My not-so-fatal Suicide.
June 4, 2021 at 11:05 pm
(This post was last modified: June 4, 2021 at 11:15 pm by Goosebump.
Edit Reason: insperation
)
-WARNING this contains some avenues to DEATH - WARNING-
Nearly two months ago I nearly died.
I had been thinking about the prospect for many months before that. Dating back to July 2020 when my mother died of lung cancer during a pandemic where nobody cared if you died if it wasn't from the virus.
I'd lived with my mother for 12 years. Following the financial crap fest of 2007-08. We became closer than anything. I've never had a buddy like I had one with my mother over those years. It took some time to get there but we became the best of friends. Then she died and was gone and I was alone in a fucked world of covid, of my family being distant and scared to visit. My jobs such as they were, evaporating. I... wanted to DIE.
I spend each day contemplating what future I could have and every time it was bleak and meaningless. Even if I lucked upon success at something my mother was still dead, I was still unloved and a worthless creature that existed only to consume. What's the point? Why bother? What the fuck am I doing even debating this? The best damn thing I can do is fucking die!
I tried benadryl. My mistake was, or my best move had been to contact a friend of mine on the West Coast that was still awake. I gurgled and jabbered out what I had done. He performed a wellness call on me and soon two police officers where waking me up and forcing me to vomit, thankfully out side.
My next effort was to get alcohol poisoning. It is harder than you think, since you tend to pass out when you ingest that much. However, half way into my efforts I decided I'd kill myself by bleeding out and cracked my nose open against the floor. It's very hard to fall when you are sober. When you are very very drunk it becomes second nature. I tried, with success, to land on my face. Ok I didn't decide but the booze and the balance did. I'd put back over a liter of jack and several beers and was a happy wonder of wasted human potential ready to meet my end.
I can actually recall some brief fuzzy memories when the blood was all over the kitchen floor. Looking down at myself. Scrambling to my feet only to fall again as I slipped in my own blood.
I can't recall what made me save myself. I apparently stopped the bleeding and made it to my couch where I elevated my legs to keep what little blood I had left in my torso and head. All of this I guess at from where I woke up, I have no memory of doing any of it. I woke up on my couch with no pillows behind my head and all of them under my legs.
Whatever part of my brain was still working after so much drink wanted to live. IF that stupid ass part needs life so badly than I owe it to it to keep my stupid ass life alive.
It hasn't been easy. I still have crippling episodes of grief. I still work to make even a single day meaningful. But I'm still alive. So each dawn is a victory. OR some BS like that.
It's a nightmare. The best thing I've found is to really face the greif. Get in there and look at it. Let it tear you apart and know that it can't kill you. Unlike youself, which is still alive and should start living.
Nearly two months ago I nearly died.
I had been thinking about the prospect for many months before that. Dating back to July 2020 when my mother died of lung cancer during a pandemic where nobody cared if you died if it wasn't from the virus.
I'd lived with my mother for 12 years. Following the financial crap fest of 2007-08. We became closer than anything. I've never had a buddy like I had one with my mother over those years. It took some time to get there but we became the best of friends. Then she died and was gone and I was alone in a fucked world of covid, of my family being distant and scared to visit. My jobs such as they were, evaporating. I... wanted to DIE.
I spend each day contemplating what future I could have and every time it was bleak and meaningless. Even if I lucked upon success at something my mother was still dead, I was still unloved and a worthless creature that existed only to consume. What's the point? Why bother? What the fuck am I doing even debating this? The best damn thing I can do is fucking die!
I tried benadryl. My mistake was, or my best move had been to contact a friend of mine on the West Coast that was still awake. I gurgled and jabbered out what I had done. He performed a wellness call on me and soon two police officers where waking me up and forcing me to vomit, thankfully out side.
My next effort was to get alcohol poisoning. It is harder than you think, since you tend to pass out when you ingest that much. However, half way into my efforts I decided I'd kill myself by bleeding out and cracked my nose open against the floor. It's very hard to fall when you are sober. When you are very very drunk it becomes second nature. I tried, with success, to land on my face. Ok I didn't decide but the booze and the balance did. I'd put back over a liter of jack and several beers and was a happy wonder of wasted human potential ready to meet my end.
I can actually recall some brief fuzzy memories when the blood was all over the kitchen floor. Looking down at myself. Scrambling to my feet only to fall again as I slipped in my own blood.
I can't recall what made me save myself. I apparently stopped the bleeding and made it to my couch where I elevated my legs to keep what little blood I had left in my torso and head. All of this I guess at from where I woke up, I have no memory of doing any of it. I woke up on my couch with no pillows behind my head and all of them under my legs.
Whatever part of my brain was still working after so much drink wanted to live. IF that stupid ass part needs life so badly than I owe it to it to keep my stupid ass life alive.
It hasn't been easy. I still have crippling episodes of grief. I still work to make even a single day meaningful. But I'm still alive. So each dawn is a victory. OR some BS like that.
It's a nightmare. The best thing I've found is to really face the greif. Get in there and look at it. Let it tear you apart and know that it can't kill you. Unlike youself, which is still alive and should start living.
"I'm thick." - Me
