“I had to die in order to live.” This is what I keep telling myself when I think about a past suicide attempt. For me I felt as though there were no other options, that ending the misery would end it all and that’d be fine by me.
I know many can relate to my above mentioned statement, and may sympathsize, but that’s not what I’m asking for here. As a matter of fact I’m not asking for anything, only stating what and how I felt, and who knows maybe what I have learned.
Do you know what it feels like to be in the dark, alone, afraid, and crying? Well I do I’ve been there many times, and currently there right now. Since I am in the pits of hell I dragged my labtop out and decided to type away on what it feels like. My last attempt on life I felt alone, but I wasn’t. Dark demons surrounded my being and demonic voices encompassed my brain. I didn’t know where or what to turn to and that is always the first key to me that I have come to a bridge in which there is a hole and I’m slowly falling through it towards something that is more destrctive than my own knowing.
I was cold, even in the summer heat of this lovely state. I was freezing, felt like icicles were forming on my earlobes as earrings. And that hole I was falling in felt heavy with dark black and grey creatures pulling and pushing at me. Clawing their way into my insides, riping me apart piece by piece. My sanity was gone, it had left my body and I felt I was no longer in control.
I was so lost that GPS navigation couldn’t save me from hell I was in. I couldn’t see where I was going, there was no clear passage to follow, so I closed my eyes for what I thought would be the last time and I fell into a deep sleep.
I did wake up, after all I’m still here, typing away, however I was somewhere I didn’t recognize and it was cold. COLD! Damn it I was cold again, surely my attempt worked but I was cold, suffering and all I could think about was why in the hell was I still cold? After all you hear the hell is hot and no one can get water, no matter how much they begged for it. So I cried out in agony, or at least I tried. There was something preventing me from screaming and then I blinked rapidly and realized my arms and legs where strapped down to a bed and all I could hear was a monitor counting my heart beat.
I was let in my hell anymore, rather the hell of a hospital room. Damn it, it didn’t work was my first thought then a nurse came in and checked the monitor, aggressively telling me to calm down or I would tear my bandages. Then I remembered the cuts and the pills, and the sadness on my mother’s face who was also worried that she had lost me. She didn’t, not completely.
Once I checked out to the on call ER doctor it was time to be transferred over to the psychiatric unit. Here I learned more about bipolar, my anxiety, stress, and how to manage/cope with them all among other things.
I’d like to say it doesn’t bother me that I took an attempt on my life, but it does. I have to live with that . . . . . .
*I may come back to this post and add more, but for now my brain cannot handle the emotional turmoil. . . . .