*Apologies for the super long thread*
Argh, what an insanely hectic past month and a bit I’ve had. There’s been so much that’s happened, both good and bad! Well, mainly bad.. Actually, all bad.. It has taken me a while to get to this junction, that being, the point of actually revisiting the thoughts and actions which ultimately led to a serious death wish and subsequent suicide attempt two weeks ago.
I’ve really been struggling with my addiction (speed, meth) lately, I find myself getting fucking super strung out, every single week without fail, I will go on a 4-5 day binge with no sleep and no food, surviving on Gatorade and going through a gram (or two) a day. I’m way broke, yet I always manage to get money for a fix. It just gets tiring but the vicious circle continues.. I can’t escape the needle, I came to that conclusion a little while ago, pretty much right in the middle of all this crap, which didn’t make me feel any better that’s for sure! I’m leading a double life, none of my friends know, family certainly doesn’t. I stay up for days and start seeing the shadow people, colours changing, the smokey hazed appearance everything takes on, being unbelievably paranoid and hearing noises and voices etc, yet I can still see my best friend of nearly 14 years, four days into binge mode and she’s got no clue and suspects nothing. Have I become that fucking awesome at leading this double life? Or have I been so drug fucked for a long period of time that my actions are seen by others as just who I am?
During the past month I’ve really been concerned that I’ll be exposed, not because of anything that’s happened but perhaps that’s just my mind ‘wanting’ me to have someone to hold me accountable for my actions, I don’t know.. After all the stuff you’re about to read happened, I confided in one person completely, told him everything, it didn’t feel good at all, my ridiculous mind decided to make me think he would now use this information against me, to hurt me or fuck with my life.. I have a lot of regret about that..
I get these really intense panic attacks which are starting to concern me, but they pretty much only start happening when I’ve been on a binge for three, four, five days and I start thinking about sleep or I’m so fucked that my being is forcing me to chill out, it petrifies me beyond belief. My body feels like it shuts down, I have frequent moments where I’m not breathing and I can’t get a breath, I just can’t communicate with my lungs to get them to inflate! I was talking to a friend of mine who experiences the same thing with stims so perhaps it’s a drug thing and not a fucked-up-brain thing..
Okay, I’ll be honest, I really wanted to die. I wanted the pain I was experiencing to go away, it was staying and intensifying. No amount or variation of drug was helping and because drugs are all I have in my life, I thought I was out of options. I thought this pain would never end. It wasn’t just psychosomatic either; I was in actual physical pain. Of course there are psychological issues mashed up in the kind of pain I’m talking about, everyone has ‘issues’ right? Who or what dictates whether or not my issues are ‘bad enough’ to warrant killing myself? I think that’s down to the individual. It’s a choice only the person experiencing it can make I guess. Yep, I’ve gone through some fucked up events in my 25 years, I’m not going to go into great detail but I think the three things that have had the most impact would be;
1. When I was six years old, my best friend had kerosene thrown over her and was set on fire by her father, it was all because of a custody battle with her mother. I was standing right next to her as she burned to death and did nothing to help her.
2. I was emancipated at fourteen-ish and lost all contact with my family because of an abusive, alcoholic father who was extremely physically violent towards me. I had no support from family members and spent time living under a bridge and in parks/backyards.
3. Last month, that drunken abusive father died. I was called the day after and was explicitly told to not attend the funeral. I did anyway, perhaps wasn’t a wise decision in retrospect.
Number three on that list would be the thing that has had the most recent impact on me. I live with one and two everyday and have found ways to cope over the years; three knocked me the fuck over. My father drank vodka, litres of it each day for as far back as I can remember. On the afternoon I was informed, I went to the bottle shop and bought four bottles of the vodka he used to drink, came home, shot a gram of speed and proceeded to drink (before this, I would have considered myself a non-drinker, I never drank) as much as I possibly could, which ended up being a fucking insane amount because I guess the speed kept me so high that the alcohol had no effect. For the rest of that week and the beginning of the next, I kept that routine up. Gram and a bottle a day, I didn’t sleep a wink.
As I progressed through that week, I felt my psyche change, for the worse, I abused any substance possible and any person I decided I could afford to lose from my life. Something snapped in my brain which provided me with a plethora of violent, enraged thoughts of which I couldn’t control the frequency or duration! I was constantly bombarded with pure fucking anger and hatred, not toward anyone or anything in particular, there was no vendetta to be settled, no vengeance to seek, nothing, it was just there. In a moment of clarity, I thought for a second perhaps I’m turning into my father, perhaps these are the demons he dealt with daily, maybe I’m being shown this to gain compassion, understanding or forgiveness.. Or maybe it showed me the truth, of what I really am, who I really have become.. I found myself using my past as some kind of weapon against myself, fuck was this dangerous.
I know it sounds weird but the internal conflict I was going through was unexplainable and painful. I remember saying to a BL friend that it was’ painful’ but I didn’t know what ‘it’ was, it hurt, it hurt real bad as I explained in an above paragraph. On reflection, I can say that I didn’t plan my suicide because I felt sad or depressed, it was to get rid of the pain.. I tried talking it out with two BL friends but I seriously felt like I was annoying them, wasting their time, being a complaining fucking sook and the thought that I was impacting their lives in a negative way by the aforementioned sooky-ness, well it seems that was the last straw. When that thought-ninja attached itself to my brain I was fucked. Game over. Yes, this narcissistic fuck actually thought of, and cared about, those two BLers that I allowed into my inner circle, that fucking much, I couldn’t stand living with who I had become. That day, that one day, a mere two weeks ago, as I was trying to explain the pain I was in to her, I just couldn’t take another minute, let alone another second of it. At exactly that moment, my thought process had become a plan, in another moment, that plan had become a fucking quest, not even a minute later I was on my way to collect what I needed to succeed.
I scored enough heroin to incapacitate a small army, grabbed a pack of box cutter blades, went to the bathroom, closed the door and sat on the floor. I wrote a six word sentence and the names of the five people I care about most in this world on the back of an old bank receipt, put it on the sink and started the process by snorting a little to calm down as I was still buzzing from my last shot of speed. Loaded up and went for broke, shot both syringes (and this is where it starts to get fuzzy and my memory cuts out) quicker than ever before, managed to grab a blade and made a really deep long slice to my wrist, I remember seeing the white tiles start to turn red, there was a few flickers of bright light, reminded me of when you turn a fluorescent light on and it takes a second to come good.. That’s all I remember..
I was found not even fifteen minutes later by an old friend of mine I hadn’t seen in over six months, she was in the area dropping her son off somewhere and just decided to visit. When she called me from my front door to surprise me and I didn’t answer either phone or door she started to panic. I’ve asked her at least thirty times what happened, what made her panic, why did she react so strongly and the only answer she’s ever given me is “something wouldn’t let me leave” subsequently she ended up breaking my window screen, unlatching the side door, heading into the bathroom and found me covered in vomit and blood, unconscious and convulsing. Ambulance arrived, they gave me something which made me wake up but it didn’t last long, I kept going in and out of consciousness due to the amount of heroin I’d taken and blood loss apparently. Anyway, fast forward through the hospital stay. I released myself after three days and went home.
I had a few complications afterwards, went back to the hospital and found out my kidneys are fucked. I was told that I need to get clean ASAP or my kidneys will shut down further and I’ll need a transplant but being in a ‘high risk’ category (drug users and drinkers) it’s practically impossible, I understand that.. So, a million tests and specialist appointments later, I just gave up, I said fuck this and couldn’t even last a full day without using something. The first night it was codeine, I couldn’t sleep so I just laid there thinking and hurting, as soon as it was light outside I went and scored speed, came home, used and bada bing, bada boom, haven’t stopped since.. Am I too deep in this that the promise of death /serious illness which leads to death, doesn’t even carry enough power to ‘scare’ me straight? I know this road leads to nowhere fun, I just can’t give it up..
Since my suicide attempt I haven’t been myself. I feel odd and out of place, it’s very bizarre and a little bit frightening. I was asked by a BL friend if I would ever do it again, it took me a few minutes to respond because I wasn’t sure of the answer. I said that I wouldn’t. I don’t know if I can stick to that though, things haven’t improved at all, far from it actually. It’s hard when you still have that little gremlin sitting on your shoulder whispering in your ear. I don’t want to hurt the people that care about me, I’m just lost and hurting.
Thanks for reading and to whoever posts..
Much love! Mav
I have to accept that I'm dying and there's nothing anyone can do about it, it fucking sucks and I wish it wasn't so, but it is.. I got 'bad' news from my new doctors, that things are progressing a lot quicker than first anticipated, so I have about six months left. Fuck that's a scary thought. I don't wanna die, but it's happening. I don't regret not taking treatment but I just want more time. 
