First time in a while, I hope you guys like it. It's a true story. It's in the Life forum too, but I know some people don't travel much out of their favorite forums.
I tried to kill myself September 8th, 2003. Vicodins, Valium, and too too many Ibuprofen 800's. I did it while I was at work, almost passed out at my 5 o'clock break outside, was 5 minutes late. I went up to a supervisor and told her what I took. I don't exactly know why I wanted to tell somebody, but after I took the last Ibuprofen 800 I had left in my bottle, I almost felt like my heart twitched, and I knew it was the wrong time. My supervisor called 911 and I was in an ambulance. The time frame was kinda fuzzy, I remember being hooked up to oxygen and I think I faded in and out a couple times in the ambulance. My supervisor was in the ambulance with me, so I wasn't alone, and it helped a lot. I had to drink this nasty black stuff, with charcoal in it. When I was at work, I didn't want them to call my mother, but when I was on my way to the hospital, that's all I wanted, just my mom. After they had me stabilized, my mother came into the room and she just came over and hugged me. She hadn't had a clue that for the past 4 years I had such severe depression it finally ate me upinside alive. I put on a good front and hid things well, especially my feelings.
Anyways, I was admitted to the psych ward late that evening and my mother and supervisor had long gone. I was alone in a completely weird place. I was in a private room that was watched all night. The room was cold and empty, with just a bed in it. I had to go to the front desk if I had to go to the bathroom because the bathroom in my room was locked. They woke me up the next day at 7:30 in the morning. I didn't want to move. I didn't wanna wake up in a "crazy house". I kept telling myself that I didn't belong there. I finally walked out in the main lobby and saw other people. Not the nurses. They were there, but they weren't who I was looking at. Some of the other patients were just sitting around. Every morning at 7:30 the nurses checked everyone's vitals, then breakfast. I couldn't eat anything. They finally put me in a room with a roommate and I just crawled into bed. I didn't do anything that first day, stayed in bed. Didn't get involved in any group therapies, didn't eat. I saw the doctor for the first time and just mostly cried, said I didn't belong there. He told me I had to be there. I crawled back to bed. Around 6 that evening, a nurse came in to tell me that me just staying in bed and being stubborn won't help me get out any sooner. Stubborn. I thought I didn't belong there, but the truth is, it was the best thing for me and I was being stubborn. But still, I just cried myself to sleep after she left. Around 10 that night, I took a shower, then walked out to the nurses station and just told them I give up and that I was hungry. It was past dinner, but they gave me a boxed lunch. They had to take off the plastic around the sandwich before they could give it to me though. I ate it all.
That was Tuesday. My mom came the next day and brought me clothes during visiting hours. I went to all the meals, but didn't want group therapy. This black guy named Claude dragged me to one anyway. He was in there because he was an alcoholic and was afraid to go outside because he knew he would fall into that temptation over and over again. He was about 42 and had 6 kids with 4 different women. But he helped me get through it all, he had been there multiple times. We sat at meals together, sat together during groups, watched tv together when we had free time. We talked a lot and it helped out so much.
Seeing everyone in the psych ward opened my eyes. When I first came in, I trusted nobody. Being in there with people who had problems like me opened me up to trust, if only just a little. I made friends, everyone liked me immediately, thought I was the prettiest thing. I had no makeup on ever and couldn't do anything with my hair but brush it. It boosted my self-esteem, a lot. There were patients in there who spent all day, listening to Michael Jackson and rocking back and forth. Some would have conversations with what I would suspect to be an imaginary image, possibly their friend who was there all the time, helping them out. There was even a guy who played football for WVU when he was younger and just snapped. He told me he loved me and wanted to be my boyfriend. He definitely kept me smiling.
My mother visited me three times during my week stay. She even called my minister to my church where I haven't gone to in almost 3 years, not even for Christmas or Easter. It encouraged me so much, gave me that little light I needed and that extra push. My boyfriend was probably the biggest help of all though. I called him 5-6 times a day and he came and saw me once. He just wanted to see me get better, and so did I.
The doctor put me on Wellbutrin and by Thursday evening when I saw him, I asked him to fill out the discharge papers. He did. I was gonna be out the next day. I was kinda sad though. I felt comfortable around these people because they felt the same way I did. They all wanted out, but I think most were afraid to leave. The last night, Claude and I watched a movie, and people streamed in and out. I ended up giving him my telephone number and address. No, nothing bad happened between us, he just became my good friend. He's already called me a couple times, but no letter yet.
On Friday, my boyfriend came and picked me up around 2:30 that afternoon. It felt good to be free and yet at the same time, I was petrified. Scared I'd falter somewhere along the way. I went home and took a shower and watched some tv. When my parents came home, we went out to eat and had some good food. Things went back to "normal". Workwise, I still had a job (thankfully) and I went back on Monday. I wasn't allowed to talk to other employees about it though, which I thought was a good idea. My best friend Bonnie (who works there) knew just cause I called her a couple times while I was there. Tuesday...was hard. I started the day having 3 anxiety attacks. I called about 4 different people who tried to calm me down, and finally got ahold of my doctor and told me I could come in at 4 that afternoon to be seen. I had to call off work. I had some sicktime so I used that. The doctor gave me a script of Klonopins, just until the Wellbutrin had time to work and mellow me out. The rest of the week went by much more smoothly. During the week though, the manger (who had helped me out through the whole ordeal, making sure I'd still have a job when I came back) took me aside and asked me how I was doing. She suggested a leave of absence. I took it gladly, wanting time to de-stress myself. I worked my ass off until the day my leave of absence was to start, which was Tuesday the 23rd, the day before my 21st birthday.
I really hope you got all the way to here, because this is where the big problem comes in and I almost fell back.
On my 21st birthday, September 24th, around 1:30 in the afternoon, I was at my boyfriend's and called my best friend Bonnie to confirm us going out to a local bar later that night after she got off work. We had made plans way before the hospital deal. She basically told me she was gonna blow me off and had no money and wasn't even going to go. I wasn't gonna drink (much) at the bar, I just wanted to hang out. I just told her "ok, whatever" and hung up. She called right back and I didn't wanna pick up at first, but I did. I didn't even get out the hello and she just started yelling. She basically just told me I was selfish and I tried to kill myself because I wanted attention and everyone to kiss my ass. She told me she thought I was a really strong person and that she'd lost every piece of respect she's ever had for me. She told me so many hard, harsh things. My boyfriend was across the room and could hear her screaming. She told me I needed a reality check. She hung up. I was in just pure shock for about 20 minutes. My boyfriend had to hang up the phone because I couldn't put it down. I couldn't move. I just broke down and cried for a good 3 hours after the intial shock. My best friend Bonnie just tore me a new asshole, on my 21st birthday. I couldn't believe she would say those hurtful things to me; I was always the one she went to when things got bad between her and her abusive boyfriend. I always listened to her when she had problems with anything, but all of a sudden, I was the selfish one. I let her use my car to get food during her lunch breaks at work, yet I was the selfish one. I just wish I could say to her "Bonnie, you know what? I listened to you all the time, gave you advice which you barely ever took, gave you so much; I had your back through everything. But you never listened to me. When I had a problem, it just rolled off your back and it was back to you. You call me selfish, but maybe if you wouldn't have been so worried about your own life, you would've realized that your best and only friend was crumbling, and this may not have happened."
I'd never place the blame on her though. It was my fault. But I'm glad things went the way they did. I needed the help. I have respect for myself, because now I'm trying to get better. I don't think putting myself first at a time like this is me being selfish either. It's something that needs to be done. I've spent a lot of time in my past giving my all to all my friends, and while I never expected or wanted anything back from them, I forgot all about me. And I am the most important person at this moment. What Bonnie said to me was hurtful, and I knew she doesn't understand everything. I won't talk to her again until she apologizes first, I feel that's right. I don't think I'll be her friend though anymore, that leaves me down to 3 people besides my parents in my area I can truly trust. But I think that that's ok too. I've got quite a while to think about things....I wanna stick around here a while longer.
I think that's it, for now at least. I really hope everyone who reads this reads to the end. This isn't the first time I've tried to kill myself due to my depression, but I hope that if at least one person who reads this is touched and is maybe thinking about doing the same thing. Give it just another second thought. Give it another day. I had to learn the hard way that people out there do care (and some don't). But there's always one person who will be there for me no matter what....me. I can't say right at this moment I'm doing 100% better. Every day is a struggle, I still cry, I take my meds (they seem to be starting to go to their full effect though), but I've just got that hope inside me now I didn't have before. That little light, it's just a little pinprick so far away. But I want to reach it one day.
~Jamie
I tried to kill myself September 8th, 2003. Vicodins, Valium, and too too many Ibuprofen 800's. I did it while I was at work, almost passed out at my 5 o'clock break outside, was 5 minutes late. I went up to a supervisor and told her what I took. I don't exactly know why I wanted to tell somebody, but after I took the last Ibuprofen 800 I had left in my bottle, I almost felt like my heart twitched, and I knew it was the wrong time. My supervisor called 911 and I was in an ambulance. The time frame was kinda fuzzy, I remember being hooked up to oxygen and I think I faded in and out a couple times in the ambulance. My supervisor was in the ambulance with me, so I wasn't alone, and it helped a lot. I had to drink this nasty black stuff, with charcoal in it. When I was at work, I didn't want them to call my mother, but when I was on my way to the hospital, that's all I wanted, just my mom. After they had me stabilized, my mother came into the room and she just came over and hugged me. She hadn't had a clue that for the past 4 years I had such severe depression it finally ate me upinside alive. I put on a good front and hid things well, especially my feelings.
Anyways, I was admitted to the psych ward late that evening and my mother and supervisor had long gone. I was alone in a completely weird place. I was in a private room that was watched all night. The room was cold and empty, with just a bed in it. I had to go to the front desk if I had to go to the bathroom because the bathroom in my room was locked. They woke me up the next day at 7:30 in the morning. I didn't want to move. I didn't wanna wake up in a "crazy house". I kept telling myself that I didn't belong there. I finally walked out in the main lobby and saw other people. Not the nurses. They were there, but they weren't who I was looking at. Some of the other patients were just sitting around. Every morning at 7:30 the nurses checked everyone's vitals, then breakfast. I couldn't eat anything. They finally put me in a room with a roommate and I just crawled into bed. I didn't do anything that first day, stayed in bed. Didn't get involved in any group therapies, didn't eat. I saw the doctor for the first time and just mostly cried, said I didn't belong there. He told me I had to be there. I crawled back to bed. Around 6 that evening, a nurse came in to tell me that me just staying in bed and being stubborn won't help me get out any sooner. Stubborn. I thought I didn't belong there, but the truth is, it was the best thing for me and I was being stubborn. But still, I just cried myself to sleep after she left. Around 10 that night, I took a shower, then walked out to the nurses station and just told them I give up and that I was hungry. It was past dinner, but they gave me a boxed lunch. They had to take off the plastic around the sandwich before they could give it to me though. I ate it all.
That was Tuesday. My mom came the next day and brought me clothes during visiting hours. I went to all the meals, but didn't want group therapy. This black guy named Claude dragged me to one anyway. He was in there because he was an alcoholic and was afraid to go outside because he knew he would fall into that temptation over and over again. He was about 42 and had 6 kids with 4 different women. But he helped me get through it all, he had been there multiple times. We sat at meals together, sat together during groups, watched tv together when we had free time. We talked a lot and it helped out so much.
Seeing everyone in the psych ward opened my eyes. When I first came in, I trusted nobody. Being in there with people who had problems like me opened me up to trust, if only just a little. I made friends, everyone liked me immediately, thought I was the prettiest thing. I had no makeup on ever and couldn't do anything with my hair but brush it. It boosted my self-esteem, a lot. There were patients in there who spent all day, listening to Michael Jackson and rocking back and forth. Some would have conversations with what I would suspect to be an imaginary image, possibly their friend who was there all the time, helping them out. There was even a guy who played football for WVU when he was younger and just snapped. He told me he loved me and wanted to be my boyfriend. He definitely kept me smiling.
My mother visited me three times during my week stay. She even called my minister to my church where I haven't gone to in almost 3 years, not even for Christmas or Easter. It encouraged me so much, gave me that little light I needed and that extra push. My boyfriend was probably the biggest help of all though. I called him 5-6 times a day and he came and saw me once. He just wanted to see me get better, and so did I.
The doctor put me on Wellbutrin and by Thursday evening when I saw him, I asked him to fill out the discharge papers. He did. I was gonna be out the next day. I was kinda sad though. I felt comfortable around these people because they felt the same way I did. They all wanted out, but I think most were afraid to leave. The last night, Claude and I watched a movie, and people streamed in and out. I ended up giving him my telephone number and address. No, nothing bad happened between us, he just became my good friend. He's already called me a couple times, but no letter yet.
On Friday, my boyfriend came and picked me up around 2:30 that afternoon. It felt good to be free and yet at the same time, I was petrified. Scared I'd falter somewhere along the way. I went home and took a shower and watched some tv. When my parents came home, we went out to eat and had some good food. Things went back to "normal". Workwise, I still had a job (thankfully) and I went back on Monday. I wasn't allowed to talk to other employees about it though, which I thought was a good idea. My best friend Bonnie (who works there) knew just cause I called her a couple times while I was there. Tuesday...was hard. I started the day having 3 anxiety attacks. I called about 4 different people who tried to calm me down, and finally got ahold of my doctor and told me I could come in at 4 that afternoon to be seen. I had to call off work. I had some sicktime so I used that. The doctor gave me a script of Klonopins, just until the Wellbutrin had time to work and mellow me out. The rest of the week went by much more smoothly. During the week though, the manger (who had helped me out through the whole ordeal, making sure I'd still have a job when I came back) took me aside and asked me how I was doing. She suggested a leave of absence. I took it gladly, wanting time to de-stress myself. I worked my ass off until the day my leave of absence was to start, which was Tuesday the 23rd, the day before my 21st birthday.
I really hope you got all the way to here, because this is where the big problem comes in and I almost fell back.
On my 21st birthday, September 24th, around 1:30 in the afternoon, I was at my boyfriend's and called my best friend Bonnie to confirm us going out to a local bar later that night after she got off work. We had made plans way before the hospital deal. She basically told me she was gonna blow me off and had no money and wasn't even going to go. I wasn't gonna drink (much) at the bar, I just wanted to hang out. I just told her "ok, whatever" and hung up. She called right back and I didn't wanna pick up at first, but I did. I didn't even get out the hello and she just started yelling. She basically just told me I was selfish and I tried to kill myself because I wanted attention and everyone to kiss my ass. She told me she thought I was a really strong person and that she'd lost every piece of respect she's ever had for me. She told me so many hard, harsh things. My boyfriend was across the room and could hear her screaming. She told me I needed a reality check. She hung up. I was in just pure shock for about 20 minutes. My boyfriend had to hang up the phone because I couldn't put it down. I couldn't move. I just broke down and cried for a good 3 hours after the intial shock. My best friend Bonnie just tore me a new asshole, on my 21st birthday. I couldn't believe she would say those hurtful things to me; I was always the one she went to when things got bad between her and her abusive boyfriend. I always listened to her when she had problems with anything, but all of a sudden, I was the selfish one. I let her use my car to get food during her lunch breaks at work, yet I was the selfish one. I just wish I could say to her "Bonnie, you know what? I listened to you all the time, gave you advice which you barely ever took, gave you so much; I had your back through everything. But you never listened to me. When I had a problem, it just rolled off your back and it was back to you. You call me selfish, but maybe if you wouldn't have been so worried about your own life, you would've realized that your best and only friend was crumbling, and this may not have happened."
I'd never place the blame on her though. It was my fault. But I'm glad things went the way they did. I needed the help. I have respect for myself, because now I'm trying to get better. I don't think putting myself first at a time like this is me being selfish either. It's something that needs to be done. I've spent a lot of time in my past giving my all to all my friends, and while I never expected or wanted anything back from them, I forgot all about me. And I am the most important person at this moment. What Bonnie said to me was hurtful, and I knew she doesn't understand everything. I won't talk to her again until she apologizes first, I feel that's right. I don't think I'll be her friend though anymore, that leaves me down to 3 people besides my parents in my area I can truly trust. But I think that that's ok too. I've got quite a while to think about things....I wanna stick around here a while longer.
I think that's it, for now at least. I really hope everyone who reads this reads to the end. This isn't the first time I've tried to kill myself due to my depression, but I hope that if at least one person who reads this is touched and is maybe thinking about doing the same thing. Give it just another second thought. Give it another day. I had to learn the hard way that people out there do care (and some don't). But there's always one person who will be there for me no matter what....me. I can't say right at this moment I'm doing 100% better. Every day is a struggle, I still cry, I take my meds (they seem to be starting to go to their full effect though), but I've just got that hope inside me now I didn't have before. That little light, it's just a little pinprick so far away. But I want to reach it one day.
~Jamie
