Signs

When someone commits the ultimate act of suicide, the family always seems to be shocked. "We had no idea." They say. "There were no signs!".

There are always signs.

I've been treated for depression and anxiety for years, but it has recently spiraled downward into suicidal tendencies. For instance, I've been popping Ibeuprofen - a detriment to kidney function when the function is low or when used consistently to treat chronic pain. This is apparently still suicide, but called "slow suicide" casually.

I recently stopped cutting myself. I'd just use an X-acto knife, not a razor blade. Not even sure how to obtain one of those. Anyway, it still hurt and it worked for me. I'd get a strange satisfaction watching the blood run down my arms and coagulate into red stalactites. I liked hurting myself. I'd imagine just being able to cut into the arteries. I never considered trying, because it hurt enough to get superficial cuts.

One night I laid in bed just rationalizing all the finalities of suicide. Would anyone actually care? I don't care if anyone is mad or sad about it, they'll get over it. It's selfish of them to be angry at me for ending my suffering. Joanna would be sent to a different, better mother. What about the afterlife? Will I be punished? God is fair, he can't expect me to do this. But we're not supposed to kill. 

Usually, that is where I'd stop. I haven't killed myself yet because I'm much too afraid of the consequences. I'm afraid of the pain and being interrupted or "saved" and being deformed or brain damaged. But that night, I decided that I just didn't care. I decided that whatever was going to happen would happen. Not that I thought the sleeping pills I was about to take would kill me, but I hoped they would.

They were actually a blood pressure medication that had a side effect of making one sleepy. They didn't work for that, so I had plenty left in the bottle. They were tiny pills. Just a bunch of tiny orange pills, so I could swallow them all at once.

I stepped outside my room, got the pills out of the cabinet, and poured them into my mouth. I quickly filled a cup with water from the sink but, before I could drink it, I heard something. Like a whoosh. I glanced back and saw Stephen but, without a second thought, I turned and splashed the water into my pill-filled mouth. Suddenly, Stephen's arms were around my stomach, pushing on it. He held me by the throat, closing it. I spit out the water and most, if not all, of the pills.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Since then I've gotten better treatment and more therapy. I don't even cut anymore. Some days I want to, but the last time I tried I just thought: "I don't want to hurt myself. Why would I hurt myself?". Even though I tried, I couldn't get a good cut - just scratches. 

My point is, I've given plenty of signs. I'd be very pissed off if I killed myself tomorrow and anyone says: "I had no idea!". You all do. You all know. I've talked about it multiple times, but no one except my therapist seems to think it's a big deal. He was worried about me. He seems to be the only one. Not that he worries anymore. I've gotten better. 

But I could have easily been another preventable suicide. Whenever I'd talk about being so very depressed or anyone saw my cuts or heard me talk about my thoughts of taking my life, I was ignored or it was very awkward. Like I wasn't going to do it or that I wanted attention. 

It kinda just makes me want to do it to show how serious I am but, again, I'm usually too scared of the consequences. Not always. I could easily have another night like the one before. I'd use carbon monoxide poisoning this time. It would be faster and more effective. Less painful, too. 

I was so close and nobody cared. Nobody seemed to notice. Which is crazy to me. 

Suicide is harder for me now. Now that I'm healthier. I just don't even go to that place anymore. Not that I'm not apathetic and miserable a lot of the time, but...I just understand now how most people "can't even fathom why someone would commit suicide". I can see that now. But I could also see the flip side. When you're that hopeless, it's very easy to want to move on from this life. You're just trapped. You hate yourself. You really think people would be better off without you. Everything you do is wrong. 

That's why I hate people saying it's selfish. It's not at all. It's not "taking the easy way out." You don't know how hard it is until you've been there. It's hard to kill yourself, even when you're filled with self-hate, misery, guilt, and hopelessness. Healthier people don't even understand the depths of those all-consuming feelings. 

I know because I've been there and now I'm here.

I digress, there are signs. You can tell when someone needs help. People just choose to ignore them.