Rejected By Suicide

  November 10th, 2017 by superficiality

I can’t lie, not here, because everyone here is here for a reason. I’m here, for a reason. Or, so, I think.

July 27th, a Thursday, I attempted for the first time. I’ve self-harmed plenty of times before, since the age of 14. However, it wasn’t until July 27th, that I actually tried to go through with it. I was alone, in my room, crying my eyes out. I didn’t even think about grabbing a razor, that’s how tired I was. I used to cut, but that, to me, does nothing effective. It bleeds, it scabs, it scars. Time after time, my cuts continue to disappear and leave a scar. Yet, this time I wanted something permanent. I went into the laundry room and took hold of the bleach, why not? It’d be effective, it’d last longer, it’d take me out of this misery. I didn’t bother pouring it into a cup. I drank from the gallon. I kept swallowing. My throat burned and my head began to hurt, but I didn’t stop.

They tell you that your life will flash before your eyes. They tell you that you’ll feel better as you see the light. None of that is true, not for me, at least. Instead, my head felt heavy, but light at the same time. I stopped after a while, and I sat on the ground, because my body felt numb. I leaned up against the wall, tears streaming down my face.

My little brother, just eleven years old, walking in on me. He saw what I had done and he called for my mom. Immediately, she called 911 and they stayed by my side for it all.

I don’t remember the ambulance arriving. I don’t remember being put into the ambulance. I don’t remember the sirens. I don’t remember them putting needles in my arms. All I remember is the man in the ambulance telling me to “stay awake”, but I didn’t want to be awake. He told me that my mom and brother were following the ambulance to the nearest hospital. But I don’t remember arriving at the hospital. I don’t remember it.

I remember waking up and realizing that I was still alive. I broke down, tears streaming down my face as I tried to rip out the IVs. I was screaming, and they held me down. They calmed me down, I was sedated.

I woke up again. I had never felt so disappointed. I felt like I couldn’t do anything right, not even suicide. I felt like such a failure, why did it even matter? I’m just a stupid person, why didn’t it work? I have no reason to be on this earth.

Today, I stay alive in the assumption that maybe I didn’t die for a reason. Maybe I will accomplish something. What? I don’t know. I still question suicide, but I don’t try. Not anymore. It didn’t work the first time, so what’s the point of trying again? Why try, when I was rejected the first time?

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