Old Enough
introduction.
When I was thirteen I tried killing myself. It was so unexpected and unplanned that even I had no idea what I was doing until my body started taking over. No one had a clue I would do something like that. I mean, my mother knew I was sad, hell everyone knew I was sad because I put it to my best ability to make sure everyone knew I was unhappy. But no one expected me to do something like this.
It was like something had triggered in my mind to do it. I woke up that morning with only one goal set in my mind; to down a bottle of pain killers. So I went to do it and I popped in every little tablet in my mouth. I must have swallowed at least 15 but a little impulse in my mind told me that it had not been enough. So I walked down the hallway to my mother’s room, unable to realize that my mind began to go fuzzy and my feet began to sway. I pasted by my sleeping mother and walked into her bathroom. My feet had started giving out by then and I supported myself by clenching the cabinet that was above the sink. But my arms seemed to have no strength in them left and I slipped onto the floor.
My head had banged against the bathroom wall and I felt warm liquid begin to submerge out of my head and smear onto the wall as I slipped more onto the floor. I was too numb to scream in pain but by then my mother had woken up by the crash. I watched as my mother slipped in and out of view and as she slip out of view again this time she didn’t come back and darkness had taken over my vision. And I didn’t feel or see anything after that.
I had woken up in an emergency room. A long tube was done my throat and I felt my stomach clench painfully in and out. I gagged and tried to pull it out but my arms wouldn’t move as if someone was holding me down. So I laid there and watched as the doctors tried to save me.
I knew I should have felt bad by then. I knew I should have sworn to never do it again but my brain seemed to think for me and in the most unkindest way. I thought about how horrible getting your stomach pumped was and how next time I tried to kill myself it would be someway different. I thought about how I could slit my wrists or how I could run in front of a car. And that was how my mind went from then on. I would think about ways to kill myself. It began to become a game in my head and even as people thought I was getting better, I still thought about it. When I smiled at people, people thought I was happy to see them, but really I was thinking about being shocked to death by jellyfish or having my limbs torn apart by a bear.
I was horribly disturbed by these thoughts by I couldn’t stop. I thought even if I didn’t have the guts to do that act at least I had the thought to do it. And perhaps, one day, I will have the courage to try. But it was too had to decide, too hard to pick which one to do. Too many ways to die. And that’s what scared me the most. And no one could save me from these thoughts because the only thing they were coming from was my own mind. I wanted to kill that part of me that wanted to die but I had no idea how to save the rest of myself. I had become what I feared and that was all that was left of me.
It was like something had triggered in my mind to do it. I woke up that morning with only one goal set in my mind; to down a bottle of pain killers. So I went to do it and I popped in every little tablet in my mouth. I must have swallowed at least 15 but a little impulse in my mind told me that it had not been enough. So I walked down the hallway to my mother’s room, unable to realize that my mind began to go fuzzy and my feet began to sway. I pasted by my sleeping mother and walked into her bathroom. My feet had started giving out by then and I supported myself by clenching the cabinet that was above the sink. But my arms seemed to have no strength in them left and I slipped onto the floor.
My head had banged against the bathroom wall and I felt warm liquid begin to submerge out of my head and smear onto the wall as I slipped more onto the floor. I was too numb to scream in pain but by then my mother had woken up by the crash. I watched as my mother slipped in and out of view and as she slip out of view again this time she didn’t come back and darkness had taken over my vision. And I didn’t feel or see anything after that.
I had woken up in an emergency room. A long tube was done my throat and I felt my stomach clench painfully in and out. I gagged and tried to pull it out but my arms wouldn’t move as if someone was holding me down. So I laid there and watched as the doctors tried to save me.
I knew I should have felt bad by then. I knew I should have sworn to never do it again but my brain seemed to think for me and in the most unkindest way. I thought about how horrible getting your stomach pumped was and how next time I tried to kill myself it would be someway different. I thought about how I could slit my wrists or how I could run in front of a car. And that was how my mind went from then on. I would think about ways to kill myself. It began to become a game in my head and even as people thought I was getting better, I still thought about it. When I smiled at people, people thought I was happy to see them, but really I was thinking about being shocked to death by jellyfish or having my limbs torn apart by a bear.
I was horribly disturbed by these thoughts by I couldn’t stop. I thought even if I didn’t have the guts to do that act at least I had the thought to do it. And perhaps, one day, I will have the courage to try. But it was too had to decide, too hard to pick which one to do. Too many ways to die. And that’s what scared me the most. And no one could save me from these thoughts because the only thing they were coming from was my own mind. I wanted to kill that part of me that wanted to die but I had no idea how to save the rest of myself. I had become what I feared and that was all that was left of me.