Hi again,
Apologies if any of my posts came across as preaching. Not my intention. Instead, I'd like to tell you an anecdotal summary of my 30-day involuntary and inpatient stay at the hospital's mental ward, post-attempt. Among all the patients, there were 5 of us, all ages and demographics that were there for the same reason. We were locked in, shut off from the world and no one was permitted to leave.
Denise - 18 year old F. She had been assaulted, gang-raped and left for dead and couldn't resume normal functioning for months prior to her attempt that landed her at the ward. She had stopped speaking completely, to anyone. I don't remember her method. She was there for nearly 6 months before she was well enough to go back outside or leave.
Kayla - 17 yr old F. Rejected by a college she had her heart set on. Some boy issues. Emotional. Supportive parents. Her method was pills and her stay was 30-days.
Mike - 35yr old M. Involved with service professions. Had done volunteer firefighting, EMT work, and was working in a corporate security position. Apparently he had seen too much and was having some issues with post-traumatic stress. At one of the situations he was involved in, he recounted jumping on top the firetruck and waving his weapon around in front of law enforcement, ranting and screaming about how he was going to blow his brains out. His stay was 30-days.
John - 37 yr old M. He came from private schools and affluence, was an unsuccessful, aspiring writer, entirely too sensitive and emotional, gifted with words, and completely self-involved. I believe his method was pills, further details unknown. His stay was 30-days.
Me - 17 yr old F. - At the cumulative end of a shitty and traumatic childhood, an attempt made with pills, and then a call made about 2 hours post to my X boyfriend at the time, pre-cell phone days, whom I got extremely lucky that he was home, answered and responded. By the time the ambulance reached me, I was delirious, resisting help, and the next thing I remember was waking up in the hospital with IVs sticking out of me, face/mouth covered in the charcoal and vomit and etc that had been induced .
The point being that all of us were there from various backgrounds in life and had somehow become delusional in our pain and lost on our paths. We were the lucky ones to get help and survive. There are countless others that are not so lucky.
I kept up with them via letters for a few years (pre/early internet) and as far as I know, they all persisted and continued to struggle. The common theme with all of us however, is that we all regretted it and were horrified to consider the repercussions had we not received help.
Over 2 decades later, I am forever guilt-ridden and permanently scarred from the stress I must have caused my mother during that time and still cry uncontrollably when I revisit that time. She passed away just over a year later, suddenly. She was my biggest advocate, but I was too caught up in my own selfish perception of life and the pain it caused me to see beyond that. It is my biggest regret - that sorrow and angst that I caused her with my attempt. When she passed, I was out of the house, working at a job, and living with someone, and taking classes. A lot changed that year and the following years with things that I obviously didn't consider when in the depths of the sadness.
Extremely painful to revisit, but I do so for you, and to write these words to you and anyone else in that state, in the hopes that it may provide some perspective and solace. It really isn't worth it.
Edited by cat-nips, 07 September 2018 - 02:50 PM.