5 years ago

5 Years ago today is when I tried to ctb. I was 16.
The events around it that triggered it, I admit, were bullshit but my reasoning behind it was not.
I got home from school. the bullshit that happened was that I thought I lost a friend, someone I loved, due to some stupid shit that happened that I thought was my fault. I blamed myself for everything back then. That’s what triggered it. My reason behind wanting to die is that I saw myself as a worthless person who could never do anything right and would never amount to anything in life. I figured, this is the last straw. I’m tired of it, and now that I lost someone I really cared for it’s not worth it anymore. I spent the whole evening thinking how to do it. Hadn’t done any prior research. Took some rope, looped it around the top of my closet door in a special way so that it wouldn’t come apart or fall down (I’m 5’2″ and was about 130lbs back then) tied a knot at the end of the rope (don’t remember the knot I used but I’m good at crafts and sewing so I assumed it would have worked) stood on a step-stool and put the rope around my neck.
I guess that’s when the survival instinct kicked in. I didn’t understand until years later what held me back. It’s like I couldn’t control my body, my thoughts were all over the place and I couldn’t think straight, my mind felt like a hive of bees. It’s like I turned into a robot. I got off the step-stool and climbed into bed, I think I fell asleep right away.
The next day I remember a lot better. I got up the next morning, caught the bus (literally, the bus to go to school, lol) got to my high school and walked through the halls, still like a zombie. I didn’t talk to anybody (that says a lot, considering my high school has 3300 people in it and I had loads of friends) I went into the computer classroom early that my chemistry class was in. This next part sounds stupid and I’m kind of embarrassed about it. The first person that talked to me that day was my teacher (she was a ***** and everybody hated her, but I still managed to get an A in her class anyway) and she asked me why my project wasn’t done yet. In 1.5 seconds I went from zombie to total nutcase and I blurted out that I tried to kill myself the night before.
Suddenly, she wasn’t a ***** anymore. She kicked everybody out of the room. “Aww, Honey, why?”
“I hate myself.” Was my response. I didn’t say anything else.
Then there was a lot of shit that happened. She took me down to some counselor on the first floor. I was stuck in that office until my parents came to pick me up. Since they both work in a hospital I guess the school thought it would be okay if they didn’t call an ambulance and just had my parents drive me instead. My parents (my mom and step-dad, just for the record) acted all upset and worried in the office, but once I got to the car I was in deep shit with them. “Why the fuck did you do this?” “Well what the fuck are we going to do with her?” “I had stuff to do today, you know!” It went on and on. They couldn’t take me to hospital #1 because that hospital sucks. They couldn’t take me to hospital #2 because my grandma was staying there for cancer treatments, and they also worked there (wouldn’t want to tarnish their reputations, now would we?) So they took me to hospital #3, which it turned out, they didn’t have a psych ward. So I sat there in the hospital while people in scrubs questioned me, stripped off my clothes and inspected my body, put me in a hospital gown, made me pee into a cup, then made me wait for 9.5 HOURS while they waited for an ambulance to transfer me back to hospital #2. I switched back into zombie mode. I was totally calm, wasn’t freaking out or crying or screaming or anything. But they strapped me to a gurney anyway and zoomed me off to the other hospital. Went to sleep that night in a hospital bed that kept making noise all night because it kept re-inflating itself. There was no mirror in the shower, just a plate of highly polished metal screwed to the wall. The towels were small and scratchy. The pillows were flat, not soft and squishy like at home. In the windows, the blinds were between the panes of reinforced glass. The only view I had from the window was the animal shelter across the street that I used to visit as a kid. I never got to finish my crafts that I started, and I was there for a week. My parents refused to bring me anything from home, except for my music books because they let me play the piano a few times. When they let me wear my real clothes again, I only had two outfits: The jeans and black t-shirt I wore to school, and a pair of sweat pants and my Wicked: The Musical t-shirt. My parents yelled at me because I didn’t take showers enough at the hospital, “You’ll make yourself look bad [to the doctors] because you don’t shower!” when in reality all I was given was a trial sized bottle of baby shampoo to wash myself for a week. And my parents refused to give me any toiletries from home. wtf, right? They told the scrubs “Oh she doesn’t really want to die, she didn’t really try to kill herself, otherwise she would have already died. It was a fake attempt. She’s only doing this for attention. She’s only doing this to make us look bad.” That last sentence will haunt me forever. They never really cared for me, they only care about their reputations.
When I got out of the hospital, I totally missed seeing the leaves change color. In one week, everything changed to orange and yellow and red. 🙁
I told the scrubs that I may be depressed in the future, but I would never be suicidal again.
HAHAHA what a laugh.
What makes me mad is that I never told anybody the real reason why I was so depressed. The fact is, I had been emotionally/mentally abused by my parents for as long as I can remember. And I had also been molested and sexually harassed many, many times by several people, mostly by my step-dad. I wish I told somebody, anybody, who could really have helped me and gotten me out of there. My friends knew (my close girl friends knew because he hit on them, too) but nobody said anything to any authorites or doctors or anybody. That’s one thing I regret. Because now the bastard has gotten away with it, and I’m stuck where I am in life. Everyday I was treated like I wasn’t good for anything except chores, sex, and looking pretty. I still have to convince myself everyday that I’m not just some stupid woman… That I’m also good at art and music and science and sewing and understanding people and psychology. I also have to convince myself everyday that even though I am smart, that I’m not wasting my potential by working a shitty job and not going to school. Maybe my story isn’t as awful as some other people’s out there, I’m not physically disabled or mentally ill to the point where I’m in a psych ward 24/7. I’m not homeless living on the streets, prostituting, or on drugs. But I still haven’t figured out the real question in my life… Why did he hurt me so bad? Why did my mom not care? I’m still haunted by my demons every day. I have to live with this everyday for the rest of my life. For now, I’m continuing to live because I’m doing everything I can to make sure nobody else gets hurt like I did.
Thanks for listening to my story. I just needed someone to listen.