07 October 2006

5 Years Ago

5 Years Ago

5 years ago, in 2001, two planes struck and destroyed the World Trade Center. And when most people think of the fall of 2001, this is what they’ll remember most.

But not me.

Five years ago, I was 15 and a sophomore in high school. 5 years ago, on Columbus Day of that year, I attempted suicide.

Now, let me lead up to it. The end of my summer and September was spent in therapists’ and doctors’ offices for treatment for my eating disorder. I had already been cutting since the spring and I just kept slipping further into myself.

But it wasn’t from lack of trying.

I was for the first time in my life, cooperative in therapy, and voluntarily went to a psychiatrist to be put on an anti-depressant. I signed up for Ballet and Jazz classes at a local dance studio to feel better about my body and be more active.

But my depression was still taking its toll. I was tired all the time, cranky, and cutting more frequently.

I went with my parents to my cousin’s wedding in Tennessee that Columbus Day weekend. And we had a really nice time. I ate barbeque and had really good wedding cake.

We got back, and I just decided to do it.

It was 11 o’clock and I was up past my parents, as usual. I sat in front of the computer with all the pills I collected and a big glass of apple cider and just started taking them. I still remember everything about that night. I started with a box of sleeping pills and then a box of diet pills. I followed it with a bottle of Tylenol Period relief (like Midol) and then finished with as much more regular Tylenol my stomach could hold.

I can still taste the combination of cider and pills in my mouth and I can still smell it in my nose.

Around midnight, I finished chatting with some friends online and went to go to bed and, what I thought, die.

I lied on my back and stared at the ceiling, wondering when it was going to happen. I didn’t sleep a wink even though I had taken all those sleeping pills, probably because of the diet pills. I could feel my heart pounding a mile a minute. I thought maybe my heart would just stop and that’s how it would happen.

Looking back, I know I was high as a kite, hopped up on all those pills. I kept watching the clock and hour after hour. I just kept waiting.

Around 3:30-4, I was restless just waiting in bed and went back to the computer. I saw a friend was still up and chatted with her, as if nothing was wrong. She would have been horrified had she known I was poisoned and waiting to die.

After a little while, she signed off to go to bed, and I did the same.

More time passed and I noticed the sky starting to get a little bit lighter as sunrise neared. It was 5:30, and still nothing.

But all of the sudden my stomach lurched, and I quickly turned to the garbage by my bed as my body expelled the poison from my stomach. When it seemed like the majority of the pills were out, I went to the bathroom to clean my face.

I was disappointed I had thrown up. Because I knew I wasn’t going to die then.

I went to school that day. I felt I had to since I had missed a lot from going to so many doctor appointments.

I spent the day in and out of the bathroom as my body continued to rid my body of the pills. The nurse wanted to send me home, but I insisted I stay and I wasn’t sick. I forget who it was, it might have been my dad, asking me if I was making myself throw up.

No offense, but if I were, I would make it to the toilet, and not do it in front of the bathroom. Yeah, that was embarrassing.

I told my mom the next morning. She came in to wake me up for school and I handed her the note I had written the other night.

She freaked and cried and called our family doctor. I was taken to the emergency room and had a bunch of blood work done and all. I was perfectly fine. My psychiatrist had me admitted to the psychiatric ward at the hospital where he worked.

It would be my first of many hospital visits that school year.

I wanted to believe I’ve come so far from where I was 5 years ago. And, in a way I have, of course. But it scares me that I would still reach for the pills when my depression is darkest. And I can’t help to think that if I get through this now, how can I be sure that 10 years from now, or whenever, I won’t be even more depressed and actually do it?

I guess I’ll just have to see where I am 5 years from now…

1 comment:

Tiggr said...


Sweetie you are SO not alone!!! Geez, I can think of so many other fellow spanko bloggers who face or have faced the throes of depression and all the gardenvarieties of "mental illness" including BPD (the most prevalent), clinical depression, Bipolar disorder, PTSD, etc.

I don't know how may such people you visit online but I can name plenty, should you want to commiserate with more people who have been where you are and may still be fighting some of the urges and emotions, but are regaining control and moving forward in very positive ways... we all have down times and backsteps, but we are all here to support and love each other.

I started cutting when I was 13 and got institutionalized for 10 months when I was 14-15... lost all my friends, we moved out of state to hide my parents' shame, continued to cut for years afetrward... "fixed" everyone but myself, my own darkness has swallowed me on many instnaces, "made" me do crazy and self-destructive things of all kinds.

I'm doing better now but like everyone I've ever known, it is a constant struggle and I still see llife in black and white far too oftn. Please email me if ever you wanna chat, about absolutely anything...

Big, big hugs... and I am very glad you are still here to write this post!!!!