Two years ago I faced the most difficult time in my life. I’ve explained in another post the reason for my first attempt, what I didn’t mention is that I was desperate enough to take 6 overdoses in a year. I thought I’d never do it, despite a history of mental illness; my friend killed himself at a young age and I’d seen what it does to people and promised I’d never do that to those who care about me.
And yet I did. Nearly.
I reached a point where I thought I was a burden on my family and friends who were always having to keep an eye on me. To be honest though, there was a part of me that didn’t care; I just needed to get out. I looked into my future and saw only pain and suffering, I couldn’t see any hope; and I needed another option. So I took it, I opted for death instead.
Hopelessness engulfed me until it became a physical pain, I had to hold myself as though I was keeping all the pieces of me together. Anxiety got so bad I struggled to leave the house, and when I did I frequently had a pseudo fit which meant trips to the hospital or days in bed. On top of this I have a problem with my bladder which means I’m often in pain and afraid to go too far away from a toilet, which didn’t help with my anxiety about going out. I’d lost a relationship and had to leave university so I felt I’d failed too. The more I thought about it the more hopeless I became and it grew into a vicious cycle.
Suicide became to me a kind of hope. I hoped that I would be successful and wouldn’t have to deal with the pain any more. I hoped that I wouldn’t have to think about a future, which to me was a terrifying concept. I hoped I wouldn’t have to see any more doctors. I hoped I wouldn’t have to feel like a failure. I hoped everything would end. So when I took the pills I wasn’t upset. I was happy that everything was about to end. I’d researched how long the overdose would take to kill me, and knew that I’d probably experience a high from the tablets before which seemed like a good plan at the time. I wanted a comfortable death.
The first thing I remember after taking them was the Nausea. Followed by an uncomfortable high: the most memorable being the time I tried to scratch my face off after taking a lot of anti-depressants. I’ve drank nail varnish remover before and felt the liquid burning me inside.The problem with suicide is that we were designed to live, which can make it harder to die. The methods which are most likely to work are also the most painful, or take an incredibly long time to kill you. Luckily for me I was found every time, and although I wasn’t happy about it then, I am glad to be alive now.
If you’re feeling suicidal I’m not going to tell you not to kill yourself, because if you’re feeling that way you wouldn’t listen to me. What I will say is that I am so incredibly pleased to have survived that I can’t even put it into words. I’ve been there and I understand how it feels to want to die, but in time I’ve found new hope and joy that I never thought I would find again in my life. There are other people who understand too, so if you really are determined to die why not at least give one of these people a chance? They might be able to help you like they’ve helped me!
Oh, and one other thing…. the world is a better place with you in it!