It was June 13th, 2011. The first monday of summer vacation. My parents had both left for work, and I was babysitting my 10-year-old brother Gibson. It wasn’t much of a task, all he did was ignore me and play games on the computor. He didn’t notice. He didn’t notice his big sister take the jug of apple juice to her room, take out her stash of 40 Midol, and take every last one.
I tried to take a nap, hoping I’d never wake up, just sleep through the dying process. But god, it was impossible to sleep. I walked around for a few hours, writing down everything that happened in a Microsoft journal. I figured my parents would find it, I guess, and would know what had happened.
When my dad got home about an hour later, I lied. I f***ing lied. I was puking blood into our toilet and he heard me through the door. He asked me if I was ok. I laughed it off, I told him I had no clue why I was puking, but that I was probably fine. I wasn’t scared yet. I convinced myself it wasn’t working yet, that it was all in my head.
Then my mom came home. I told her what I’d done, because now it was starting to take serious effect, and I was scared. (Later though, I’d hate myself for being a wimp and tattling on myself.)  I trusted my mom more than Id ever done my dad. When I told my mom, she had my dad come out and yell at me while she finished putting away the groceries and called poison control. They said take me to the hospital.
When we went to the hospital, I had to look up. Usually I look at my feet when I walk, but the pattern on the carpet made me dizzier than I already was, and I forced myself to look ahead of me.
I was hospitalized from 4pm on June 13th to 3pm on June 15th.
I went to two hospitals – I had to be sent to the second one because the first wasn’t a children’s hospital. Usually, I would’ve complained about being classified as a child when I was 14, but I figured now wasn’t the time. I spent several hours at the first hopsital, and two days at the second. I don’t remember most of the first hospital, I was nearly unconscious. But I remember plenty about the other one:
Puking up the liquid charcoal they’d made me drink, diahrea, hot and cold flashes, medication stinging as it was pumped through my veins, nightmares about my friends dying, awful tv channels, and a constant loneliness.
Everyone asked me if I regretted it, if I’d learned my lesson. I said I did, because at first, I did!
Now though?
The lesson’s worn off….
3 comments
I took a bottle of benedrill, when it was just me and my little sister. I have no memory of a week and a half after that. I was in intensive care for a week and was apparently hallucinating really badly. I would have died, could have died, if the rest of my family had not come home. My dad was a military doctor and figured out something was really wrong and rushed me to the hospital. I do regret doing all that to my family. But my regret has not been strong enough to keep me from still contemplating it. What I’m trying to say is that you are not alone, and we need to keep fighting. If we remember to breathe, remember that someone, somewhere, would be genuinely hurt if we did not exist – perhaps even someone we haven’t met – we might just find that coveted bliss.
Same thing with me. Only i cut my wrists and i was terribly drunk so i didn t remember most of it but a puddle of blood that surrounded me and a scary feeling of me actually dying. and yes at first i thought i was lucky to be found by my sister who happened to return home later than me and went to check if i was sleeping. but it s been almost 7 months since it has happened. i started a new life, moved to a new city, met new ppl and for some time things were going great until i started to feel depressed again and ever since i am trying to get drunk and to get to that state i was that night so i can do it again but this time making sure that no one finds me. but i keep waking up every time with a terrible headache and ugly red lines on my wrists which will be replaced with new scars.
I am just glade that i am not alone 🙂 and i love this page because you can share your thoughts without being judged.
I remember having to drink 2 bottles of charcoal after an overdose- I swore I would never go through that again. But, like you said- the lesson wears off. I totally understand what you’re saying.