Suicide Story

My name is Kaitlyn and I am currently 17 years old.

I’ve never written about my suicide story before so bear with me.

The cutting and suicidal thoughts all started in 8th grade when I found out that my mom was an alcoholic. I blamed myself and thought that everything was my fault. Since she was going through pain, I deserved it too. I would cut myself just deep enough to leave a mark. (Those cuts later got to the point where I was scared that I would need stitches.) I went through all of 8th and 9th grade, keeping everything inside and not talking to anyone. I just took all that pain out on myself, and like I said earlier, the cuts got deeper and deeper. It wasn’t until my sophomore year that I really started coming up with plans to follow through with my suicidal thoughts. I tried everything I could to get a gun, but that didn’t work. I tried cutting deeper and deeper but that didn’t work either. The last thing I could think about was pills. I was prescribed 80mg of Lexapro at the time for my depression. I had just gotten a fill so I had a whole bottle of those, on top of a whole bottle of aspirin. I was done fighting a losing battle.

Monday, December 10th at 6:30pm, I put 120 pills into my body. Instantly I fell to the ground, grabbing my stomach and trying to stop the pain. At that point, I didn’t want to die anymore. I called 911 because I was so scared. 911 showed up and as I was on my way to the hospital, I became unconscious and had a breathing tube inserted into my mouth. Once I arrived at the hospital, I was still unconscious. They called my parents as they were putting needles in me to pump all the toxins out. I woke up and my parents were beside me in the bed, crying hysterically. I knew that I had done something that I really regretted. My stomach was feeling a little better, but they still made me drink charcoal to get everything out. That was the most disgusting thing I have ever tasted. After filling out a bunch of paperwork, I got admitted to the mental part of the hospital where I stayed for two weeks.

Let me tell you about that… When I first got the the floor, my parents took every lose item I had on me, including my phone, which was awful. I went into this little doctors office and two nurses made me completely undress. They checked my body to see if I had any scars, or bruises, etc. After they were done with that, I got dressed and they took me onto the floor. When I first stepped in, I felt like I did not belong here. I seemed so normal compared to everyone else. My parents came in along with me so that the nurses could let them know a few things they needed to know. The nurses showed me my room. It had a dresser, with a lock and a door, so all my clothes and items were locked inside. It had a bed, with a night light across from it so they could see us at all times. It had a bathroom, with no door, and nothing but toilet paper inside. Last thing it had was a window, barred up so that there was no way we could jump out. They said, welcome to your home for the next couple weeks and that’s when I said my goodbyes to my parents. They were both crying but to be honest, it was kind of a relief for me. After they left, I had a bunch of evaluations to fill out about how I felt. Obviously I felt suicidal so I thought it was dumb that I had to fill all those out. Once I was done filling those out, it was group time. I was so nervous. I sat down and they said, look, we have a new patient. That word, patient, didn’t sound too good in my ears. I introduced myself and the nurse, Tyler, made me say what got me into the hospital. I said suicide attempt and he kept asking question, after question about it. I was so overwhelmed because I just met these people but were telling them everything about my life. Finally group was over, and it was bed time. I was exhausted so I fell right asleep. The next couple days seemed to go by fast and everything was going alright until one night. Another patient said something to me and I began cutting again, with plastic forks. That was the first time I had cut in over a week- a record for me. Stupid me, forgot that the nurses do an arm and thigh check on those who self harm every day. Of course, they found cuts on me and sat me down. I told them what happened and what I used. I then got all my pens taken away, my door got locked during the day and I had to eat in the QA(Quiet Area) so I wouldn’t steal anyone’s silverware to hurt myself with. That was annoying. I was done. That next afternoon, we had string out to play. I asked another patient to make a scarf for me because she had made a scarf for herself. Once she finished I immediately began pulling on it to see if it could hold my own weight. The nurses saw me and casually came to sit down with me to make sure I didn’t go anywhere with that scarf. I put the scarf in my pocket when they weren’t watching and asked to go to the bathroom. One of the head nurses, Juliann, said that she was going to do a body check before I went in. I refused and ran. All the guy nurses, Tyler, Jerad and Nico, ran after me. On the floor, there wasn’t much room to run and I shortly learned that. I got to a dead end and I could see them all running after me, so I sat down. I refused to move. They had to drag me into the QA and in the QA, they made me take all my clothes off so they could check them. I sat there, in a ball, holding my body, thinking that I had definitely hit my low. Eventually, I got my clothes back and got to go out with the rest of the group. Evening comes and it’s time for bed. I was still determined to kill myself. I asked one of the nurses, Katie, if she could get socks of my dresser for me because I needed them. She didn’t ask why, just gave them to me. After what seemed like an hour of sitting on my bed, deciding what to do. I turned the light off and put some pillows under the sheets to make it look like I was sleeping, and went into the bathroom. I laid down so they couldn’t see me and began tying the socks together and around my neck as tight as I could. I was struggling to breathe and was almost gone when Katie comes back in to check on me, since they do nightly checks(that I forgot about). She doesn’t see me in my bed so she walks into my room and see’s me laying on the floor, trying to strangle myself. She runs up to me and takes the socks off, I’m fighting and fighting because I just wanted to die. She pages other nurses to come in and help her. Two nurses hold me down, while she unties the socks from around my neck. Too bad that I tied them tight. They had to get scissors and cut them to get them off my neck. Once they were cut off, I began grasping for air and fighting the nurses that were holding me down. I eventually calm down but when I get back up and into my bed, I see that there is a straight, like, jacket on the bed. It was like a bed sheet, that got locked down to the bed so that I couldn’t move. Couldn’t get up unless someone unlocked it. They got me settled in that and gave me 400mg of Trazadone to knock me out. The next thing I remember was waking up that next morning crying because I was stuck and couldn’t get out. The whole night was a blur. I remember things here and there but not the full story. The nurses eventually told me what happened so that’s the story I tell. The rest of the week was better. I finally found hope to continue and they decided that I was ready for discharge. My parents came, picked me up, and I walked out of those hospital doors for the first time in a long time. I was excited and anxious to get home, but was also scared. I was no longer in that safe place. If I wanted to go jump off a bridge, or walk into traffic, I could. No one was stopping me.

The next couple weeks pass and things are going good until one day when all the suicidal thoughts hit me hard. I hadn’t had any since I got out of the hospital and didn’t know how to deal with them. Without thinking, I acted upon them and got myself ended up back in the hospital for another week. Went through the same routine of having my door locked, etc. Now after this time when I got out, my parents decided that I needed to see a psychologist and a psychiatrist. I went to see my therapist twice a week, and went to see my psychiatrist once a month until I was stable. I then began going to see my therapist once a week, and my psychiatrist once every three months, I continue to do that to this day.

I am now a senior in high school and still struggle with some of the same things I did months and years back. The thing that gets me through them now, is having people in my life that I can talk to about things. People that I trust 100% and know that they have my back.

There are days when I feel the suicidal thoughts coming back but I know that I am strong enough to get through them. There are other days where I question why I ever thought about suicide, good days, the days that I continue to live and hope for.

I encourage whoever is reading this, to reach out to a friend, or a family member, or other trusted adult. I know what it’s like to feel alone in these kind of situations and it is not a place anyone wants to be in. Having someone there can honestly save your life and give you hope for your future.