I survived only to face another day

Memories Regarding the events of Monday, October 26, 2009:
It just happened.  I couldn’t take it any more.  I’ve had 3 surgeries for 3 different things within 3 months… and with the intracranial pressure that won’t go away, it seems like my life has been stolen from me.  Add that to surviving an abusive childhood where my father made sure I knew I was worthless and should never had existed, then going on to get married to someone I thought was a decent man only to find out that he was an abusive alcoholic… creating years of struggle to get my son and I safe and free from him.  I used to be such a survivor – very resilient and I would always see the world in a positive way no matter what.  Until this past year when I got sick and IIH stole my life and everything else starting falling apart.  My past traumatic memories began to haunt me and I’ve realized that no matter what I do, I hurt in every possible way a person can hurt.

And that’s when it happened.  It was so automatic, almost robot-like.  A very distressing memory resurfaced that I had long forgotten about and it started this domino effect that I was powerless to stop.  It was only a matter of time anyway.  I had been seeing a psychiatrist and had checked myself into the psych ward a couple weeks earlier due to suicidal feelings and having a plan for suicide.  But they released me and let me go each time.

That evening, my mind had had enough and said to me:  “It’s time.”  I understood.  So I sat up in bed and looked at the clock.  It was 5:03pm.  I went to the cupboard where I had hidden some prescriptions and took out the containers for 30 Percocet and 30 Tylonol 3’s with Codeine (I’m allergic to codeine so it had been a perfect choice).  I put them in my pocket, found a juice box, and then proceeded throughout the house, making sure I told each person that I love them.  Then I went to my car.

I did not expect one of my family members to clue in so quickly.  That had not been part of the plan.  I had wanted to drive to a friend’s house to say goodbye to her first.  But my aunt stood in front of my car so I could not drive.  So I took the pills right there so that nobody could stop what needed to be done.  I knew my father was right when he told me that life would have been better without me.  And now I was finally going to right that wrong.  All the pain would soon end, and it would be over.

My aunt, very distraught, managed to get me into her car, promising me she would take me to my friend so I could say goodbye, but she drove to the hospital instead.  The whole ride there, I could feel the prescription beginning to get into my system.  I knew there would be nothing the doctors could do.  It was already too late.  I told my aunt not to worry – that I was comforted in knowing that soon all the pain would be gone.  It made so much sense, my mind assured.

I felt myself drifting away, and the hospital staff struggling to find a vein.  I had told them it was ok – it was too late anyway.  They had stripped off my clothes and I remember telling them to be careful with my jacket as it was my favorite one and I wanted to be buried with it.  And then the itchiness started.  That surprised me, as codeine previously slowed down my breathing, but never made me itchy.  But I had taken 30 of those and 30 Percocet so perhaps I was getting a reaction from that.  I was so itchy and I remember saying:  “I don’t want to be itchy while I die.”

I’m not sure all of what happened next, as it was too difficult to open my eyes – they were heavy and I was drifting away from the world which causes so much pain and grief.  But before I fell asleep, I woke up.  I cannot explain it other than saying it that way.  Part of me came to the surface – part of me that I did not think existed anymore.  It was the part of me that used to fight and continue to go on despite all the hard times.  I remember my eyes opening and looking right into the doctor’s eyes and saying:  “I want to live.  What have I done?  That wasn’t me – I just woke up and I want to live!”

And then the reality of everything struck me and I realized that I was going to die and I wasn’t ready to die yet.  Do you have any idea of what goes through your mind during your last minutes of life?  I was so afraid.

The doctor told me that they think they got to me in time and that I should be ok.  They had pumped lots of stuff into me, given me epinephrine and charcoal too (that’s not fun right there).  They kept taking my blood to check the acetaminophen levels.  Eventually, the levels dropped.  The doctor and nurses told me that I could close my eyes and get some rest, but I was so afraid that if I closed my eyes, they might never open again.

While recovering at the hospital, I knew what I had done was stupid.  I kept saying that.  I kept saying that I wanted to live.  My family doctor (who had been in contact with the hospital throughout the ordeal by phone) had come in.  I told him that I needed help – that it wasn’t me who had done that and that I couldn’t stop it from happening.   He tried to get in touch with my psychiatrist.  It seems everyone is busy and I can’t see him until next week.  So they had someone else come to talk to me before releasing me that morning.

And now everyday I wake up and face the reality of life again, knowing how much it really sucks, and instead of seeing the whole ordeal as a big mistake, it still makes sense to me.  I know it’s the only way to be free from all this pain that I carry in every possible way one can have pain.  And I can’t find the part of me that wants to live.  I know now it’s in there somewhere, but where?  How did my life turn upside-down so quickly where I went from being a very strong person that people looked up to and now being someone who struggles to live each and every day?

So that’s my story for the past week.  I had a sub-total hysterectomy the week before (the third surgery in 3 months).  So I’m still hurting from that.  I’m surrounded by people who care, and yet I struggle to care about myself.  And so here I am, waking up another day, trying to figure out why to bother going on… trying to remember why I wanted to live in the hospital and where inside myself that fighter is… and knowing all along that those who survive their first suicide attempt are often successful the second time around.

And for a brief moment, a part of me is horrified that I have even typed those words, while another part knows it’s true.  So I fear for my life while at the same time I look forward to it ending.  And I cannot make sense of it all.

And I hate knowing that each day I will wake up and face this all again… that is, if I actually make it through today.