Success 20 months later.

June 7th, 2018by Small bean

TL:DRDon’t be afraid to call/ask for help, so many people care for others who are in difficult times, and are more than passionate to help! “Post-suicide” care (for lack of a better word) during the early stages can be difficult, but like scars, everyone heals emotionally and physically over time. I took a year and a half to be emotionally stable, and confident! Please, take your time rebuild yourself.

October 24, 2016 – I was hospitalized for suicide attempt when I was in my junior year of high school. Didn’t attend school too much beforehand, and lazily lived off of my allowance as I visited the man I loved on a daily basis. His affairs was one of the root problems during that time; my blind infatuation topping making that reason seem like a joke.

Specifications about my drama aside, I was desperate to die, knife and extension cord in hand; but I was scared to die. I sat on the side of my bed, and thought calling kid’s helpline was my last resort to changing my mind. I called, and the lady was helpful and had a calm tone to soothe my tears, and gave me instructions on what to do.

“I could call the hospital for you, and get an ambulance. Is that okay?” scared me more than it should.

I had a sudden tremor in my voice, and asked if I could go there myself, in fear that my neighbors (who were close with my mother at the time) could see a catastrophe just across the lawn. She agreed, and suggested to call back if I had trouble on my way to the nearest hospital.

I walked in, checked in, and settled in a rather large hospital room; it could fit 4 people at a time. The nurse instructed me to change into a set of hospital clothing, and set my bag and my stuffed bunny aside just close to the door.

“Please sign this.” as she handed me a paper. It was a contract of consent. With the adrenaline still rushing through my body as I was starting to regret my choices, I glanced the paper, and signed it without second thought.  “O fuk.” I thought as I saw the paper side out of view; I was still reading it, in hopes of nothing major.

My bag and clothing was is the nurse’s arms when I looked up, she smiled as soon as saw her, and left the door. I reluctantly walked across the cold floor to only see a man in bright yellow uniform, and dark pants block my entry way, gesturing for me to sit on the bed. I grabbed my stuffed bunny, and sat as told, as he pulled a chair to sit right at the foot of the bed. He was a security guard; stocky, and fully armed with whatever a security guard normally has.

The nurse returned and glanced down to my arms, and looked at me with a sad yet hesitated look “You can’t keep that with you honey, I’m so sorry.” and walked in front of me, waiting to surrender my bunny. Due to the contract, I couldn’t keep any of my items, other than those that I needed; like glasses. That was pretty much it. Its worse the more you think about what I can’t keep on me.

The torture began after I saw my bunny drifted out of my sight after the nurse took it

I waited long quiet hours with the security guy, with the only the knowledge that I’ll be transferring to a different hospital. I dreaded those 4 hours till I was mummified in bright orange blankets, and stretcher straps; I watched the paramedics push me into the ambulance with ease as they introduced themselves. They were extremely nice on the ride, and asked me about my musical passions and occupations to loosen me up to explain the current situation.

After a short bumpy ride, I ended up at a hospital the next city over. Arriving at the hospital was a bit crowded, yet oddly quieter than it seemed; occupied stretchers lining up before nearby wards, and people filling the waiting rooms. I had to wait for a half hour before settling into my new room, in the mental health ward. I regretted my decision more than I should; “I have to get out.” I thought to myself.

Passing though maze-like hallways with the help of paramedics, I finally settled in my hospital room, free from my binds. I sat up asking the paramedics when is the possibility of leaving with a hesitant grin on my face; “I don’t know kid” then closed the door. A beep alarmed me as the door shut, and I had just noticed at that moment, when the door across the hall reflected a red hue.

I was locked in.

Occupied with nothing but a bright orange blanket, a bed, a table, a chair, a fountain, and a slender window; I was bored fairly quickly. I looked around and saw horrid graffiti from previous patients, all of them quoting a cry for help or disparity for death. Looking out from the window was just nurses rushing around, uniformed security guards, and really really ominous “cell-mates” at their own window peering out.  In an attempt of calming myself, I sang, as loud as I can to drown out whats distracting me;

loud screams was the response from my “neighbor”.

I tried singing louder, nearly over powering her screams, until she started hitting the side of the wall we shared (she  clearly didn’t like my singing). She continued to lash out as nurses counted down, in hopes of calming her down. “I want to die, I don’t want to live” was her plea, and she repeated her words louder and louder, until the nurses and guards took action and (I assume) restrained her. The corridor of the ward fell silent, only to resume its busy sounds when the announcer said “Code yellow; Mental health ward”. It was full “video game” like atmosphere at that point; it didn’t feel real.

A few nurses knocked on my door, and opened it, presenting a heart pressure cart (thingy), and did basic checks on me; blood pressure, eye check, respiratory check. “What’s going to happen to me? My parents don’t know I’m here.” I asked once they finished. They looked at each other and one of them proceeded to say “I’ll be a while to wait for the psychiatrist, then they’ll give you information from there.” I nodded in response.

I waited for four hours until dinner was served to me, and it was the most delicious thing I ate all week. Beforehand my diet consisted of mainly pizza I shared with my significant other, so the mashed potatoes and oddly chewy steak (I ate with only two forks) was clearly a lovely change. I proceeded to play with the trash from my pudding cup, as a sort of “basketball-catch” game (?). I squished the lid into a ball and placed the empty cup on top of the fountain, and occupied myself for a few hours; testing my skills and tricks.

Another three hours passed, and the psychiatrist was at the door, and politely asked to come in; I replied with great relief “Please do come in”. He settled into the chair, and asked me a series of questions of how I’ve felt, and why I came there; it was relaxing to vent to someone.

“You are brave for coming here on your own, Miss ____. From my understanding you’ve settled yourself between two scenarios; both being opposite like black and white. If the ‘grey area’ you’ve settled yourself in, are you truly happy?” he told me. Although I honestly don’t remember the whole conversation in detail, I remember the subject clearly, and it was between my feelings and sacrifices, conflicting the overall toxic relationship I had with my significant other at the time. “Thank you” I muttered as he handed me a tissue box and discussed the problem.

We continued to talk, until I popped the question I’ve been wondering all day; “When is it possible for me to leave as as soon as possible? My parents don’t know I’m here, nor does my boyfriend…”.  He looked up looked up from his notes, “I don’t know, yet I’ll let the head nurse know you’re waiting eagerly for an early leave. Know that the contract mostly keeps patients overnight” and left my room, nodded and smiled before the door closed.

“Overnight??” I was terrified, and scared I’ll be in trouble.

A lady popped her head in front of the window and opened the door; she was the head nurse. I felt a rush of relief throughout my body, as I properly sat up on the side of my bed. “Your assessment went pretty well, I will release you if you promise to keep in contact with us to get some aftercare, okay?”  she smiled at me, and I nodded with a smile from ear to ear. I teared up and thanked her probably a hundred times over as I shook her hand.

My stuff was back in my possession, along with my treasured bunny; I was overwhelmed with happiness, and escorted outside to a taxi. I made it home with no suspicion, since my parents were absent; so I went straight to sleep.

About a week later, I arrived home with my mother furious of the hospital bill that was mailed; it was $40 dollars for the ambulance. “What’s wrong with you?” she yelled as she slammed the bill on to a glass table “I don’t know” I hesitantly replied under my breath, bee-lining into my room. I dropped my confidence I had gained during my hospital trip.

I fell into deep depression, not attending school for majority of first semester, attending some of my councilor meetings at both the hospital and school; I did nothing but stay in bed for the time being. I left my room if my parents weren’t home, to go eat or visit my significant other. My eating habits decreased to a meal a day, and slept for more than 12 hours a day; to suffice for the energy I lacked.

During my last meeting with my hospital councilor, he apologized and said “I’ll be transferring to a new hospital, so you’ll be under another councilor’s care.”  I nodded, and proceeded to move forward to the regular routine during our sessions. Yet after three weeks, I haven’t heard from the hospital about my transfer, so I had the responsibility of finding a new place for aftercare; it was far more difficult than I anticipated. I felt like a number that happened to fall through the cracks during the time I had to figure things out on my own, I hated myself more and more I kept searching. The place my doctor suggested had a three week wait, yet I had no response or call; I felt like absolute shit. 

(I didn’t really know how to incorporate this properly in the story, but at this point I had broken up with my ex-boyfriend; just stating that so no confusion.)

Months pass, numerous classes missed, grades dropped, night classes attended; these things brought me down, yet I had supportive friends who helped me during my journey. They’re amazing people who cared and loved me for who i was up until we departed our ways; telling me that attending my graduation ceremony wouldn’t be as bad as I thought it would be, and supporting me during the time I was assaulted in public.

Later that year, we all ended up in an argument, that nearly made me lose all ties with my friends; except one. I had to carefully pace myself, and think before every action I made with him, ensuring I don’t ruin our friendship again. He was a very selfless person to me; supported the actions I’ve made about school, and understood the pressures of my parents. I treasure him dearly to my heart till this day.

As of today (June 6th, 2018), I am a part time barista at Starbucks, my store is just an hour and a half away from home. My commute and job has occupied me and helped me grow a newfound passion to help others and coffee beans. I’ve worked there for 9 months now, and hoping to develop my selflessness into a career, to peruse music therapy; to help people who were like me, and elderly people on the brink of forgetting their happiest moments.

If you made it this far, congrats for seeing my raw writing; I probably have a ton of mistakes… Yet thank you so much for reading this far, I hope that this impacts someone one day, with the possibility to save someone’s life.

All in all, this is my suicide survival story.

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