Too Many Attempts To Count...

The suicidal thoughts started early.  I would say around maybe age nine or ten.  I was a full-fledged cutter by age 11.  I self injured with hot wax starting at age ten.  I scratched at my own arms and pinched myself since a young age that I can't quite remember.  In Eighth grade my grandfather (one of two living grandparents and the only one I was close to) was diagnosed with stomach cancer that had metastasized and we were told he only had a few months to live.  This changed my entire world.  I prayed hard and no comfort came to me.  He died nine months after his diagnosis and I know sometime around that time was the first time I really tried to kill myself.  I took Tylenol and waited to die.  No one ever knew.  I woke up feeling horrible, but not dead.  I repeated this attempt with other medications a few more times.  The first time I was hospitalized was when I was fifteen and my mother had gotten into my email and found one I wrote to my friend about wanting to die and cutting myself.  There were seven more hospitalizations to come, some because of attempts and some because of suicidal ideation.

I was in and out patient for most of sophomore year in high school.  I was even on bedside for a few months while I did an intensive out patient program.  I was incorrectly diagnosed with bipolar disorder and put on meds that made me gain 60 pounds in two months.  I started out a size 16, I ended up a size 24 after several months on Depakote.  There are three or four months that I don't remember at all of that year.  I went to college, came out of the closet, became a Buddhist, and had major anxiety over all of it.  I was also raped by two different women.  I moved to Oregon (which was cross-country for me, I'm an East Coast gal) and almost raped by a man.  

It wasn't until I was 20 that something so traumatic happened I finally wanted to get better.  I was in Oregon.  I cut myself up something horrible and I overdosed on a lethal combo of super-strength Tylenol, Percocet, Klonipin, and whatever antidepressant I was on at that time.  I seizured at work (I had hoped I would pass out and they would think I was dehydrated and pump fluids in me and let me die).  For three days I was in an intensive care unit and I seizured a few more times.  My parents were 3,00 miles away and I found out the hard way that Oregon's mental health facilities are not as good as the ones on the East Coast.  Luckily, I came out of it with only a slight loss of balance on one side and a stutter when I get really upset.  

I was lucky.  I haven't cut since (it's been 4 1/2 years) and I've kept up with therapy and knowing my body.  I did an awesome program called DBT while still in Oregon and then I moved back to my home state, back to the therapist who was helping me before I left.  She has been my saving grace.  Just recently she started doing what is known as EMDR or eye movement desensitization reprocessing, with me to work through the traumas I have experienced.  

Even though I am "recovering" I still feel like I need to connect with others who have been through it.  There are sites for those who have survived others' sucides, but what about those of us who survived our own?  

PinkDancerAngel PinkDancerAngel
22-25, F
1 Response Feb 8, 2010

me too