The day I broke

Almost 6 years ago is when I started to lose the grip on my depression. In hindsight depression started for me around age 13. My first suicide attempt was at age 14. My Mum was given antidepressants after my Dad left us. She didn’t take them. I did 15 pills at once. I awoke a few hours later still on my bedroom floor where I sat and swallowed the pills.My head was so foggy, I could barely walk. I stayed this way for almost 48 hours. My Mum did nothing. Later in the year I cut my wrist with a razor blade.
I still remember the pain as the blade cut across my wrist.For a brief moment my internal suicidal pain was overridden by the sting of the cut and the flow of blood.I stopped after a while, I went home and cleaned my wound and bandaged myself up. I told people I had burned myself on an iron. I did confide in a friend, but I was still alone.
Fast forward 16 years, I am trying desperately to not lose my mind.So many events happen one after the other, my pain beginning to become unbearable. Again I tried with pills, this time they were prescibed to me. I awoke in the ER to unsympathetic people who ask if i’m ok, yes I lie, will you try and harm yourself again, no I lie. I was sent home to my very unsupportive husband.
Further into the year I leave my husband. The day I broke…..I grab the vaccuum cleaner hose, get into my car, drive to a secluded area, put the hose in the exhaust and feed the other end into the window. I swallow 50 pills for good measure. 5 hours later I hear yelling and then the shattering of glass, I see the reflection of a policeman’s hat. The next I know I am being awoken by a gruff ICU nurse who has no empathy. I am then transfered to a psychiatric ward even though I unashamedly refused to agree with the decision.
After 2 weeks I am released being told, we can’t help you anymore.A few weeks later I am back in the ER after again cutting my wrists, both arms this time. Kindly neighbour calls an ambulance after hearing a disturbance. Stitched up the doc releases me the next morning. Later that night I am in my garage standing on a crate with a rope around my neck, crying hysterically calling on all my will to kick the crate from underneath my feet. I find I can’t do it. They say suicide is the easy way out…not for me….so many attempts,so many failures.
It’s been almost 6 years since my last attempt, I take meds, I still think about suicide almost daily. It’s a part of me.