Exactly a month ago, they discharged me from the psychiatric ward. Four days prior, I killed myself. I didn’t attempt suicide, I didn’t almost kill myself – I did. Why did I do it? For a multitude of reasons. Life has been too big of a roller coaster for me and for nearly the last two years, it’s been the downward plunge. Before this gets any more complicated, any more detailed, let me start at the end.
3 p.m. – It’s been nearly 11 days since I last got any decent amount of sleep. Decent in the last year can best be described as little sleep for the regular person, which is four hours maximum, two averaged. The less sleep I get, the more agitated, short-tempered and achy I’ll be, also indicating that ANY amount of sleep I get will be haunted by bloody and pain filled nightmares. I want sleep, can’t sleep and my dreams won’t let me sleep. Time to do something about it – pop the first sleeping pill.
4 p.m. – Clearly, I don’t have a handle on my anxiety level and cannot rationalize on even breathing. I’m taking short breaths, beginning to hyperventilate and feel like I’m suffocating all at the same time. I want SLEEP, GOD DAMN IT! Why isn’t the pill working?! Maybe, I need another. Down the second one with a glass of water.
4:15 p.m – The first wave of drowsiness hits but it’s not nearly the strength I desire to pass out. Something (instinct?) screams calm down, PUT THE BOTTLE AWAY! Nobody’s home to distract me and I’m determined to slip into oblivion: dry swallow the third bomber.
4:30 ish (no real cohesion on the time) – Fuck it! Obviously the meds aren’t working, have stopped working and I need to nudge it along. Take a handful of prescription narcotics on top of another sleeping ‘aid’ and lie down, this time my breathing so shallow I don’t have enough oxygen to function. Finally, I’m drifting off to a dreamless wonderland. NO more pain, nightmares, feverish worries about my future, my loved ones, all the failures up to now. Blacking out…
6 p.m. – My ex-fiance breaks into the house. I was so preoccupied with lack of sleep, I forgot about my day’s activities. We were supposed to meet up for dinner and do our usual thing on mellow days like today. I called sometime before everything went dark and he knew something was wrong. I don’t remember the conversation, don’t remember him picking me up off the bed and rushing me out the door to the E.R.
6:50 a.m. – Don’t recall crying for help and calling a nurse in the very hospital I was to end up in. Don’t remember much of the nightmare/trauma except for waking up in a haze. Waking up to the familiar smell of 10% bleach and hospital walls. Curling up in the hospital bed and damning myself for doing what I did and not succeeding. Curling up in a tighter ball because the thoughts are not my own, but all too familiar and crying for the next hour wondering how I became so lost.