Last Friday, I attempted suicide… something I thought I’d never, ever, fucking do… never, ever… get to that point… but at that time… the moment that I swallowed all those fucking pills, it was my only solution.
The details of the events leading up to the attempt aren’t important… the main thing is that I was two days into detoxing, my wife wasn’t doing what I was expecting her to do (she was doing what she needed to do to protect her sobriety and I wasn’t thrilled with her tactics… I mentioned I’m a dick in a previous post you might recall…), I wanted to score, but had no money and didn’t want to ask for a front, and finally, my using partner is clean and being a productive member of society and not available to soothe me.
At that moment, as stupid as it sounds when I write this, I felt totally alone and unsure of what to do… fuck that… knowing what to to, I chose to let my brain create a panic attack and my emotions/feelings/fears went into overdrive. I took about 50 25mg hydroxyzine pills and rode to the store and bought some beer to help with the forever sleep… the whole ride down to the store was full of “what did I do” and “it’s the only way to be free of all this pain”… it was very real this fear and sadness… I made sure not to cry on my way to the store so I wouldn’t have to explain why.
I got home and stood around and didn’t really feel anything, so still feeling these real emotions/feelings, I took another 50 or so. I didn’t count, but I had a prescription for 120 and the bottle was mostly empty after the second handful. I grabbed a beer, went to my bed and laid down… not sure what to do at this point… write a note? To who? Saying what? Do I stay dressed? Do I clean up the syringes/spoon/etc… it’s like I missed Suicide 101 as it was all very real and of concern to me… how will people find me? I then remembered the dog, fed him and made sure all the doors were unlocked, lights off and headed back to bed. I decided to lay down, fully dressed and watched YouTube and drank… it got cold… and I had to get up to get my blanket and my legs would hardly support my weight… it was taking effect. I laid back down and decided I should write a note…
I started writing a letter to my using partner… fuck me if that doesn’t say how sad I am… before my family, friends, etc., I write her… I start it, but then delete it because it sounded stupid… kind of like this shit…
I was tired so I got comfortable and closed my eyes… only then noticing how hard it was to breathe and how hard my heart was pumping… and I fell asleep.
Sometime later I woke up because I had to pee… my legs could hardly hold me up and I had to steady myself as I walked down the hall… as I try to pee, I could feel my body labor as it tried to pump oxygen and blood and it’s then I I got scared… what if I don’t die and end up disabled… I definitely don’t want that… then I decided I want to live… but I didn’t want to call 911 and make a scene at the house… and then I thought if I go to the hospital, they’ll make me sign myself into the psych ward and that thought almost won… but I texted my friend and said I needed help and sat down… regretting that I involved someone else.
I made it to the hospital and was admitted immediately into the ICU and given something to counter the effects… after they found a vein… I’ve destroyed most of the veins in both arms and hands… The ER techs were getting a little pissed it seemed and I had helped cement the image of dumb ass addicts and the importance of vein care… the night was Hell… I was tired as fuck and the bright lights were fucking bright… I was being asked a million questions that were stupid, had been asked before and were making me think about what I had done to myself… I just wanted to sleep while they monitored me… trying to control things again. Eventually I woke up in a room with tubes and monitors attached to me… I was grateful to be alive. I remembered my wife visiting me and loving me and telling me that she wanted me to be okay. Why does she still love me?
Psych ward was next and that will be another post… but know that I’m grateful for my friends and wife and that I cannot believe I thought suicide was a solution… it sadly, was… is.