4 months

Hey pallios,

It dawned on me today that it is exactly 4 months since my suicide attempt.

I know it's a scary, taboo subject. Even in the helping profession we use terms like hurting or harming oneself. Kind of an odd thing to say as there are so many things we do to harm ourselves without being suicidal. Nevertheless, I am going to go back to that night.

What good can come out of reliving it? For you maybe none. For myself it serves as a powerful reminder to why I should, or rather must move forward. So to move forward, I must occasionally go back.

January 6th, 2010

I had just gotten back to Ottawa the day before. I had gone home for the holidays following a two week long hospital admission for suicidal ideation. I had hoped that the time with family, friends and Christmas cheer would brighten my spirits and lift my depression. Though it was lovely to be around those people I loved, the problems did not go away. There was also the stress of having an eating disorder during the holidays (cookies, candy, Christmas dinners - AHH). Anyways, I came back in a pretty fragile emotional state.

During that day I was lost in feelings of depression. I tried to get myself to finish the two papers that had been deferred, but I couldn't write a single sentence. I was so angry at myself for wasting a perfectly good Christmas/New Years. I didn't know what I was going to do.

Then I saw the pills.

I had toyed with the idea before of taking them and then going outside, passing out and freezing to death (I know, graphic and disturbing, but that was my plan). For this reason I often argued that my overdosing was only half a suicide attempt. I'll let you guys decide that one as you read on.

So anyways, I saw the pills.Setraline, brand name zoloft. 120 of them. I had previously researched the lethal dose, and it seemed to vary greatly from case to case. However, in this state of hopelessness I just said "fuck it".

And down they went.

Almost immediately after taking them reality struck me hard. What the hell did I just do? I called a friend to take me to the hospital.

I remember checking into the ER. I remember explaining what I had done. I remember going into the urgent care wing, putting on hospital robes, getting an EKG done, all that jazz. I remember a doctor telling me (in a flippant tone) that it wasn't a huge deal cause setraline wasn't all that toxic. I remember feeling sick to my stomach.

Then it becomes fuzzy.

I had a full, tonic-clonic seizure. I got a head ct to check for blood clots. My parents were called.

I don't remember any of that. What I do remember is the horrible hallucinations that came after the seizure. Every person I could imagine who I loved and cared about appeared in front of me. At first my thoughts were that they had come to visit....some sort of Alex get well parade. Of course, this delusion was not so happy.

They could not hear me. They were all crying. They were just told that I had died.

I tried to convince them that I wasn't dead. I began to literally punch myself in the chest (apparently to get my heart pumping again). It was no use though, they wouldn't stop crying and screaming.

I started to cry and I shouted "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! I'm so sorry mum/dudes/mailman (ok, I lie, the mailman was not present)".

After a while the urgent care nurses got annoyed. Rightfully so, they have a bunch of patients at deaths door and there's this girl screaming apologies at nonexistent people and performing her own CPR. They started shouting at me to stop, saying over and over "your mother is in Calgary!". I however, saw her in front of me crying hysterically, so I wasn't too convinced.

So that was the night. I was injected with something without my consent. I think that kept me more manageable.

Anyways, the following afternoon my dad flew in from Calgary. Though at first I was skeptical and asked if he was my real father (a valid concern- I didn't know what was real at that point). Once I was assured that he was it was nice to have his company.

So what's the point of this? Well, when I described it to my mum she said this: "Alex, I know it was a hallucination, but the way you're describing peoples reactions sounds bang on. I've dealt with a lot in my life, but losing you isn't something that I could handle".

There are still times when those thoughts creep into my head. Though I know there are many reasons not to give up on life, when I am desperate I think back to that night.

It cannot become a reality. I cannot put the people I love through the pain of grief. My goal in life is to relieve the suffering of others.

I can't let my death bring upon that kind of suffering.

It's been four months since that night. May it never become real.

Peace, love and veggies,

Alex