Posted by: Ashley Baker | November 4, 2012

Suicide Attempt

Yesterday could very well be called the worst day of my life, and it probably was. It may very well have been the worst day of a few peoples’ lives, but I can’t vouch for them on that. To put it point blank… I tried to commit suicide last night. For real.

Sometime yesterday afternoon, all the pain, suffering, and anger that had built up over the years finally got released. I grew up in a household where women just don’t show those kinds of emotions, you see. I’ve been keeping that “beast” locked up since I was a kid. It drains a lot of my energy and willpower just to keep it caged. I’ve even been afraid to ever bring it up with any of my therapists—and I’m on therapist number seven now. But I know I have to talk to my therapist about it now. After that thing got loose, I snapped and took it all out on one of my best friends… I tried to kick MS, but he saw that one coming. He didn’t expect the slap that threw his glasses off his face though.

He could have called the cops on me. I would have deserved it. I know very well that I deserved it. I didn’t deserve for him to speak to me after that. It wasn’t until after it happened that my mind was able to (somewhat) function again and realize the sheer magnitude of what I had done. At the edge of the property, I flopped down and took out a razor that I had hidden in the stand part of my phone case and made two long cuts on my arm. MS’s brother, DH, was outside and, as anyone could imagine, this did not go over well.

I got chewed out for cutting myself. I deserved that, too. DH made me clean up my bleeding arm and keep pressure on it. By that time I was seriously breaking. Not even the Beast could hope to overcome the pure grief I felt at that time. I was afraid I had lost one of my best friends. Not only that, but I had caused DH to have to see me cut myself.

Even though I apologized for what I did, when I left I couldn’t shake it. I felt like a horrible person. I also felt scared that I wouldn’t be able to control myself anymore. What would stop that creature from getting out again and hurting someone else, or maybe even MS again? It kept gnawing on me. I came to the conclusion that I couldn’t stay alive. If I did, then it would just resurface and hurt others.

That night there was a bonfire at WW’s house, and I lied to my grandmother (I live with her), saying that MS wanted me to come with him to the bonfire. She didn’t know I had stashed two bottles of Trazadone that I had left over from when I was seeing my last psychiatrist. She let me. I took a bottle of water with me and drove down to a mostly empty parking lot, sat where there wasn’t much light, and started downing the pills.

I was texting KT while I did this. I counted off the number of pills I had downed. I hit 15. At 15, the realization finally dawned on me… I don’t want to die. I had also been texting MS and JD… I was trying to lie to MS about what I was doing. I knew he would stop me if he knew, but KT and JD had already told him. I called MS and wanted him to help me stay awake. I felt that if I could just stay awake after taking those pills, I would be fine.

MS wouldn’t hear that, and while I was on the phone I started driving back home. I shouldn’t have, really. I was dizzy and was having a very hard time focusing, not to mention Trazadone was prescribed to me to help me sleep, so I was deeply tired. I drove like I was drunk. I don’t know how I didn’t get pulled over. I was lucky MS stayed on the phone with me, though. Several times I thought I was going to fall asleep. Once I was back in my driveway, he gave me a choice… either I could call an EMT or he would. I said I would. I didn’t call, though. I convinced myself if I could throw up the pills, I would be fine.

I started vomiting beside my car until there was nothing left to upchuck. I hadn’t eaten anything all day except a bowl of sherbert at 3 am and a bowl of grapes around 7 pm. That was all I had all day. The only other thing in my stomach was water and pills. After that I stumbled up to my front porch, somehow got the key in the lock, and got inside.

I told my grandmother to call an ambulance. By this point I felt heavily disoriented and kept thinking to myself, “Why did I do that?” She started yelling at me and dragged me into the bathroom, telling me to throw up. She continued screaming at me in this way until the cops showed up. MS didn’t trust that I would call, so he had decided to have a stake out on the corner of my block and have someone call an EMT, just in case I didn’t. The cops and the people from the ambulance that showed up helped me out of the house and I was driven to the hospital.

I kept telling them I only took five pills. Either way, soon after being put in the ambulance I started getting my color back and feeling less dizzy and disoriented. I spent the night in the hospital and a person from the community services board came out. After talking with him and explaining I didn’t want to die, he decided I could go home. Since it was around 2 am at that point, and since I’m the only one in my house that can drive, my grandmother said she couldn’t get anyone out there to pick me up until morning.

Morning came. She couldn’t get a hold of anyone (MS was at a work meeting). She said if she couldn’t find someone by eight, she’d just get me a cab. (I know as well as she does that she would not have called a cab, we simply don’t have the money for that.) The hospital called MS pretty much right after he got out of the meeting and asked if he could come get me. He said he could. They were then supposed to call my grandmother and tell her that I had a ride, but either they didn’t or they couldn’t reach her, because she paid my uncle $20 to get him to drive her out there to pick me up.

MS drove me home and I got “lectured” on the way. I’m not allowed to go over his house until I improve. He wants me to stay home this week and work on me. I will. I still have the fear in the back of my mind that I’m too far gone to get better, and I also fear delving into what’s wrong with me—considering a lot of the pain, suffering, and anger are caused by things I no longer even remember—will make me crazy or just make me worse. Perhaps my biggest fear, though, is just never improving enough to be able to see or hang out with MS again.

My grandmother also talked to me once I got home. She told me of things that happened in her past that she has told no one—not even her best friend. I can’t help but wonder how I’m going to find the strength to actually deal with this depression, even though she has for many years.

So I’ll be trying to find resources on dealing with depression. If anyone happens to know of any good resources, feel free to let me know. I certainly need them. Even if I’m just able to sort it out enough that all I feel is apathy, it’s better than feeling like I do now.


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