As my username suggests, this story is from a few years back, but I think that it’s worth sharing. And yes, this is lengthy, but I’m very sure that it’s worth the read.
This was probably the worst I had felt in weeks, life just wasn’t working out for me. I was stressed under mountains of homework, stuck singing in a choir that I hated that controlled my life and I had no social life. I didn’t know how to deal or cope with stress at all. A week prior to that day, I kept writing in this one notebook:
“Tell somebody, tell somebody”
It was the last ditch effort. And it failed. Not even my birthday could even cheer me up. I was quiet and sullen, and I suppose nobody noticed. I’m not saying that my parents are to blame, I mean it’s not easy trying to read a teenagers mind.
It was the day before thanksgiving day. That was the day I snapped. During the hussle and bussle of the yearly holiday, I stole and took over thirty-six aspirin and a few Ecotrins. After that, I went for a walk in hopes of clearing my head, but no clarity came to mind. It seemed like the sun wouldn’t even shine through the smog that keeps such a strong grip over the city.
It wasn’t until later that night when I started to feel the effects of the aspirin. My ears were ringing, I was sweating profusely, I didn’t feel like I could breath properly and I was seeing starbursts in my vision. I had totally forgot what I did previously that day.
It was probably one of the hardest things telling my parents what I did. It was the biggest guilt trip I had ever been on and to top things off, my parents didn’t believe me. I spent 15 minutes trying to explain to them what I actually did. At that point I felt totally ashamed at what I did. I have a very good life, I have two caring parents, endless opportunities, a bright future ahead of me and a good upbringing. I didn’t know where I had gone wrong.
That night, once my parents drove me to the emergency room and I was settled into a waiting room, sitting there and watching their tears was overwhelming. It was even worse once I had to drink charcoal. I was told by the doctors that it probably wouldn’t do much because I had taken the pills very early in the day and it was now two in the morning. But I drank it anyways. It was bitter to see my parents egg me on to drink the foul connocotion.
The morning after, a psychiatrist came in to see me. She said I seemed rather well adapted and distant. At the time, I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live. I didn’t want to see the ones around me living in pain. After the psychiatrist finished I was able to take a walk with one of the nurses. I went to go see these kids who were having these complex surgeries or that had just come from surgery. There was so much hope and joy in their eyes. It made me wonder, why this kids who didn’t have a fair chance at life, why I was so lucky and blessed to have every little organ in place and functioning. I think it finally kicked in at that point that I was meant to live. That I should take an example from these kids.
Now, this sounds like a fairytale, but its not. A few or so after, I wanted to kill myself again. I had the same feelings and nothing had really changed. I had nobody to talk to and nobody who could listen. I clamed up once again and closed myself to the world. However, I felt like a failure for not succeeding in killing myself. I couldn’t even take my own life, so why should I try again. So I pitied myself for a very long time. And I still hated myself, and I even hate what I was back then now.
I had no support system. I had no backbone. I had no one to really help me through the time. Around three or four months after the pulsing sensation of killing me had pretty much left my mind, I got help. I started to talk to a psychatrist and I got on mediacation.
I found out that the latter did not work on me. I felt worse on the medication, so I ended up not taking it. I still hated myself so much and I just did not want to be me. I wanted to be someone else. I wanted to be a shadow and not a person.
I honestly don’t know or remember how I got through those times. I think I ended up getting a better support group and I made a great friend. My mom. I don’t hate myself anymore, in fact I love my personality a lot now. (I say that with confidence and not with an ego). And even if your situation seems bleak, you’re not alone. It sounds cheesy and I absolutely hated that saying, but it 100% true. If you ever need someone to talk to, please send me a message and I will gladly talk to you and I’ll try to give you advice to keep you on track. There is hope, even on the darkest day.