Fourteen
During the spring of my 15th year, I tried to kill myself.
I remember the bottles. We had plenty of drugs left over from my mother's treatment, and in particular I remember grabbing a bottle of Entropen, a muscle relaxant. I'm spelling the name wrong. I also poured a few other pills in the bottle. It's likely luck that most of these drugs were not at 100% efficacy.
I waited until lunch. There was a park next to my school "St. Mary" not "St. Mary's". They told us why once, and I never understood. I suppose the didn't want to denote ownership, just memory. The park next to the school was city property, but we congregated there at lunch. It' was quite lovely actually, with a stream, and big open green spaces.
I was there with a few friends, who watched as a sat on a swing, swallowing pill after pill dry. To this day, I can't stand to do that.
They did nothing. They went on with their day. I suppose I was likely unapproachable, and being bigger than most kids, they maybe didn't want to get involved? I tell myself these things sometimes, so that I won't still feel that horrible shit feeling that no one cared.
Nothing happened that afternoon, so I figured the drugs were bad, and went on with my day. When I got home, I wandered off to the local rink to watch hockey. (Hey, it's what you did then).
Suddenly my feet went out from under me, and I could barely stand. I pulled myself up, went outside to sit down. I caught my breath and went home. I decided to do the dishes then. I kept falling down. What an odd feeling it was, your feet and legs refusing to listen to you. My father came home,and commented that I seemed sick, and I should go to bed.
Sick.
My ears had begun to ring as I fell into bed.
I slept and slept and slept. I wish I could say that I almost died, and I saw a light, and my mother, and everything was a nice moment and I can back revitalized and happy. Nothing proved my atheism wrong. Nothing gave me hope.
It was black, blacker than anything I've ever seen. I remember feeling like I was just hanging somewhere, suspended in some sort of limbo. Everything was black. There were no dreams, it was not a normal sleep. I firmly believe that I was dying, and yet not.
I woke up midway through the next day, to a glorious blue sky, and a ringing in my ears that took 2 days to disappear. I decided that for some reason, I hadn't died. But the black taught me lessons, along with the people close to me who did nothing. Although I'm sure even if my Dad had his suspicions, he wasn't able to do anything about it.
I learned that no matter what, I was alone with myself, and had myself to rely on.
I learned that at the end of it, no one cares and you need to force yourself to live for you.
I learned that I'm not scared of dying, but not in a hurry to see if there's something on the other side of that black. Part of me is very much afraid that the blackness is all there is.
I find it so odd that while my school paid so much attention to my anger issues, they didn't see this. That my friends didn't tell anyone. That my Dad thought me falling down everywhere was just the flu, or my kidneys. I find it very sad that no one seemed to do anything about it.
Contrast that to when my friend tried, and I was able to save her. We were to get together one night, and she didn't call. That wasn't odd, so I called her. She was slurred, and sleepy, and I eventually got it out of her that she had taken a bottle of pills, washed down with beer.
Ah, the side effects of coming out in a small town.
I called my brother, I called another friends Mom. We drove to get her, carried her out of the house, drove her to the hospital. I'll never forget having to half drag her down the stairs, or try to explain to my other friend's 6 year old sister what Isabelle had done, and why I was crying.
She was ok, but she hated me for the charcoal. If anything, I think this and the counselling helped her father accept who she was. She came out stronger for it.
I went on with my life, wondering where my saviour was.
I remember the bottles. We had plenty of drugs left over from my mother's treatment, and in particular I remember grabbing a bottle of Entropen, a muscle relaxant. I'm spelling the name wrong. I also poured a few other pills in the bottle. It's likely luck that most of these drugs were not at 100% efficacy.
I waited until lunch. There was a park next to my school "St. Mary" not "St. Mary's". They told us why once, and I never understood. I suppose the didn't want to denote ownership, just memory. The park next to the school was city property, but we congregated there at lunch. It' was quite lovely actually, with a stream, and big open green spaces.
I was there with a few friends, who watched as a sat on a swing, swallowing pill after pill dry. To this day, I can't stand to do that.
They did nothing. They went on with their day. I suppose I was likely unapproachable, and being bigger than most kids, they maybe didn't want to get involved? I tell myself these things sometimes, so that I won't still feel that horrible shit feeling that no one cared.
Nothing happened that afternoon, so I figured the drugs were bad, and went on with my day. When I got home, I wandered off to the local rink to watch hockey. (Hey, it's what you did then).
Suddenly my feet went out from under me, and I could barely stand. I pulled myself up, went outside to sit down. I caught my breath and went home. I decided to do the dishes then. I kept falling down. What an odd feeling it was, your feet and legs refusing to listen to you. My father came home,and commented that I seemed sick, and I should go to bed.
Sick.
My ears had begun to ring as I fell into bed.
I slept and slept and slept. I wish I could say that I almost died, and I saw a light, and my mother, and everything was a nice moment and I can back revitalized and happy. Nothing proved my atheism wrong. Nothing gave me hope.
It was black, blacker than anything I've ever seen. I remember feeling like I was just hanging somewhere, suspended in some sort of limbo. Everything was black. There were no dreams, it was not a normal sleep. I firmly believe that I was dying, and yet not.
I woke up midway through the next day, to a glorious blue sky, and a ringing in my ears that took 2 days to disappear. I decided that for some reason, I hadn't died. But the black taught me lessons, along with the people close to me who did nothing. Although I'm sure even if my Dad had his suspicions, he wasn't able to do anything about it.
I learned that no matter what, I was alone with myself, and had myself to rely on.
I learned that at the end of it, no one cares and you need to force yourself to live for you.
I learned that I'm not scared of dying, but not in a hurry to see if there's something on the other side of that black. Part of me is very much afraid that the blackness is all there is.
I find it so odd that while my school paid so much attention to my anger issues, they didn't see this. That my friends didn't tell anyone. That my Dad thought me falling down everywhere was just the flu, or my kidneys. I find it very sad that no one seemed to do anything about it.
Contrast that to when my friend tried, and I was able to save her. We were to get together one night, and she didn't call. That wasn't odd, so I called her. She was slurred, and sleepy, and I eventually got it out of her that she had taken a bottle of pills, washed down with beer.
Ah, the side effects of coming out in a small town.
I called my brother, I called another friends Mom. We drove to get her, carried her out of the house, drove her to the hospital. I'll never forget having to half drag her down the stairs, or try to explain to my other friend's 6 year old sister what Isabelle had done, and why I was crying.
She was ok, but she hated me for the charcoal. If anything, I think this and the counselling helped her father accept who she was. She came out stronger for it.
I went on with my life, wondering where my saviour was.
Oh my god. Now I really detest comment-spammers. That was horrible that you tried to kill yourself and no one did anything. It doesn't make it any more excusable, but I think back then, nobody wanted to face the fact that suicide was real. So I don't think it was that they didn't care about you, maybe it was they didn't want to admit that what they were seeing was what it in fact was..if that makes any sense. And the more people there were, the less likely anyone was to do anything because they'd look at theother ones and go, oh they're not doing anything, I must be overreacting to worry, I guess I'll do nothing too.
and as for that spam bot, *smoulders with rage*, I wish I could find it and kill it.
Posted by
Anonymous |
11:22 a.m.
thanks carin. Rationally I know that. But sometimes, that little tiny girl in me wonders...
I thought the spam was on an old entry like usual. Funny actually.
Posted by
thordora |
11:24 a.m.
I too swallowed a bottle of pills when I was 14. My mother yelled at me for wasting them. 24 pills later, and sicker than I've ever been in my life for 2 weeks, I've never been brave enough to face death again, though many times I have thought of it.
Posted by
Anonymous |
4:57 p.m.
I'm glad the pills weren't the end of you. A decade or so (we'll leave your age up in the air, for mystery's sake. lol) you got to meet me!!!!! Yaye! lol And I wouldn't have just sat there and done nothing. So there! :-p
Posted by
Anonymous |
8:36 p.m.
I have had a dream sort of like that. I was listening to "Feels like Home to me" a song that I share with a couple of friends, and I was swallowing pill after pill. These two friends had their arms around me so at least I wouldn't die alone, but they couldn't do anything to save me. I wonder why we are so much alike in so many weird ways?couldn't do anything to save me. I
Posted by
Anonymous |
10:43 p.m.
Wow, it's at moments like this where I feel totally powerless. I have no idea what to say that might resonate with you because I've never experienced anything like this.
But I pray you don't honestly still feel that nobody cares for you. You've got a family around you and children that probably think the sun rises and sets on you.
Now I'm reading the comments and seeing that no matter how dire your situation might seem to be, you're NEVER really alone in what you're going through. I hope that gives you some piece of mind...?
*hug*
Posted by
Anonymous |
12:06 a.m.
Thanks guys. I'm not nearly as depressed all the time as it sounds. :P
Mostly, it's the whatever is wrong with me that's usually a problem. So it's hard to tell what's really depression, and what's just whatever sickness is in my brain.
Funny though-I recently came into contact with a girl who was there that day-I vividly remember her sitting next to me. When I spoke of it, she said she didn't remember, and wished she'd known and oculd have helped. She said I always seemed so happy.
Heh. I guess I was a better actor than I thought.
Posted by
thordora |
10:06 a.m.
oh, and the tattoo appt, which was originally planned for last night, is now on Saturday. They called to change the appt, claiming days off had switched. I think that buddy just wanted the day off.
Posted by
thordora |
10:06 a.m.
I can't believe your friends just watched and did nothing. What kind of friends are these?
I'm happy you're ok. Take care.
Cinthia
Posted by
Anonymous |
3:31 p.m.