After my last post ‘Suicide’, i did exactly that. That dark pit had just got too deep to bear, as had my thoughts. I wasn’t insane; it wasn’t a cry for attention; it wasn’t a mistake. It was a very deliberate attempt to end my life which had become too awful to live. My family have no care for me and i was in such deep despair that i didn’t consider the impact my death would have on friends, my Mum or my sister, selfish though that may sound. Before i ‘died’, i wrote the following poem because suicide IS a very painful option; not an easy get-out as some with no knowledge of mental health, would presume:
Suicide is painless!
But don’t believe that’s true
I may be dead and gone
But I’ll never forget you
And I’ll come back to this Earth
As your angel, to check you’re ok
I’ll stay by your side forever
Being careful not to get in the way
I know you worked so hard with me
But there was still so much more stuff
I’ve begged you not to walk away
Tho’ you must have had enough
So, suicide’s not painless
For the loved ones left behind
As I opted out of life
And as such, humankind
I’m not much good at anything
And now I pay the cost
I’m crying for the ones I loved
Who now, to me, are lost
I wonder where I’m going
Be it heaven; be it hell
The decision made by only God
I bid you fond farewell
So suicide not’s painless
And I can vouch for that
For someone else is sitting
In the seat where I once sat.
I’d made up my mind, and believe me, getting down nearly 100 pills takes some doing and is not without fear or guts. The decision to opt out of life is a huge one but all you can think, while washing down the medication, is that soon i would be pain free. I hoped i’d go to heaven to be with lost family, friends and cherubs and angels. But i was unsure, as surely taking my own life goes against God’s wishes; it is not His timing for me. Maybe i would be cast into the permanent darkness of Hell, deeper than the darkness i had left behind. I took a chance.
I waited for sleep and oblivion to come come but every now and then i woke from my stupor, only to swallow more pills, not even bothering to count or care what they were. Eventually i floated into unconsciousness and not finding myself in heaven, but somewhere in between, in no-man’s land.
Then suddenly, i was shaken back to life by my carer, just about, and not without anger as i did NOT want to ‘come back’. All i remember, after that was a rapid blue-light dash to the local hospital, having monitors and drips connected everywhere. I started to come round, seeing other people lined up on ambulance trolleys and instantly felt guilty and undeserving of care, having inflicted this condition deliberately upon myself where others were waiting and there because of valid reasons, car accidents, heart attacks etc. and i didn’t consider myself worthy of any care or attention.
I was in Intensive Care for a day which i remember nothing about, and then transferred to a ward with other ‘really sick’ people. I was attached to a drip which contained a drug to counteract the damage i had done to my liver from all the paracetamol i took (and i DO NOT recommend this)! i refrained from telling the other patients in my bay, the reason for my being there; suddenly feeling ashamed. That was until the doctors came to do their ’rounds’ and stood at the foot of my bed, announcing clearly and obviously that “This is Ellie Sofia; she is here because of a drug overdose” and i thought to myself, “why don’t you announce it to all the world while you’re at it or better still, why not put a paragraph in the Daily Telegraph”, but of course, i would never, ever be worthy of taking up even a centimetre in a newspaper. I was counted as a ‘nothing’ and was treated accordingly for my wicked deed. I was there for a week, attached to drips etc and suddenly wanted to be back at the home i had left with all it’s heartache and despair. Anywhere would be better than being there, being thought of as nothing better than a WASTE OF SPACE or a BLOODY NUISANCE!
Now i am home, having come out the other side, i can’t say i’m pleased or or even that i regret what i did, purely, i wish i had died. I’ve blown any chance of ever seeing my children or grandchildren again as they dismiss me as mental health fruit and nut case, not to be touched with a bargepole.
But as i am here, i realise that i have to make some sort of life for myself that doesn’t include my children which is so very painful but i have to accept it. When i am fully recovered, i intend to build up some semblance of life where i count in the world and perhaps make new friends. Writing this blog has helped me get a lot of anger and thoughts out of my system so thank you to any of you who take the trouble to read this account. It is not written cleverly or artistically; it’s just raw feelings and the truth.