For those who have survived suicide.
My story isn’t as crazy as many others, but it’s a story nonetheless. When I was 17, school was very difficult for me. I really had the hardest time paying attention in school and legitimately had zero interest in doing any school work. Needless to say, my grades were horrible.
At that time, I had invested a lot into a hobby, I guess. It was something that my friends and myself really found joy in. It was something I loved to learn about, theory craft, war game, all that jazz. It was always on my mind. The possibilities were absolutely endless from my own point of view. Even with the love of this hobby, I didn’t perform as well as my friends, and even when I did, I never found it good enough. Unreal expectations, maybe? Or, maybe I’ve just always been too humble to place myself ahead of anyone, especially my friends.
One day, I sold off some items related to this hobby for a bit less than they were worth, and found something new. I’ve never really concerned myself with monetary value, but this is the first time I’ve ever handled this amount of money. Before I knew it, I was diving head first into an auction on Ebay and got ripped off. Now, I wouldn’t say this directly attributed to anything, but it definitely bummed me out, and well, I surely felt removed from the hobby that was at that time, my passion.
From there on, I’m not really sure what happened. It’s been over 10 years now, and I couldn’t describe what it was that convinced me to do what I did, but I know I felt a sense of no value. I know that I didn’t see value in anything around me. I didn’t want to do anything, but get better at that hobby. Who knows, had I stuck with it I could have progressed into something respectable. I was young, though. I doubt I could have seen beyond the next few hours, much less into any kind of positive future for myself. What I could see was that I was my own worst enemy. That much was quite clear.
You see.. My confidence was shot. My self-esteem was non-existent. Why? I was very very short, weak, and I had a tendency to say or do things without thinking. I had little to no interest in anything or anyone that should have mattered to me. As a matter of fact, these things stand true today as well, but that’s for another post, yeah?
So, fast forward several months, and now I’m in my room. I’m alone in the dark, and I think I was trying to make myself cry to release some of the sorrow siphoning my soul from me. I was literally on the floor convincing myself to end it. I’ve never felt so cold, I guess is how you describe it. All I know is that it felt very dark. The only thing that really filled my mind was a time that a close friend called me stupid. I’m fairly certain he was joking, but for some reason, those types of comments have always gotten to me. It’s probably because I have somehow convinced myself I am stupid. Who knows, but that’s really what was coming to mind. I couldn’t begin to explain how I truly felt in that moment, nor could I possibly remember what I was saying to myself, but I can say that it was quite cruel.
After hours of verbal torture, I finally convinced myself. I grabbed any pill I could find, and swallowed them one by one until I was full. I think the wait was the most nerve wracking part. I had no idea what was going to happen to me, nor was I certain I took the right pills. I didn’t know anything at all except that I messed up, and I messed up bad. After psyching myself out for how ever long, and trying to endure the stomach pains, I heard my mom head out the back door to smoke, and I ran over to tell her what I had done. Honestly, I panicked. I was totally freaked out. That’s when the lights when out.
According to my mother.. I fell to the floor and began to seizure. I started to foam at the mouth and just stretched my arms and legs to very unnatural lengths. My mom was terrified, but after the police arrived I guess I snapped out of it, and ran to the bathroom to puke. Yeah, I lived. Shocker, right?
I think surviving was way worse. I couldn’t urinate for the urinalysis, so they had to use a catheter. Plus, I had to drink that liquid charcoal to puke up what ever was left in my stomach. Then, the ride in the back of a cop car to the juvenile loony bin was pretty terrifying. Beyond that, I got to meet a lot of really interesting kids. Kids that probably had it way worse than I did. As far as I could tell, I was just a brat that felt sorry for myself. The worst part was that everyone felt cold from then on out. Rightfully so, I imagine. It was probably pretty difficult to take me serious after that.
Since then, I often go into spells of depression. Thankfully, I guess, I haven’t done anything since then. Although, it crosses my mind a lot, and I’ve simulated it hundreds of times. I must not really want to die, but I clearly must not really want to live either, so.. I’ve really been stuck for the longest time without any clue how to fix myself. The only time I feel like life is worth living is when I’m lost in some fantastic thoughts. There’s no value in living like that, though.