Suicide *Trigger Warning*

Start at the beginning.

The summer before sophomore year of high school, when I was a few months shy of 16,  I broke up with my first boyfriend. I was devastated; no one ever taught me how to deal with heartbreak and the emotions attached.  I had a really hard time and lashed out in a million ways. I hit on my ex-boyfriend’s best friends. I tried drugs and drinking heavily.  I skipped curfew and stayed out all night driving my parents insane and worrying them half to death. I chain smoked cigarettes out of my bedroom window and cut classes.  I took a secret trip to the village in New York to get a tattoo without parental consent. I shoplifted clothes and jewelry. I was spiraling out of control. On my oh so sweet sixteenth birthday I tried to kill myself.  Razor to the wrist. Two deep long cuts down the veins. My mother found me, scooped me up and hurried me to the hospital. There they loaded me full of sedatives, sewed me up and monitored me to see if I would need a transfusion.  From there I went on my first of many ambulance rides to UBHC, an in-patient mental healthcare facility. See: Psychiatric Hospital. That’s where it begins I guess.

Looking back it’s so clear this was my first presenting full manic episode.  Once hospitalized the shame depression quickly took over. An expert team of child psychologists labeled me with major depressive disorder(wrong) and put me on zoloft(awful).  They watched me take it for a few days and sent me back to public high school only a week after my first suicide attempt.

(If this ever applies to your life, promise me, don’t go to school or make a young person go to school a week after a suicide attempt.  Make them rest and watch their favorite movies, eat their favorite meals and always have a hug when needed for months if they have to. Let them heal. All. The. Way.)

A month and a half later I tried again.  I took all the pills they gave me and let me regulate on my own at 16 right after trying to off myself (don’t do that); valium, zoloft, sonata, and a sprinkling of whatever I could find around the house.  It was around midnight when I took them. My mom woke me up around 6 to get ready for school. No way; I rolled over. She came in again and pulled me by my arm out of bed. She said I was going to school whether I like it or not and she would dress me herself if she had to.  She did. I don’t know if she thought I was just being a jerk or what but I truly had lost almost all motor function. I was messed up, slurring my speech and uncoordinated. I remember asking myself “How could she not tell?”.

I signed in late and slept at my desk through first period.  My teachers all knew I had tried to kill myself a month before so they gave me a break most of the time and this time she just let me sleep it off assuming I was really in a bad way.  Second period I had with my ex-boyfriend. Can you say triggered? I sat down, went to lean back and couldn’t stop myself I was down on the ground. I woke up next in the ambulance, school nurse above me asking me what I took.  “Let me die” I told them. She looked scared. Maybe I really would. I woke up being moved on a stretcher down a hall in the hospital, a tube being forced up my nose and down my throat. My mom joined the doctors and nurses around me as they were walking.  “Let me die” I said through gurgles while fighting off nurses. I woke up two days later. I was transferred again to a mental health facility and finally diagnosed bipolar 1 disorder.

Since then I have thought about suicide almost every single day.  Don’t get me wrong; I have good days. I have amazing excellent near perfect days.  On those days, I think about suicide, too. I don’t always want to die; it’s an intrusive thought.  One I don’t particularly want ever; but nonetheless, it’s there.

This story has no profound meaning or uplifting message. It’s just my story. I’m only sharing to bring awareness. If you or someone you know is suicidal please call or text the number above. For what it’s worth, most days I’m glad I’m still here.

30 thoughts on “Suicide *Trigger Warning*”

    1. Thank you so much for the feedback. I’m new here so it’s extra appreciated. I haven’t even written about being diagnosed and misdiagnosed for years because it’s such a complicated path. Talking senior suicide was actually easier IMO. ❤️🖤🖤🖤

      Liked by 1 person

  1. Last year I underwent narcissistic abuse… due to which focusing back on studies was difficult…getting back to normal was seeming really impossible…and it was a really crucial year…even this time is crucial but now I’m back to normal Aditi(my name)

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This is such a relatable and heartfelt story. It mirrors parts of my own in some ways.Thank you for sharing this, I know that its not always easy to deal with these memories resurfacing and the emotions that it brings with it. Hopefully we can help end the stigma around mental health issues once and for all. I’m glad you’re still with us.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Treating you with drugs and labelling you was downright wrong. We need help to manage our stresses, feelings, thoughts and emotions. I go to 12 step groups or try to find non pharmaceutical means once you get on that toxic roller coaster of the medical model it can spiral out of control, there are ways to manage suicidal feelings but you have to find out where the self hatred is coming from and what is causing you pain and know you do have the power to change it. Drugs wont help with that. Hugs

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Jeez, this couldn’t have been an easy read. I can’t imagine my mom reading this. I’m glad I’m here and she was there for me, and I’m glad you were there for your kid. I hope you are both well and healing. ❤

      Liked by 1 person

      1. sometimes when she’s in a dark place she gets angry that I did help…but then I look at her child..and I think that’s one of reasons she was supposed to stay…on the earth..it takes a long time to heal. I’m glad you are writing about it.

        Liked by 1 person

  4. I love how raw and genuine this post is. I like that there is no pretense of perfection in your story. You don’t have it all together, but you are working on it and telling your story to tell others that they can fight through their struggles too, and that’s what makes this such a powerful piece.

    Liked by 2 people

  5. I recently had a similar sad incidence happen to me. A friend who was really really close to me and whom I loved a lot decided to chose a person she had met just a month before over me and then we stopped talking. It was devastating but I’m better now. Knowing other people have had similar adventures gives me a kind of support to push myself ahead. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  6. I think chronic suicide ideation, whether passive or active, is an often overlooked aspect of long-term mental illness because there’s really no good way to address/treat the issue. Models regarding dealing with SI revolve around crisis intervention (mention these things to a MH clinician and expect an intervention, even in the absence of an actual crisis).

    Those with chronic SI aren’t always in crisis but when those crises do occur, they’re generally much more catastrophic.

    The pop-culture narrative goes a little something like this: person is having a very difficult time, difficult time precipitates into a crisis, person gets help, thoughts of suicide disappear. Person is all better. Or, person attempts suicide, person is rescued, person is glad they didn’t die. Person is all better.

    Nope.

    I’ve had these thoughts since I was a kid and I thought they were “normal”. Imagine my surprise when I learned that most people don’t think this way? Consider my mind blown. I think it becomes the default for some of us, like a branding mark that never fully fades.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Hi,

    Thank you for sharing this. So powerful to read- to hear your experience.
    Such wise and compassionate advice for those caring for someone post-suicide attempt. Giving them metaphorical and actual hugs- beautiful. Very moving.
    Your words have really reminded me (through the feeling conveyed), deep down that other people go through their stuff, just like I have.
    I feel how you ended your post was poetic- the telling of the tale is the most powerful message of all. For others to read and know they are not alone, that they are not the outsiders. So important.
    Reading this has really affirmed that I am going to finish editing and post a similar piece- to similarly raise that awareness and connect.

    Thank you again,
    Spence.

    Liked by 1 person

  8. Reblogged this on th' dust never really settled and commented:
    so many thoughts racing through my head…remembering how they stripped me of my belt, my shoe laces…and my dignity. bipolar I is not fun and somehow I always feel like I have offended and/or hurt every one I have ever encountered…i wish I could go one by one and say “I’m sorry…” if you happen to read this and are one of those people, please take this as my apology.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.