Continuation

It wasn’t one incident that made me do what I did. It wasn’t a moment, a single moment. It was a build up of years of stuffing away anger and intense emotions. It was me giving up. I was tired and I was exhausted. 

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Journal: 

I didn’t lose my faith completely. I came close; I just wanted out of my suffering. I really didn’t know if the suffering was going to end. I allowed Satan to get a tight grip on me and I was tired of fighting the battle. I became weak. I felt overwhelmed with shame and guilt. I was tired of hiding behind a mask.

No one would know, meeting me and being around me, what I was suffering.That’s not something I wanted to share unless I became close to a person. The self-pity I was always feeling was embarrassing. I didn’t think people took me seriously when I was reaching out for help. It felt like the people close to me weren’t listening! They weren’t understanding how messed up in my head I was! So, I did it. I overdosed. I no longer cared. I was a burden on this earth. A disappointment to my family. A stressor in my boyfriend's life. I couldn’t keep a job. I had no girlfriends. The list was endless as to why I wasn’t good enough to be here. 

January 24th, 2019 was a snow day. I was at my boyfriend’s house, where I spent a good part of my days. We decided to make it a drinking day; stay inside and be cozy. I guess the irritation started brewing inside me as I noticed he wasn’t spending time with me but instead on his computer the whole time, feeling ignored. Maybe I was jealous I didn’t have a hobby to keep me occupied. Anything bothered me anymore, really. So as he spent his time on his computer, I continued to drink my sorrows. One glass of wine turned into several and then I moved onto whiskey. After enough drinks I became brave enough to speak my feelings to my boyfriend. How I felt ignored and sad he wasn’t spending our snow day WITH me. We got into a fight and I ended up leaving, drunk. I grew furious that he didn’t even try to stop me from driving. I got home, very blurry minded at this time. What I remember were very intense emotions. I didn’t want to do this thing called ‘life’ anymore. I felt so alone. It was this deep, black hole inside me and I couldn’t escape the heaviness that I awoke with each day. I felt hopeless, worthless. I couldn’t do anything right, I didn’t know what I was put on this earth to do. My mind was racing with negativity. DING! BRILLIANT IDEA! I’m going to drink more! AND take a handful anxiety pills. I knew the combination would help me escape all feelings. I then reached out to a friend. A friend that knew about my depression. I began telling him how deep into my thoughts I was and that I felt there was no way out other than to end my life myself. I couldn’t find reason to stay. [in this moment, there really was no stopping me. I had made up my mind.] I don’t remember much after that. 

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I woke up in the hospital and my boyfriend was on my left. Back asleep I went. I woke up needing to pee. They had a toilet chair next to my bed I had to use. Back to sleep I went. I woke up hungry. I engulfed a plate of chicken fingers. Back to sleep I went. I woke up again needing to pee, remembering a guy in the hallway staring at me as I stumbled into the bathroom. Back to the bed and asleep I went again. I woke up and I had to talk to a tv computer thing the nurse had rolled into my room. I don’t remember much of what was asked or said but I think it’s what determined a lot of if I was about to go into the psych ward. Which is where I ended up…

...She looked at me with perched lips and raised eyebrows and said, “if you want to get out here you’re going to have to change your attitude. You screaming and crying will only make you stay here longer. Quit the crying and get out there and socialize and prove you don’t belong here.” I quit crying immediately and shook my head yes. And I did just that... 

Sniffed my tears up, wiped clean of my cheeks and walked out of my room to find everyone at the table eating breakfast. In silence. I grabbed my tray and sat down at the awkward, silent table. Not hungry, I uncovered the lid to find surprisingly a decent breakfast but troublesome to choke down as eating wasn’t a concern at this time. As people would put their trays up when they were done eating, a nurse was writing down how much they ate. Great. Now I really have to eat. It was difficult.

I ate what I could and put my tray up. I went back into my room and cried a little more on my bed, trying to get the tears out before a nurse came and checked on me. The nurses were to check on us several times a day and several times an hour at night. I had one pillow and one blanket. I layed down and cried into the pillow until the nurse came in to check on me and again I sniffed up my tears and went back out into the group area. I stood in the room and looked around, saw a guy that looked around my age and went up and asked him, “what do we do all day?” He just laughed and smiled. Man, this was about to be a long 72 hours…

The things I saw in the psych ward [is psych ward a good way to word it?] made me so grateful for things that I took for granted. It opened my eyes to reality and really kicked me in the butt to get my poop in a group. What I was surrounded with in there truly opened my eyes. It helped me not to be so judgemental on people because you never know what people are going through. We all have things in our life and you just never know what’s happening inside a person’s mind or life. I felt sad. Sad I let myself get so far down. I felt sad for the people that were in here with me. I wanted to hug everyone and tell them we’re going to be okay...

To keep my story short, since this is a blog and not a book :) I did convince the psychiatrist and nurses that I did not try to kill myself and that I didn’t need to be held for 72 hours. I told them I had drank and took an anxiety medicine not thinking about the combination. I did well at this as I got out a day early. Being in there however for 48 hours, was the beginning of my wake up call. 

After I got out of the psych ward, I started making little changes to my life that I knew would help me in the long run and get me through each day. I started reading Jesus Calling devotions daily and journaling about my psych ward experience and I also started waking up each morning and listing 3 things I was grateful for. I noticed this helped me focus on the positives and not the negatives. I was finding hope in my life and desiring to become a better person. I went about the week going back to my part time job, school and being around my boyfriend acting as if nothing ever happened. 

One week later I woke up in an empty hospital room —again— more needles in my vein. No one beside me.