The Extraneous Musings of An Outcast

My Failed Suicide Attempt

If you know someone who you think might be suicidal or is causing you concerns with their talk about their life, then you should get help right away.

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Suicide
My first suicide attempt was in my late teens or early twenties, I’d say 16 probably.  I was mad at my parents. I hated and despised them. So I decided that suicide would be an excellent way to get my revenge on them. I don’t remember why I hated my parents, it was probably some stupid little thing that wasn’t even worth getting angry about. Anyhow, I grabbed a bottle of my psychiatric medicine and went into the bathroom and closed the door. I looked at the bottle and pondered death, I wondered if there really was a hell, because if there was, it was considered a sin by the Christian God to commit suicide. I decided that there was no hell and even if there was, it couldn’t be worse than what I considered to be hell on earth. I also mulled over the pain my parents would feel, I smiled and felt great satisfaction as for my siblings or anybody else for that matter. As I pondered these things and looked at the bottle of medicine, my parents went about their doings in the house, totally unaware of what was about to happen. Finally deciding to kill myself, I asked myself how many pills it would take to do me in. I figured that about twenty pills would do me in. So I opened the bottle and poured out about twenty pills and feeling a great sense of revenge overcome me, I asked myself one last time if I really wanted to kill myself and I said to myself, “yes” in a way that only men who are entirely consumed by the fires of resentments and revenge can understand. Smiling to myself, I raise my hand to my mouth and deposit the medicine in my mouth and taking a large gulp of water, I swallow all the pills at once. My hate and desire for revenge are so powerful, it has wholly overcome the natural desire for life, the instinct that forces all life to stay alive at any cost.
Now for the main show. I stood there in the bathroom looking at myself in the mirror wondering when and what was going to happen. I did not have to wait long, just a few minutes. First I felt my body becoming heavy, a slowing down of life. Then great sleepiness overcame me, I felt my body begin to sway, and I entered a dark tunnel, the light receding into the distance. I felt my body start to fall over like a tree, and halfway to the floor, I said to myself, “this is it,” and then the darkness came over me entirely and the world seemed lost to me forever and I to it.

Nothing, no dreams, no visions, no hell, no heaven, no becoming a ghost, just nothingness. Devoid of all conscious thought. I was dead. The dead feel nothing, think nothing, hear nothing, taste nothing, and there is nothing.

How much time passed, or did time exist for the dead at all. All I know is there was a spark of light and that light begins to grow brighter. Awareness, the first stirrings of thought, I can’t remember those first thoughts, my brain must have still been too deep in darkness to put those first thoughts into memory. Life became a hurricane force roaring back into my body, my eyes now beginning to see color, shapes, and my thinking came to me more clearly and I can remember them. I remember thinking I’m alive and then my second thought was how disappointed I am that I’m alive. I became angry, furious at how pathetic I was, I said to myself that I was a loser who couldn’t even commit suicide properly. By this time I had stood up and begun wondering how much time had passed, minutes, hours, days, no, days didn’t elapse. Otherwise, I’d be waking up in the hospital and it couldn’t be hours because my dad would have broken down the door. So it must be minutes, but how many minutes. I may have failed to commit suicide I said to myself, but I can boldly announce to my parents what I had just done, surely that would give me some satisfaction seeing their reactions. I marched out of the bathroom and proceeded down the hallway to the kitchen. I saw my mother and walked right up to her and said how long was I in the bathroom, she looked at me and said, “I don’t know, maybe ten to fifteen minutes. I was disappointed as I was hoping for thirty or forty-five minutes, just long enough to cause them to worry but not enough for them to knock down the door. Oh well, I thought to myself, I can still salvage this.

In a loud and clear voice and with a big smile on my face and evil in my heart I announce to my mother what I had just done. Immense satisfaction and proud of what I had just done to my mother, I felt as though my revenge was complete. Her face was still for a few seconds, then it changed in a way only mothers of the dead can understand. She begins to cry, whimpering, she called my father. My father strong and powerful emotionally comes to my mother, she tells him what has happened. My father, you can see the look of panic in the eyes, those eyes searching for an answer to what to do. Both my parents are hysterical, mom crying and dad trying to comfort my mother. After a while, they begin to regain composure and start to question me, and they call my psychiatrist. My psychiatrist tells my parents not to worry, he thought that I would do something like this so he had prescribed some medication that would be difficult if not impossible to commit suicide on. This may have been Depakote, I can’t remember. All this time I’m dancing with joy, utter delight at what I have done to my parents, my evil complete.

The doctor tells them that it is impossible to overdose on the medicine, that it would take more pills than the stomach can hold. I am super annoyed with the doctor, that sneaky bastard. My parents much calmed down now, begin to talk with me. I act as if nothing unusual had happened. To get my mom and dad off my back, I say sorry, and it won’t happen again. My parents are still very much upset, but they accept my apology. I don’t remember much after that, I think we were going on a road trip. It was to be two decades before I felt genuinely sorry and guilty for what I had done. I have since made amends to my mother and have wished that I could have made amends to my father while he was still alive, I did write a letter of amends to my father and read it to him even though he was gone. Only with age and working the 12 steps did I mature to the point where I understood that what I did was indeed an evil act, so evil that I would take my own life out of a desire for revenge and hate so powerful that it drove me nearly to death. Most suicides are because the person is in pain. I was in great pain, but this suicide was motivated by an evil desire to cause suffering in two human beings who had given me some sixteen or twenty years of love and caring. It was not always perfect, but they still loved me, and all I could think to do was to hurt them in the worst way possible.

I have been hospitalized a dozen times since then for suicidal thoughts and alcoholism, but never again would my suicidal thoughts be motivated by revenge and hate, in the later years my thoughts of dying were from real pain and suffering. I honestly believe suicide is now gone from my life forever, thanks for taking my mental health recovery seriously and working the 12 steps. I now try to eat right, exercise right, see my therapist, and try to do all the things I need to do to take care of my mental health. Plus I work a 12 step program and have structured sponsorship. I don’t want to cause my mother any more pain.

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