I've lived my life for many years wanting to die on and off, experiencing bouts of suicidal ideation without ever going so far as doing it. I've decided again and again to die. I've run through plans, I've mentally and then partially physically written notes. But I've never done it.
Taking your life takes guts, guts I never thought I had. It's a pretty sick reason to live, choosing to do so because you haven't got the will to take your own life. But that's what kept me here. "Protective" factors such as family, boyfriend and friends matter not when you know deep down that it'll never be something that you can do to yourself. Putting blade to skin is reprieve enough.
Until I did do it, or try to anyway.
The hours I devoted to suicidal ideation were incredible. So often panicky and deranged, jumbled and confused. Highly emotional. In the lead up to the act I went through the two lowest days of my life. In all my years of being mentally ill I have never been that sick. I cried and I simply don't do that. I had no will to live, let alone complete a very overdue essay. Instead I resumed googling suicide methods and seeking some kind of reason not to go through with it. I had to go sit outside in an effort to stay my mind.
But I couldn't. And on Wednesday night I just went about swallowing some pills. It was the strangest thing, going through that. I snapped out of my monotone existence and became so very serene. Autopilot was switched on and it was like I just watched myself do this stupid thing in the stupidest possible way. On some level I knew I should stop but I didn't. I had finally snapped.
Predictably I soon felt very sick and panicky and was informed by poisons information (via Lifeline) that I needed to go to hospital and had to tell my distressed mother to take me to emergency. She was distressed but not entirely surprised. My GP who I had seen that morning had rung her later that day to tell her he was worried.
The mental health nurse spoke with me for an hour. Advised that I give up every tablet in my room to mum. I cried, made no eye contact. Said I was stupid to use the med I did. Not sorry at all that I did it. The doctor was cold, seemingly displeased. Another one of those is all I was to him.
The reality is that I didn't take enough to kill myself, and I knew it. Of course I knew it. I told them as much too. But I felt sick and panicked. Wanted it to be alright.
But days later I still know that I want to die. I wasn't admitted because I had no immediate plans to try again.
I will though. And I will die.
- Sky
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