Quite surprisingly, I have survived my suicide attempts 12 times over the last seven years. Though this is not necessarily something to be boastful about, I believe that things happen for a reason; even if the premise behind my repetitive failures is unbeknownst at this particular time.
I am eighteen years old, and this dark phase of my life began seven years ago subsequent to the loss of a an individual who I considered to be more of a mother to me than that assigned to me biologically. Subsequently, I lost the only real paternal figure I had two years ago. Between these two losses, my life has crumbled significantly.
For starters, my biological mother made life hell. Turns out that I remind her to much of my estranged father. As a result of this, I receive the blunt end of her uncontrollable behavior. In short, I’ve been stabbed twice by her. Everything I’ve ever come to love and feel distinguished about have been destroyed. She’s attempting to poison me numerous times, to no avail, but it regardless, as the late Maya Angelou once summed it up, “still I rise.”
Over the years my suicide attempts have been a lot because I simply couldn’t and still really can’t cope with existence. Every single day up to now is an inflicting battle. She’s worn me down. I now believe every damn thing she and my unevolved brothers say.
She lies blatantly. And as of two weeks ago, destroyed my chances of continuing junior college momentarily.
The only reason I’m still here to be able to recount my life story is because I met a few amazing individuals who became an exoskeleton to the evil and manipulative dwelling situation I’m stuck in. In essence they are my true family. Many times they’ve tried with me, and irregardless of my stubbornness, they remain with me.
Just recently, on my last attempt to “close the curtains”, one such friend became the bell that saved me.
On the eve of my birthday, I just had enough, and I hoped to overdose on eight different types of oral medication and wash it down with two litres of vodka. About two hours later on the verge of passing out for good, a,friend of mine, who intended to surprise me, found me in a disastrous state and made me forcefully upchuck everything and flushed my system with water.
Though I was angry at first, I’ve learnt to understand even when your family disowns you and make your life hell, there are truly individuals who care.
In essence find your saving grace in a friend/s Irregardless of what you believe at this point, someone does care. Find that individual and cling to them. If they’re truly concerned, they’ll be your hypothetical exoskeleton to defray negativity and they’ll nurse you back to normalcy.
3 comments
I love that word for it: “exoskeleton”.
I agree muspelhem, exoskeleton is a pretty fantastic word.
OP: you were raised by a lady a lot like my own mother, except mine didn’t try to kill me, it would look bad to the neighbors to be taken from the home in handcuffs. This post is oddly hopeful and I enjoyed reading it. I hope you stick around and read some of our stories and possibly join in on the mayhem and hope.
People can be the worst and best thing to happen to a person who is suicidal. It’s Just a matter of differentiating amidst the two.