First time failure.

  August 20th, 2009 by sandysuicide

Ok, so I want to talk about the first (and only) suicide attempt I’ve ever made. It took place about a year ago. It was a pretty fucked up time in my life, as I’d just gotten my 2nd DUI and almost at the same time I was breaking up with my girlfriend. I was so in love with this girl I won’t even bother to elaborate on it, as it would probably make most people sick. That said, I was on my way to work one morning shortly after I’d gotten out of jail, and recieved a call from my ex. As we were akwardly talking, I get pulled over by some city cops. I get off the phone with my used-to-be girl, on the pretense that I’ll call her right back after the swine get off my ass. I anticipate a run of the mill speeding ticket. The cops tell me I was going 65 in a 55 (fucking bullshit, MAYBE 60), so I say nah I wasnt, and give them my ID and insurance papers and they go back to their car to check my shit out. So I’m sitting there in my van, and after a while I start to suspect they’re taking a little too long to get back to me. I start thinking to myself.  Couldn’t be anything wrong, probably just one of the cops being new, the elder pig giving the younger a lesson as to how to properly check someones info and such.. but oh, was I wrong. Both cops get out of the wagon and aproach my vechile. At this point my heart starts to pound and I know for sure that something is amiss. They come up and tell me my license is suspended for DUI, and that I need to step out of the vechile. Now, I know what you’re thinking. I’m a dumbass for not knowing that when u get a DUI your license is revoked. Well, it dosent really work like that. After you’re arrested, you’ve got to go to court to actually be convicted of the crime before the punishment is carried out, and even after you’re convicted, u have a grace period in which the DMV must notify you by certified letter that your privilage to drive a motor vechile is no more.. well, I didnt get that letter. And I didn’t know I was driving illegaly. So anyways I get out of the van, and in a shakey voice I ask “Am I going to jail?”.  The elder pig respondes, “Yep”. And so I went and sat in a cell for 3 weeks before I get out. When I got arrested for DUI I was only in for a few hours, and it really wasn’y a big deal. This time it was. Finally my grandma and some friends got me out on bail. By this time I had resolved never to go back to jail – I don’t know how many of you have ever actually been in a place like that. Locked away in a cage. Not just an assumed reject of society. An actual factual criminal, behind bars. Its a very lonely, fucked up, anamlistic feeling, and i hope you dont ever go there. So after so many sleepless hours, I’m free. And I’ve got pending court cases in which (at least in my mind) im going to be put back into that deep, dark hole of a place. So I decide rather than go back there, or live on the run, that I’ll just go to sleep forever, and become just another faded memory. I aquire a liter of orange vodka and some good weed. Since I dont really want to die at my grandma’s house (where i was living at the time) i decided to go to a friends house to do the deed. I sort of had my own room there, with a bed that I’d moved in, and i figured it would be better than dying in the woods alone, or dying in my own bedroom for family to discover the ugly aftermath the next morn.  So i get to my friends and i get good and fucked up. I’m not really saying as much as usual and I’m really wearing my feelings on the outside more than I should have. I manage to get the majority of orange nasty into my system, and I take a 10 minute walk to the nearest wal-mart. I stole a bottle of Unisom and a bottle of Tylenol PM. I paid for a bottle of water. Then I walked to the far corner of the parking lot and start swallowing the pills in the rain and taking guzzels of water to chase them down. I ate them all. Every last one. Must have been 75 pills or more. Then I walk back to John’s. Once I get there, a bunch of ppl are all in the living room talking and laughing. I sat down on the couch to speak my final words to them, and then retire to my deathbed. I remember them talking and me joking a little and thats it. A void in time and space from my perspective. I came too the next morning on the couch, just where I remember being. But something is strange. Actually, everything is strange. I’m in some kind of lucid dream state where I’m in real life and living in reality, but at the same time I feel and see everything like im watching it on tv or something. Also, anything i begin to think about becomes an ocean of endless thought and visual. When I think of someones voice, I hear it just like they’re right beside me. I’m sitting on this couch having conversations with my friend John – in depth, origional, detailed conversations, only to realize moments later that I am alone. I’m talking to my mom on the cell phone and arranging a ride home but there was no phone. I went outside to piss and while i was round the side of the house people were in the weeds speaking to me. I was tripping my ass off. Tripping balls. I needed to walk to the store because I was out of cigs. I stated to remember what had happened the night before, and reasoned that I was dead and walking the earth. I could see and hear other ppl but they couldn’t see me. I surmised that I should be seeing other dead ppl, and began to look for them. Eventually I made my way to the store to discover I was in fact still alive, as I was able to sucessfully communicate with the cashier and buy a pack of smokes. So I made it back to the house and my friends wake up and are very uneasy around me. They never came out and said anything, but their demenors spoke volumes. Something fucked up had happened. I get a ride home. Soon as i step in the door i get a shit pain. As I take my pants down at the toilet, i notice my knees are bloody. I take a shit and its mostly blood. My asshole is extrmemly tender when i go to wipe. My right side had been bothering me for some time but i hadnt really paid any attention to it. I lift up my shirt to examine and its obvious that my jeans have been cutting into my side, and theres a deep gash. Its not really bleeding but the wound looks very unnatural. I look at myself in the mirror and Im ghastly pale, with little red blothches all over my face/body. I go and lay down but after a while my abdomin is on fire, and it feels like im gonna vomit/shit my guts out, which would be ok if it would just stop hurting like this. I go online and try to figure out what i might have done to myself, and the news isnt good. I need to get to the hospital. Once I get there they ask me all sorts of questions.. I’m in extruciating pain. I’ve got to tell them everything I’ve told you. I get a gastric X-ray. turns out ive got preforations all in my intestines, and the substance i have in my digestive system could break out and flood into my body, causing infections and displacing organs and all kinds of other types of nasty. I stayed in the hospital for 4 months. I currently have a colostomy bag. turns out the only reason I’m still alive is because I puked most of the shit up. I later talked to my friends individually and they told me what had happened. I started to puke bright orange shit all over the place and they dragged me outside and laid me face down on the porch. (thats how i got the bloody knees) So, anyway I tried to kill myself with sleeping pills and i turned into a fucked up freak. take my advice, if you’re going to end it, dont take over the counter pills. Use a gun. Jump off some place really high. Hang yourself. Don’t do what I did. You will be sorry if you do. Oh, by the way, I’m going back to jail in a week. With a fucking bag hanging out of my gut. Or am I?

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