So here I find myself - yet again - as a outpatient of a psychiatric ward. Just what I needed right? But it's not like I don't already know the routine. Handcuffs. Ambulance. Emergency Room. Transfer. Psych Ward. Wash, rinse, repeat.
As of yesterday (Monday) it has been 2 week since the "incident." And by that I mean the most terrible thing that can happen - attempted suicide. So does that mean it was a success or failure? Nice way to think right? That day is the scariest day of my life thus far. If I wouldn't have called 911, I would have died. According to the doctors and nurses if I would have waited another half an hour or so I would have been long gone. The day in itself is such a blur (which is understandable given the situation). That day I woke up fighting the worse war against the thoughts in my head that I had finally waved my white flag and was ready to do it. I started off with one Seroquil pill, then another, then another, then a whole handful. I felt myself slowly slipping away. I had already fashioned a blade from a disposable razor and had slit my wrists. When the paramedics arrived at the scene I had already become numb and heard sounds as if they were far off in the distance. I remember trying to hide the blood stains from my mom, but it was of no use because right away I was handcuffed and forced to answer questions. How the hell am I supposed to answer all of these questions for the police when I'm already on the verge of dying? At least the ambulance saved me because the EMTs took me away super quick. I felt bad trying to disguise the actual pain that I was feeling inside. Not only was it just the physical pain from the toxins of the medications, but also the emotional pain from the entire thought of the suicide itself. Did I want to die? I know at the moment I wanted to just be liberated of all burdens and finally reside in peace, but right now I realize that it would have been a tragedy to go in such a way. I'm young, and it would be a waste of time if I prevented myself from living to old age and getting to experience the wonders of the world. So much goes through my mind sometimes that I get caught up in the moment and almost blackout in a sense because I am numb from all of the surrounding stimulation. I scared everyone, and the part that still eats at me is that I didn't care that I scared everyone. It sounds terrible, but this attempt was not a slap in the face, nor a tease or anything. It was just a battle of me against myself that I had finally given up on.
Now that I look back at it all I kind of feel ashamed for what happened. I don't want to seem like a coward from taking my own life. But then again suicide is the ultimate courage tester because you go into the attempt knowing the consequences and possibilities of fatality.
I promised that I won't ever attempt suicide ever again. I want to stick to my word, but I apologize in advance if anything happens to me because it would not be intentional. Just sometimes I feel so hopeless that I don't know what else to turn to besides my razor blades, alcohol and pills. I'm just sorry for being me sometimes. I don't want to burden others solely because I exist. I know all of these thoughts of mine are probably ridiculous, but those are actual snap shots of what goes inside this ugly head of mine.
I still don't know what to think of it all. It's so very surreal. But I know for a fact that I want to fight this and win so I can keep on living.
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