Warning: This post has the potential to be very triggering for some people. The title should give you a hint about what the topic is. I can think of several people in my life who, if they are reading this, may just want to skip this post. If you have any questions or comments that you don't feel comfortable sharing with the world, but would like to contact me about, please feel free to contact me through my profile page.
On October 20th 1999, I tried to kill myself. This is the story of that day
I was in what I was expecting to be my last year of college, to spite some set backs because of personal and family issues. A relationship that wasn't very good for me, but that had kept me from feeling the pain and loss of the man I did love, had just ended... he was making sure to rub my nose in it by bringing the new girl to our home. My family, in their traditional fashion, was going out of their way to make sure I completely worthless I was by regularly calling me and explaining to me in detail all of the ways I had destroyed their lives. I wasn't sleeping... ever. My eating disorder was still in high gear and I would go for a week at a time without eating anything. The pain from what I know now is Fibromyalgia had just started to really make my life hell, but every doctor I saw kept telling me that there was nothing wrong with me, and in one case, that I was making it up just for attention.
This is what was going on in my life at the time. I still can't begin to explain to people the mental, spiritual, and emotional pain I was in. How alone I felt. How worthless and empty I was in my own eye the week I decided that it was over for me.
The choice to kill myself wasn't one I had made lightly, and if I'm completely honest about it, I didn't fully decide that I was going to do it until I did.
A few days earlier, I had gone to the college health clinic and told them that I was having trouble sleeping. This was true, but it wasn't why I told them that. I have been an insomniac my entire life. Not sleeping wasn't anything new to me. I told them so they would give me the drugs I could use "if I needed them". At the time, I had no plans for using them, but they made me feel safe some how.
As the week went on, and my depression and pain got worse, I started to believe that I couldn't handle life any more. When I did sleep my dreams were riddled with horrors that I still can't bring myself to tell others about. My days were an endless torture chamber for my mind and body. No one loved me. No one would miss me.
But most importantly, the pain would end.
I needed the pain to end. I couldn't breath because of it. It consumed the person that I was and turned me into an evil monster that hurt everyone she loved, broke everything she touched, destroyed everything she was a part of.
I couldn't live like that anymore.
After a long day of classes, I came home to find my ex and his new girlfriend making out in our living room. It killed me how easy I was to replace. I left and drove around for a while. When I came back they were gone. The pain I was in was so extreme that I couldn't think straight. I kept telling myself that I didn't want to die. I just wanted to stop hurting.
I called the only person I knew you I never hurt with. Who I could always trust to make life better just with the sound of their voice. They hung up on me.
That was it. I had all of the proof I needed that I meant nothing to no one. I called my ex and told him to take care of the pets. Unplugged the phone. Pulled out the bottle of schnapps we had in the cupboard and the sleep aid the doctor gave me and drank them all down.
Now I just had to go to sleep and the pain would be gone. I would never feel lonely again. I would never be angry again. I would never hurt again. I would never be again.
The rest of that night is a blur.
I know the cops came. I know my ex showed up. I know I ended up in the hospital. I don't remember any of those things. They tell me I talked the whole way to the hospital and that I said some awful things to my ex. I don't remember that either.
The next thing I do remember in waking up in the hospital the next day. Still in pain. Still broken. Still alive.
Over the coming months and weeks people repeatedly asked me why I hadn't talked to them. Why didn't I ask for help?
The answer is still, because they didn't really want to hear it. People don't want to have to hear about my suffering because they have their own struggles to deal with. Since that night I have had more than one person leave me because they couldn't deal with the things that I have to live with day in and day out for the rest of my life. This isn't something I believe they have done. They have openly and honestly told me they couldn't deal with it, and then they have left me alone to struggle on as best as I can.
This used to make me very angry. How could these people tell me about how much they were there for me when ever I needed them and then walk out on me?! The truth is that these people have wanted to support me and show me how loved I am, but what I am dealing with is too much for one person or even many people to deal with.
These day I know that I am strong enough to not only survived the things that life throws my way, but to thrive. This is the gift I was given that night. The gift of knowing that there is nothing the world can hand me that will be too much. It has been tested (like when I lost my baby, when my husband left me, or when my best friend died), but every time I have passed the test. More than that, I have been able to pass this gift on to others when they have needed it.
I have saved others lives!
That by itself makes everything that I have had to go through worth it.