Suicide and elements of
death are mentioned
throughout the article.
Proceed with caution.
Viewer discretion advised.
Good afternoon, my beautiful friends! And welcome to my first-ever storytime. What better way to start this new “series” than with a sad story, hm? I will be talking about the events surrounding my first suicide attempt. Now I know there is a “taboo” surrounding talking about suicide and the subject in general, but I’m here to break this stigma, so let’s get on with the story…
I will not go into a lot of detail about my background. I’ve talked about my life a LOT on this blog. So I will skip all of that in this post as I don’t think it is relevant here. But what I will say about my past is that I was always fascinated with death and dying. I was into the whole horror/thriller/psychological thriller scene before I was ten years old, and I was also fascinated with crimes and murders and massacres.
However, my thoughts on ME dying didn’t come until I was in my early teens.
As some of you know, I wasn’t really the most popular person. Nor had I a lot of friends. They were either older than me – my sister’s friends basically – or they were my friends, but I wasn’t really theirs (if that makes sense). The first friend I’d made that considered me her friend was a girl in my class who shared the same interests as me. I was on cloud 9. We proudly called each other friends and, despite not looking alone, we were like two peas in a pod.
When I found out she was talking to a boy I knew on MSN (yep, back when that shit existed), I stepped up my game with giving her the best advice I could about this person. I hadn’t talked to him in a long time, but when we started talking again, it felt like we didn’t lose touch. He was always a charmer, so I didn’t think much of our conversation. I talked about my friend a lot… but somehow, he always directed the conversation back to me. It started getting weird very quickly, things escalated, and since I valued my friendship so much, I told him I’d tell her about the conversation. I print-screened the whole thing and saved the in a file. She was not online at the time, so I kind of figured I would send everything to her the next day after I’d talked to her at school.
The next morning, she comes up to me, fuming, asking me why of all the boys I talked to, I had to go for her boyfriend. I blinked, and explained that he was the one flirting with me, not the other way round. What really triggered me and broke my heart was the fact that she chose some guy over me. That’s a big no-no in the girl code, little ones! Write it down: thou shalt not choose a boy over your girls!!!
That day seemed never-ending. I was sad, felt alone and every moment I went to the bathroom, I cried my eyes out. Whereas I sat with her during breaks, I roamed around the school from then onwards. The next day, I was so sad and angry at her spreading nasty rumours about me, I broke my locker door. The day after that, I broke the teachers’ chair (it was already about to cave in if a fat one sat on it, but I threw him aside and it broke).
As the days became weeks, the whole class and the majority of my peers from different classes knew what had happened between me and this girl – obviously, they heard her side, the lies. I felt even sadder and more alone.
The date completely slipped my mind, because I didn’t care about anything anymore. To this day I barely remember D-Day. But I do remember I was alone at home (you know, the perfect opportunity), and I tried emptying a box of pills… I don’t remember the name. I just picked the first thing that came before me.
My stomach started hurting, my throat was super dry, and I had an adrenalin rush – like, yes, I am dying. I am experiencing death first-hand. And I was excited, but at the same time, I was scared… and guilty. Guilt for disappointing my family, my best friend (who at the time was doing her exams so she wasn’t in school), my teachers… everyone…
And I stopped. I made myself sick, took a shower and a few hours later my family was home. They found me reading on my bed (because back then, my dear millennials, I had a COMPUTER CURFEW… who has that these days?!).
For the years coming, I asked myself if it was the guilt that stopped me from taking my own life, or a higher entity or whatever.. I still don’t even know… I think it’s a Second Chance.
I spent the next eleven years trying to turn my life around, until I hit rock bottom early last year, was hospitalised, blah blah blah – you know the recent story, so I won’t really go into the details (I will link them below if you don’t know).
So this was my first story time. It was a very complex thing to explain, so I hope I explained it well. I thank this second chance for giving me the chance – waddup pun?! – to prove my past self wrong. I won this round!