I’ve gone back and forth about talking about this. But I want too. The taboo subject: Attempted Suicide. And in this case, mine. I’m not perfect. I’m not the best mother. I’m not the best daughter. I’m not the best friend. I’m not perfect. I accept that wholeheartedly because I know how to now. At one time I didn’t.
Shortly after Michael passed away, I had to have an emergency hysterectomy because my appendix erupted. The appendix that I didn’t know I still had. It was suppose to have been removed during the first surgery I ever had. It wasn’t. It was like adding a nail to my coffin that I wasn’t in yet. I had been so depressed since he had died. I wanted him back. I didn’t know how to go on.
I was living in my sister’s basement. I felt like I had nothing left. I felt like no one cared if I was there or not. I thought there had to be something better than this. I was seeing the worst. I was seeing no future in my life. No family of my own. I was living life as if I was in automation. Go to work. Come home. Go out to eat. Come home. There was no emotion left in me. I was very deep into depression. I couldn’t understand why it was important for me to be living.
I started judging myself. I wasn’t a good daughter. I wasn’t good enough to be loved. I wasn’t a good friend. I wasn’t smart. I wasn’t capable of surviving on my own. I wasn’t good enough to have a family. I was being punished for being alive after Michael passed in my mind. It didn’t make sense at all but I was so depressed that I didn’t see that. I had supported my husband while he got sicker. I had carried so much on my young shoulders. I was just 23 years old. When Michael died, I lost my identity. I couldn’t figure out where I fit. I had no joy in my life. I had lost the other half of my soul.
One day, I came home after a really hard day. I don’t remember the day at all. But something was pushing me even harder. I went down into the basement. When I came back up, I got into a fight with my sister. I said that no one cared about me. I told her I didn’t want to live anymore. The sad part is that is how I felt. I went back downstairs. I took all the medicine I had. All the pain pills that I had for when I was in pain. The depression pills. I took it all.
I went upstairs for something. I still don’t know why. I think it was me calling for help without calling. My sister realized what was going on and called the life squad. I will always be grateful to her for being there. But I will never truly understand why I did it.
A few excerpts from my journal during that time:
Why do I feel this emptiness inside me? Why do I want so desperately for what I can’t have? Why do I crave for only Michael? Since Michael died, I have left a path of destruction. I wake in the morning and sometimes I don’t want to be alive. I want to lay there and let myself die. I want to join Michael. I never let anyone know how desperately I miss him. I can’t stand to be alone to hear his words in my heart. Every day I see him walking up to me as he would if he was still alive. Sometimes I wear his shirts to feel his presence. I would rather be dead than to live without him.
I can’t have kids. I can never have a future with another family. I was molested why would I remember that now. May God take me away because surely I am living in hell now. Dear Lord, find it in your power to let me be with Michael again. I don’t deserve anyone’s friendship right now because I don’t know how to be a true friend anymore.
Help me God please. I guess my only solution is to make it stop and I should begin with that tonight. How do I ever just start my life over from the beginning?? I need to begin working on my own life. I feel so guilty for being alive it is not fair. Michael would not want me to feel this way but I do and it is a fact. I love you so much Michael.
I experienced the white light that everyone talks about. I felt that sense of peace that all was well. I felt how truly I was loved. I was dying. I did come out of my body and look down. I seem to be floating above my body in between the room where my body was and where my family was. Afterwards, I was able to tell family what was said. I don’t remember that to well anymore.
After the attempt, I was put into the psychiatric ward for a month. I was taught techniques to work with my depression. I was put on medication that helped me. I started a treatment and therapy plan.
I know people wonder why people attempt suicide. All I can say is that I was just so overwhelmed with grief, despair, sadness and hopelessness that I didn’t see a purpose to life. I was 23 years of age when my husband died. I believe that my attempt was a call for help. I just didn’t know how to cope with it all anymore.
If I had succeeded, I would never have gotten to experience the love of my family. That would have been a very sad thing. It wasn’t my time to go. Life is suppose to happen and for some reason, I was meant to experience it.
Life is about living. So live yours. I am happier than I have ever been in my life.
If anyone is at this stage now, reach out for someone to talk too. Find someone. Things will get better.
This was very hard to write but I wanted to share it. I actually pulled it once because I was so uncomfortable. After talking with my sister, I realized that hiding it was like letting me keep it taboo and its just a fact of my life now.