Trigger warning — discusses suicide.
It was the lowest day in my life. My depression hit a wall. I didn’t know what to do anymore. I had been out of college, graduated 5 months prior, in December 2011. It was May 2012 now. I had no money. I had quit my job in March, but it was a student job from my college, and I wasn’t a student anymore so I was bound to lose it at some point anyway.
My parents had been paying most of my bills. Even with my job, I didn’t have enough money for rent and food. They wouldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t blame them. Rent, food, even my students loans – they were paying for them. They cut me off. My lease ended at the end of May.
I had to move home to Texas to live with my mom and her husband or I was homeless, in Indiana. Neither option was a good choice. I didn’t want to move to Texas. I hated it there. I wasn’t fond of my mom’s husband nor was I fond of my relationship with my mom – living together for more than 2 weeks usually ended up in a disaster with arguments galore.
So back to the worst day of my life —
I decided I could live anymore. I was done. I had attempted to end my life multiple times before. I had failed many times before. Usually, I called for help. I realized it was the wrong choice. I realized I didn’t really want to die, just wanted the pain to end. This time, it was different though. I went all out – I was determined to die. I was ready to die. I didn’t want to be saved. It wasn’t a cry for help.
It was still an overdose, as usual. I didn’t take the pills all at once though. I strategically took them over time. Ten pills here, ten pills there, ten pills here… over a course of 24 hours. They slowly built up in my system. My liver was toxic. My case manager met with me the next morning. I didn’t tell her anything. The tone of my voice and the negativity in my voice I suppose let her know that I was having the suicidal thoughts though. She left, but 30 minutes later called me back. I answered and she asked me how I was. Of course, I said fine. She said she would call me again. I couldn’t understand how she knew something was going on. Before she ever called me back – there was banging on my door. The police, paramedics… they were all at my door. I refused, I refused to go anywhere. Because of my past history of suicide attempts though, they could get a court order and have me taken in – with handcuffs and all if I did not go. So I went.
The paramedics took me, I refused to tell them anything. Blood tests were taken and showed that my liver was at toxic levels and I was very close to actually dying. They couldn’t believe I was not sick, that I wasn’t in horrible pain from how my levels were. I told them I refused treatment, I wanted to go home. Absolutely not – it was not going to happen. Mucomyst – it is the antidote to Tylenol overdose. I was given it, immediately. It also made me incredibly ill. Police were outside of my door since I was set on leaving and not being treated. I was throwing up and became very ill. They gave me Reglan to combat the vomiting. That was a mistake because I was allergic to Reglan. My face swelled. I got hives all over. I couldn’t breathe well. I was going to die! Nope — then I got Benadryl. I was miserable. What a miserable way to be. A few friends from my NAMI support group came to be with me. They sat with me, disappointed that I had gone to these lengths. I was upset. I was upset that I didn’t die. Yet I was happy. I was happy that someone cared enough to save me. I didn’t know how I felt. I was horribly ill – mentally and physically. I was supposed to be sent to the ICU, but the ER was trying to stabilize me from all the reactions I was having to the medications to combat the overdose. Finally, I was sent to the ICU.
I spent 5 days in the ICU. Maybe 4. I’m not sure. I was then released into a psychiatric hospital. I spent two weeks there. I had been to that hospital before, many times. They weren’t surprised to see me. Upon my release I only had a few days to be out of my apartment because my lease was up.
I won’t forget that day though. The day I attempted suicide. Sure, I had done it before – but that day, it was the worst attempt I had ever had. It was the attempt I really wanted. The attempt I had hoped would actually work. It was right near my mother’s birthday, right near Mother’s Day. It was the attempt that actually really hurt my family. The one that made everyone realize that I was struggling really bad. It was the day that I realized I was hurting everyone around me whenever I hurt myself. It was the day that I realized I would probably never attempt suicide by overdose again either – hopefully never attempt suicide again period too.
I have had really crappy days since then. I have had horrible days. I have still had my suicidal thoughts and been back in the hospital since then. But, when I think of the worst day, that is the worst day that comes to mind. It was caused by all the horrible things that happened before me. The culmination of all my past events that made my mind go crazy, it was caused by my chemical imbalances … and all those things just created the worst day ever. The lowest day in my life. The lowest point in my life.