December 15th, 2019 was almost the day of my passing. I had a nervous breakdown and decided I would stop the emotional pain I was in any way I could.
What I have learned since is that I didn't actually want to die, but I wanted the pain to stop and I didn't care how as long as it stopped... I had just been radically cyber slandered and people were lapping up one sided gossip for gospel and I felt I could not cope with being labelled by someone with zero authority on who or what I am.
So I chugged some hard liquor - alot actually, called a friend but the decision was made. It would happen. The alcohol hit me fast and I do not remember finishing the phonecall. I then reached for the prescription bottle, unscrewed the cap and just as I raised it to my mouth to ingest it I passed out and spread them like confetti on the bride and groom all over my kitchen.
Someone once said: "Suicide doesn't end the pain it just passes it on." How true. Once word was out people came out of the wallpaper to tell me they would have been there for me given the chance and they would have been so hurt had I succeeded.
My daughter grew worried when our communication broke off and called the police. When the doorbell rang it was dark outside and I was no longer on the kitchen floor but in bed. Some time had lapsed since my mission started.
A police officer stood on my step saying my daughter was worried about me and had asked them do do a welfare check on me. A woman in the reflection of the door had hair like a cartoon character and makeup dried all over her face where it had run.
Okay we are going to take a ride down to the hospital, he said. I was in no shape to argue with him. I put on my coat and walked to the police vehicle and took my first ride in the back of one ever.
Trying to remember all the events of that day is still like reading a book with every other page torn out of it. Some content present... some content missing.
The psychiatric hospital was a bizarre spa experience, with a team of medical professionals doting on you. The cruel outside world had been locked out and I felt safe locked in. As strange as that sounds.
Most of us patients got along really well... and why not? We were raw, wounded unpretentious people who had all been down a similar path. There was an instant understanding, an eerie kinship if you would.
So I spent Christmas in "the nuthouse," as the hospital has affectionately been dubbed. My medication was changed and I promised doctors, friends and family I would not touch alcohol again. I haven't since that day.
I don't believe anyone actually wants to die. Not in their deepest, truest self. The desire to live and enjoy the good things about my life came back quickly and I realized people who cause pain are not worth dying over.
The doctor who discharged me did so with the statement: "Good bye. I hope I never see you again." Amen to that.
A Moodscope member.