I have never written about my suicide attempt publicly or discussed it with those closest to me. Perhaps I should have, maybe it would have made healing a little bit faster. For both, me and my loved ones. Just make it clear… it had nothing to do with the people around me. It had everything to do with the things I buried within myself. To the eyes of others, everything seemed to be fine. It was a direct effect of the depression that I was fighting alone, not because I had to but because I chose to.
Am truly lucky to have survived and I have my loved ones to thank for that.
My Life Before My Suicide Attempt
I have always been in trouble with depression. At least for as long as I can remember, as a result I don’t even know life without it. As well as the mania that keeps me awake and has given me the ability to over-perform at many tasks to the point of exhaustion. Bipolar disorder… It is a vicious cycle of ups and downs that are out of my control.
Where Did My Condition Come From
I believe that nobody has a direct fault in my condition. It is a mixture of genetics and life that I have been exposed to. Perhaps, my inability to ask for help when I needed it is also at fault. It just seems to me that I feel life at it’s extremes. Just as much as I feel the love I feel the rage. Or just as much as I get happy I get sad.
It is ironic… Sometimes I feel like there is no barrier between me and the world but I can also be very numb. And I tolerate stress very well but always seem to crash after prolonged exposure. My mother said that I fly so high that she is always afraid of the fall because I fall hard. I plummet from the sky with traces of fire burning the arms of anyone that tries to catch or hold me.
Up until I got out of the hospital I never really spoke about my troubles. Not that I didn’t trust people around me… I just did not want to burden anyone. And I still feel that I am annoying. I know that I am a teacup, and a cup can only hold so much, yet I don’t want to talk. As human beings, it is vital to talk to others. I wish that I had accepted sooner that was not meant to carry the boulders on my chest as a secret.
Even when I was relentlessly beaten and spat on in school I kept it all inside of myself, it festered there for years before I dared to talk about it. I have always been a loner and felt awkward around people. Maybe this is why I also started writing poetry and stories that can also be found on this blog. To me, it is the process of bleeding out words and then carefully stitching myself back together.
Writing is my Magick.
My Life and My Frustration With It
I can feel the rage in me that burns my insides even to this day.
When I was young I knew what I wanted to be: a writer, a musician, a painter, a woman in love with the world. I still don’t think I will ever manage to be the last one. Somewhere in the course of my life… I lost my sight. My dreams were just dreams as I tried to make sense of the world around me. Desperately be a part of it even if I couldn’t be happy over many of my achievements. They weren’t the ones I really wanted.
What I mean is that there were many different jobs. Just so that I could pay the bills. And say that I have made it on a ladder. “Look at me”, despite of my mental illness I have been a car painter, a baker, a comanager. I am not lying when I say that it felt as if I was slowly killing my soul while doing these jobs.
The sad part is that I still feel the same way about work but now I have learned to say no. I don’t have to be the one going to work when someone doesn’t show up. Back then it was just loading work hours into my month. Often not sleeping due to my mental illness. I ended up working eight days in a row with days in them with 0 sleep. Often 15 – 16 hours a day. To me, it was an adult thing to do.
“Poetry is stupid, and I am too old to get anywhere in music”.
My days consisted of cursing the alarm clock and dragging my sorry ass to work with little to no sleep; over-performing at work, coming home to drink wine, and cry under the covers. I had lost all of my will to write or to sing. Even drawing seemed to be too big of a process. My psyche was just too tired and exhausted and I was hiding the gaping hole inside of my chest. I wanted to be normal.
Before that or even now… I always had writing or music to return to. But I was too tired to do what I loved even as a hobby.
I felt alone and miserable
I never felt that I fit in. It was as if no matter how hard I tried to be a normal functioning adult, I still felt out of place. And I wasn’t alone, I was already in a relationship. My sis and ma were always there for me too. Three people blamed themselves the most. I am truly sorry for the torment I caused.
So, after quitting the job and finding a new one. Suddenly I had day offs. Alone at home, I was left to deal with the aftermath of my actions. Not being present in my own life, running on autopilot, and depleting myself of things that made me me.
I was running away from myself for so long that it all caught up. And I was even more miserable, I felt I wasted my life doing things that had little meaning to me just to fit in and be normal. As if I had held a gun to my face and killed off the child in me that only ever wanted to be free in art – chained myself to a belief that to be successful I had to fit in and hide the mad.
Whatever you do, don’t show your wildness, your bonkers, and your creativity.
I Was Self-Destructive
I hated myself and the choices I had made so much that I wanted to rip all that I cared about apart. Just to hurt me even more. Started drinking again and occasionally popping pain medication to get high. Something I was proudly free of for five years. I deleted my poetry blogs and threw away my old drawings and all the photos I had of my life up until that point. Then I stopped talking to people and almost broke up with the man that, for some reason, loves me. It all happened in the course of a few months.
I became a hermit again, built walls around me, and not even those closest to me couldn’t see it coming.
The Trial of a Suicide
With tears streaming down my face and me being alone with all my demons in the room with me. I became my own worst enemy and bully. Relapsed into the same addictions that I went through thick and thin to get rid of.
I cried to the point of becoming numb and there were no thoughts or tears in me left. Drinking since the morning in a frenzy I emptied all of my antipsychotics into my mouth and downed it with beer. As I laid myself to sleep I remember thinking that I need to pee and that I don’t want to be found in my own pee.
After that, it is a blackness.
I Was Found
On that day my mother for some reason tried to reach me. I didn’t answer my phone and she knew that something was wrong. My boyfriend had a feeling too, he came home 2 hours earlier. When he opened the door, I was lying unconscious between the mattress and the toilet. I can’t remember if I even made it to the toilet. He called my mother saying that I was breathing funny, it was a gurgling noise. My mother screamed at him to call the ambulance.
The moment I was lifted into the car my heart stopped and the ambulance yelled at my boyfriend that he can not come with me, he is not family since he is not my husband.
Call it a Dream
As science says that when we die our brain still keeps working, I heard the doctors and my boyfriend, unable to talk back. Standing next to myself I felt the pain in my heart as they were working hard to bring me back.
In the hospital, while they tried to put me under the breathing apparatus I opened my eyes and tried to fight them off of me. I scratched a few nurses pretty badly, I am sorry. They ended up putting me back to sleep (induced coma) and tying me to bed as I woke up several times before succumbing to the darkness.
the Hardest Part
When I woke up, I woke up several times, opening my eyes and falling back to sleep. The nurse that bathed me with a rag kept talking to me in a very motherlike way. “Your mother is coming, your boyfriend was here yesterday.” and “Your boyfriend is coming, let’s get you clean.” also “Let’s untie you.”.
The pain hit me when I opened my eyes and my whole family including my boyfriend were beside my bed. To this day they did not know if I will wake up, doctors said that my organs might not come out of it. I can not even put into words the quilt that overwhelmed me when I realized where and why I was. The moment I did that I was not thinking, I was on the outside looking in. Now I was face to face with the aftermath of my actions.
The Aftermath of My Suicide Attempt
My first words were “Where is food?” then I saw my family and muttered, “I am sorry.”
The fact that I lost my job with my then-boss tells me that people like me are not needed around there. Did not hurt as much as the realization of the pain I caused those that cared for me. Even now, five years later, I can feel the rush of guilt. If I had succeeded… the guilt would be in their hearts. As someone who has dealt with a loss of a loved one through suicide, I never thought that I would do something like this to those around me.
I wish I could erase the memory and fear from their minds and tell them it was not their fault. And there is nothing they could have done differently… I am very grateful for all the support and love, and I never meant to hurt them.
I have vowed to be myself now, no matter how wild and how imperfect. I am human, darkness and light coexist inside of me and it is ok. As human beings, we are imperfect and still deserving of love. No one should hide their darkness because of fear of rejection. Or do something just because society told them to/ the beliefs that were branded into their skull.
I am free when I write.
To this day I feel like quitting my job and selling poetry on the curbs.
And if you need someone to talk to, I am all ears, you can contact me through the ask form and email me from there.
My whole collection, as a book, yes. Can be found here.
Until then you can find it on Spotify here.
And you may subscribe to my YouTube channel as I am slowly adding lyric videos there.