I know the progress on this series has been slow, but it is constantly on my mind. This is not an easy story to put into words. Here is a lil’ preview of what is to come:
Exploring questions such as:
~What some different types and symptoms of depression are and how to try to recognize signs in yourself & others.
~Why was I not grateful for being “saved” and surviving my suicide attempt? Why did I only feel resentment?
*What are common emotions among suicide survivors?
~How to begin “coming back from the dead” I like to call it. Kind of like learning how to live when you made your mind up to just end it.
~How to prevent yourself from the temptation of trying again.
Stay tuned y’all!
*my actual puppyyyy*
When I first got my puppy at 7 weeks old, I had no idea what an Emotional Support Animal (ESA) was. Neither my boyfriend or I really cared about the extra rent expenses and the costs that come with getting a dog because we were head over heels for the floppy eared freak. This pupper was later named Fox, and is the namesake for this blog. I had already recognized the positivity and joy that Fox brought to my life, and frequently mentioned him when discussing self care techniques in my Psychology Ph.D classes. When my boyfriend & I were moving & the new apartment complex did not accept dogs younger than a year (Fox was 6 months) I was told about registering him as an ESA. I had heard a lot of people registered their pets as ESA’ s to allow them to fly free, and avoid pet addendums on rent leases, but I wasn’t fucking around when I said the little dude was my world. The problem was, my psychiatrist didn’t grant those sorts of letters, so I had to seek outside resources to get the letter. This is the website that I used, and all you do is fill out some intake questions, schedule a call interview with a licensed psychologist, and if all checks out the next day you receive your letter.
Once again, not compensated for this. I just know how much having Fox has helped my mental state in more ways than I can count.
Check it out:
The Official ESA Registration of America
Alright let’s do this.
On November 7, 2018, I tried to kill myself. I did not plan it. I was about to buy a Chinchilla 3 hours before, right after buying the first round of Christmas decorations for the season (my fucking favorite thing in the wooorld). My boyfriend and I had had a small argument, I can’t even remember about what, but everything was, for all intents and purposes, just peachy.
I had drank a little wine, took some (prescribed) xanax, just like every.other.day. Nothing was out of the ordinary. I did decide to get out for a bit, and I went up to a restaurant by my house to get an appetizer, a drink or two, and just get out of the house. I had a good time, taking funny snapchats of the old music videos playing at the bar. Nothing but smiles.
I was a bit tipsy but not off my ass wasted. The xanny/alcohol combo (NEVER A GOOD IDEA DONT TRY AT HOME) definitely makes for some big feelings and crap but even though I wasn’t blacked out or anything, I don’t know what the catalyst was to decide to kill myself. It seems like something you would freaking remember… but I can’t.
I have thought of killing myself before, in times of chaos and emotional turmoil. I can remember those catalysts, and how I couldn’t let my little brother find me or do that to my family. On 11/7/2018, I didn’t even think about the horror that my boyfriend would feel. I didn’t think that our dumb argument earlier may haunt him forever because I wouldn’t be able to tell him that it wasn’t even a shred his fault. The way my puppy would jump on the bed the next morning, tail wagging & licking my face to wake his mama up. But no matter how many kisses he gave me I wouldn’t pet him again. I didn’t think of my family, or to leave a note, or the fact that no one really knew that I was feeling this way. I overthink everything always. There are 354432465324352 things flying through my mind at all times – wine, xanax or not. My eyes were on the prize this time.
I went to the bedroom, shut the door, said fuck it and took probably 25 pills of a medication I won’t name, but it is a sedative and blood pressure medication — making it lower. Extremely clear instructions to 100% avoid alcohol as “very serious interactions can occur.” Perfect, I thought. My knowledge of psychopharmacology from my work with substance abuse told me that this is the best medication I had to get the job done efficiently. It would take less than 30 minutes, and a type of medication with no overdose reversal medication. Soon, it would be over.
While I struggle to say that the fact my boyfriend walked in the room at that moment was anything other than coincidence, .0001 seconds before or after would have been too late. I wouldn’t have told him. He saw. He freaked out (obviously) and dragged me to the bathroom and shoved his hand down my throat to make me throw up. I made him hang up when he called 911 because I promised him I threw enough up and my family can’t know. I knew we both had only seen a few pills in the toilet, but he said fine. Soon after that, I fell asleep.
I woke up the next day wondering why my knee hurt so bad. I got up to pee, and immediately fell. For almost an entire day, I couldn’t stand or walk without immediately becoming dizzy and collapsing. My legs refused to support me, I crawled to the bathroom. My blood pressure was too low. I have insomnia and can’t sleep on a good day, and the day I take a NAP is still one I am waiting for, no matter how tired I am. I couldn’t stay awake for most of this next day either. My boyfriend took the day off of work and constantly checked if I was breathing. I wasn’t able to really understand the gravity of the situation or what almost happened. One millisecond and maybe one or two pills more and I would’ve been successful.
The day after that, I sort of was letting the reality of what happened sink in, but I still had no regrets and didn’t feel like an asshole for how I almost just hurt everyone I love and leave them with no explanation.
All I could think was….
1. What the fuck now?
2. Why is my life so unfair that I was forced to survive?
3. What is stopping me from trying again?
4. Why did I not know I was depressed?
Elaboration on some answers to these questions & more about surviving failed suicide and signs that you may be blind to comin’ up!
(Also, snowboarding WILL be relevant, just hang in there)
Always here to listen.
“It is unimaginably hard to do this, to stay conscious and alive, day in and day out.”
This is Water is a keynote speech written by David Foster Wallace about living a compassionate life & since I first listened to it in 2011, whenever I need to put things into perspective it is one of the first resources I return to.
“If you worship money and things — if they are where you tap real meaning in life — then you will never have enough. Never feel you have enough. It’s the truth. Worship your own body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly, and when time and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally plant you. On one level, we all know this stuff already — it’s been codified as myths, proverbs, clichés, bromides, epigrams, parables: the skeleton of every great story. The trick is keeping the truth up-front in daily consciousness. “
“This is Water” Keynote Speech Video
“This is Water” Transcript