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An Abyss

by ravagedtantangle

The first time I attempted suicide I was eleven, it involved a shoddily tied hangmans knot, a bag, and a closet it looked like some kind of scene out of an erotic asphyxiation porn than a suicide. It left a circle of bruise around my neck for a week. My mother had been screaming at me for days , constantly yelling, constantly questioning my loyalty, constantly belittling me, keeping me in the house for days unable to go to school like all the other little girls do. I had no other option, no one would believe me, my mother told them I was crazy, I was schizophrenic, I was abusing her, I was eleven, how could I?

I failed. My mother took me to the houses of everyone we knew and twisted what I had tried to do, it became a temper tantrum. I was trying to get escape, not call for help, help wasnt going to come, but it just became something that my mother used to isolate me, to spin her tale of an out of control daughter, I was eleven I just wanted to escape, both my mother and the man she let molest me.

Time past, I grew, I left, I was free. But I had no one, I was alone. Space constantly pressing all around as far as I could feel I had no one. I was 19, I was desperate I was failing, I was working 40 hours a week with a full course load for an apartment with no heat in the middle of winter and the time I had was the dark hours of morning where sleep became insomnia and insomnia became a reel full of memories relentlessly playing out my life in full color for me to watch again and again. I took two  weeks off school trying to work up the nerve and to wallow in the desperation, the time came, I drank a mickey of scotch, I took two bottles of aspirin, I destroyed an inhaler and I finished an inhaler for asthma, hoping it would somehow help. I tied a rope to a twenty pound barbell and my neck I filled my tub, I practice slitting my wrist, I the actually slit my wrist all the way to muscle with a box cutter, I got in the tub, I waited, I blacked out. I awoke beside myself in the bottom of this tub. Even though I had tried to cover my bases, I realized I didnt want to drowning was painful i could feel the struggle, it would take to long. I blacked out again, I woke up in front of my friends apartment bleeding, wet like a drowned cat. I chickened out.

Now i bide my time, home  made chloroform is tricky, sleeping pills might work, its not a question of being afraid of death anymore, its a question of the pain most methods offer to do the job, life hurts why do I have to hurt dying, so now I am waiting waiting for the least painful method with the highest success rate.

Now the 7 in scars on my wrist shame me, not my mother.

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3 comments

outrageous 11/25/2013 - 8:38 am

What is the reason you want to kill yourself?

Melissa Suicidal 11/25/2013 - 9:15 am

why did hanging fail??? how to prepare chloroform?
i really plan to hang, & i dont want to fail anymore.

G.W. 11/25/2013 - 10:12 am

“reel full of memories relentlessly playing out my life in full color for me to watch again and again”

This is a truly accurate description of the use of memory of past hurts. Played over and over, they are distilled, more deeply impressed and indelible. They actually become reduced to symbolic portions of the incidents that stand for the whole and that can be recalled in an instant to remind the thinker of the devastation that was wrought in that moment that can never be undone.

To undo all this is work, but it is a labor of love. It must start from a different point of reference. It will unleash powers that now are dormant, so a little goes a long way. It is the justification of all hope and the means of salvation. It is the answer.

It begins with a question. How is it that those whose condition has been objectively worse than one’s own do not suffer as much? What do they have? How is it possible? What is THAT THING that could make such a difference that others can live under circumstances that would have unquestionably cause the thinker to commit suicide long ago?

The allowance for That Thing to come into one’s mind, even as a mere possibility, is the beginning of healing.

Let That Thing come.

G.W.

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