WaterWorks Is Still Here (My trip to the psych-ward)

Well am that guy who lost his scholarship so, I set my date for Sept 25/26.

I had it all planned out and I had said my inconspicuous goodbyes to my sister. I wrote my first post on here (Sept 24), and made up my mind (if you’re wondering: No I didn’t leave a note, coz I didn’t care). As you guessed I’m still here, and I spent all of last week in a Psych-ward in Vicksburg. I opted not to meet God on the dark side, and yes, I was scared of dying, and also of waking up again. Here’s what they don’t tell you about getting help; it feels like it isn’t helping. Get ready now, this is where I start telling my super long story of the last 2 weeks of me getting “Help”.

So after 3 days of trying to convince myself to get it over with, I figured heck if you’re not gonna do it then spill the beans. I kinda broke it down to my sister, and she kinda broke down herself coz well I should have been dead. Needless to say, I got emotional coz it was my first time talking about ME (Who am I? Who are you? Why are we… oh my bad) moving on. Then I decided to see a counselor the coming Friday (sept 28), which I 20% still regret coz I ended up in a psych ward for a week. I talked to a dozen emotionless parties who couldn’t give a hoot that I was still alive coz “Uhh no! more paperwork” At least that’s what I think they were thinking. After they were done jabbing needles into me to see if had cancer? or if I had the blues (if that’s an actual disease now)? I don’t know what mental disorder you diagnose with a urine sample but hey, here we are. I got shipped to the psych-ward (I say shipped coz I was strapped down like hannibal lecter, all I was missing was the mask) and stuffed in an ambulance. Came to the psych-ward, spent a week making friends with crazy old people, suicidal bikers, bipolar christians and well love-sick momma’s boys (I say this with respect coz they were good people). I actually was happy there, and the world just kinda faded away (mainly coz I couldn’t go outside the whole time) BUT I liked the people and the food and the bed and the TV… oh yeah and the lack of stress. By the time I got out, I thought “Yeah, Give me your best shot world; coz am ready”. Then 6 hours later it hit me (EVERYTHING hit me, all at once like the wave in 2004’s movie The day after tomorrow) all my problems came rushing in like they missed me so much. Now, I had to face it all, yeah I got “help” but my life was still a nightmare. I lost my scholarship, my family and friends were still jerks, and my hopes of being a doctor were done. Honestly, I would have ended up suicidal again; the thoughts came back and the reasons to do it were better than ever. BUT I had my sister, and I couldn’t just do it again after everything she went through being there for me.

Long story short, I gave myself reasons to keep going. The desire to kill myself was MUCH stronger than it ever was, coz I just couldn’t fix my life. So it feels like the “Help” didn’t really help. But I know it did. Coz the worst thing I can imagine right now, is to fail all those genuine people who stuck a hand out to me and said “keep walking”. It’s been a week now, and I finally know I’m gonna dodge all those punches life’s throwing. I don’t hate myself for letting myself get to where I am, coz the person who wanted me dead the most was me. I’m giving me a chance, even though only 1 person in the world will give me one. I’m a week out of hospital fighting tooth and nail for my dreams and sitting alone on a Friday night typing a post on a suicide website, not knowing if anyone will read it. Many say I don’t have a life but good thing I know they don’t know what they’re talking about coz I KNOW what not having a life feels like.

So here’s my conclusion to my suicidal partners-in-crime, the days you get help will be the worst days of your life. Coz all the problems you were going to run away from, you realize “Now I have to LIVE through that”, and you feel like IT’S NOT HELPING. But that’s the thing, give it a month (okay maybe a few months) and the person you’ll be won’t ever be the same as who you were. Coz you know how many tiles are in your classroom floor coz you were always looking down, you know how many steps it takes to get to gym class coz you were always looking down… you know what the bottom looks like, and you know it NOW, many others are going to FIND OUT soon enough. They’ll laugh at you coz life is good to them but it wasn’t to us, we laugh at a funeral while they cry coz you and I know death is a blessing that frees you from the fight. So we’re NOT SCARED OF DYING, at least I’m not, I’m afraid of dying with regrets. So yeah the “help” doesn’t really help, it takes a LONG time. And hey, I’m just a week out of the slum (psych-ward lol). I’m struggling but I’m learning to play guitar so there’s my +1 point. I’m looking for anyone who’s a surviver or wants to survive, leave a comment… like seriously leave a comment… yes, YOU leave a comment… are you seriously still reading? then just do it already coz you’re still reading this (-_-)