardly an attempt…”
I guess the moral to my story is, hanging was not a bad way to die. I would have made it, but for a few seconds.
I’d do it again, probably, but I don’t have access to his attic anymore…