This entry is about suicide. If this subject upsets you, please do not read.
This is not going to be a normal, fluffy blog post. It's not that kind of day.
But today marks a more significant milestone for me. Three years ago tonight, I attempted to take my own life. So many people over the years have asked me one simple question...
Why? You have a wonderful husband, you have two beautiful children. Why? Why? WHY? How could you be so selfish/thoughtless/heartless? I would only answer with a shrug of my shoulders and a shake of my head. I've never written about that night...never answered anyone's questions. I'm going to try. Bear with me.
I was depressed for almost eighteen months. I had already been hospitalized multiple times for threatening suicide. I was over medicated and the shell of who I am now. I was tired of being a burden, tired of all the drama. I wasn't getting better...and thought I never would get better. I stopped caring. Honestly? I didn't think anyone cared anymore either.
But know this...I never wanted to die. I wanted to not hurt anymore.
Without going into too much detail (there are people I want to protect that I love dearly), June 29, 2008 was a nightmare. I had run away from home that afternoon...to the beach in West Haven where I took a long walk. I went for a drive that night, with the intention of ending it. I went to Stop and Shop and bought two boxes of sleeping pills, twenty-four each. Even in my misery, I was excited they were buy one, get one free. And I grabbed a Sprite, intentionally...there was no caffeine in it. I went through the self checkout...I didn't want to draw any attention to myself.
I drove to a deserted parking lot and methodically popped each one out. I wrote a note on a napkin, very simply in block letters "I'M SORRY". I took twenty-four, then the other twenty-four. I looked at the clock. It was 9:04. I dropped the seat back...and waited.
I started getting groggy, and scared. I went to reach for my cell phone but couldn't lift my arms. My last thought before I went under was "Oh my God, what have I done?"
I remember things after that in bits and pieces. The cop's flashlight in my face, and thinking I was in Heaven. All the lights from the fire trucks and police cars. Being draped over my steering wheel. Drinking a quart of charcoal in the ER. Hallucinating on my gurney...and seeing clocks of every kind on the walls. Hearing someone say "Oh God, there's a note."
Amazingly, they sent me home the following day with a number to check in with the crisis hot line everyday. I lasted five days before I was put back in the hospital...for the final time.
I did three months of intensive outpatient therapy after that. My depression finally broke in September. I started writing, and found out I was good at it. My husband got a new job and he was happy. I got off my meds and thought clearly for the first time in years. I...got...better.
I'm here today. I have a strong core of girl and guy friends who would do absolutely anything for me. I know now that if I get down (I still have blips), I can count on them to hold me up when I'm unable. I saw my son graduate high school, and held my niece when she was fifteen hours old.
And my hubby? He said leaving me never crossed his mind. He stood by me throughout my ordeal. The truest meaning of "In good times and in bad. In sickness and in health." I have never loved anyone more.
This is a poem I found in a magazine about a month afterward. I feel like it was meant for me. It hangs on my mirror to this day.
Stop, ask for help.
Seek out counseling.
Death is no answer.
Try to believe in something,
Don't give up.
People get better.
Always remember the last line..."People get better." I got better.