Two years ago today, I ran away from home to attempt suicide. I left my house at 4:30am and walked to a dried up riverbed outside of town. The sun was coming up when I got there. I wrote in my journal for what I thought would be the last time. Then I slit my wrists. I had used that blade many times before so it was too dull. The cuts were nowhere deep or long enough. I underestimated how painful cutting directly into the vein would be.
I was disappointed, but then I went completely numb. I was nothing. I knew I needed help, so I went to a house nearby to ask for help. I don’t know what my plan was. To call home, to call 911? I don’t know. There was no response when I knocked the door. A dog was outside and walked up to me. I left and started walking on the road when a truck pulled up next to me. A man with a thick accent asked me if I needed help. I said yes. He probably saw my hands covered in blood because he just drove off.
I kept walking. Where to I don’t know. I knew I couldn’t return home. I walked hoping the exhaustion would kill me. I eventually came upon the freeway and walked along it. I came up to a little shop that appeared empty. I looked in and there was no one. Then the owner of the place then came out of a van and asked if I needed something. I asked for the restroom. In the restroom of some old dirty convenience store I washed dried blood off my hands and arms. I then stood outside for a bit to catch my breath. The owner told me to leave. I kept walking.
I wonder how I looked to people who saw me. I was wearing faded black jeans, a white shirt, a black hoodie, and a backpack. A thin 17 year old boy just walking. At this point I was still walking next to the freeway. A red car pulled up next to me. A woman who appeared to be in her late forties asked if I needed a ride. I said yes. She didn’t force me to talk. I listened to her talk about her life. She said that she saw me and she had turned back to give me a ride. She said that I looked exactly like her son. He had died six years prior.
We went to the nearest town. She bought me some food. She could probably tell that I hadn’t eaten all day. She then took me to the police station. On the way there I told her what I had done. We talked, and she told me that everything would be okay. When she left me she gave me a hug, and told the officer to tell my parents not to be mad at me.
I told my family I left because I was stressed. I didn’t tell them what had happened. Not a single person knew. Turns out that one of my friends posted that I was missing on Facebook, so everyone at school knew I was gone. It wouldn’t matter. Four days after my attempt I graduated from high school. I had completely forgotten about that whole week until recently. I often wish I had died that day. The last two years have been too much for me. My parents and a close friend now know that I attempted suicide that day, but I’ve never told anyone the whole story. My journal still has a blood stain from that day, and I’m still not doing well.
Sorry this was so long, but I needed to get it off my chest. Thank you if you read the whole thing.