Hi everyone. This is quite possibly the hardest blog post I’ll ever write. I’ve decided to break it up into parts, as my story is a long one. I’ll warn you in advance: this is not for the faint hearted. Here goes….
I ruined Christmas. Not just last Christmas, but every Christmas in the future. How did I ruin it? I attempted to take my own life. As you can probably tell, I’m still here. I’m not quite myself and I’m not sure when I’ll start to feel myself again, but I’m still here. A small part of me wishes I wasn’t, but I’m not going to do anything about it. For now, I’m concentrating on getting better.
I’m not going to tell you how I did it (but common sense should tell you that I chose a shitty method.) Contrary to the hospital staff’s belief, it wasn’t a cry for help. I meant to kill myself. Why? I have no idea, yet I have all the answers. It’s a peculiar question isn’t it, why did you want to kill yourself? I got asked that over and over again and I felt as though the people asking it, wanted me to come up with an all encompassing reason. The Holy Grail of suicide, if you like. I could almost smell the disappointment in the room, whenever I croaked “I don’t know.”
The date of my attempt was Tuesday, 27th December 2016. A date that will be burned into my memories forever. We’d been at my Brother and Sister-In-Law’s house for drinks and food. My Sister-In-Law’s family were there, along with some of my husband’s family. We had a brilliant afternoon and evening, chatting and playing board games. We’d had quite a bit to drink and we both had work the next day. Our children were invited to sleep over at my Brother and Sister-In-Law’s house, and they jumped at the chance to spend some time with their cousins. My husband and I left the gathering at around 8pm. We arrived home shortly after, and decided to have a couple more drinks before bed. This is where my memory of that night ends.
The next thing I remember is waking up, hazy and unable to breathe. I had a tube stuck down my throat. I pulled frantically on it, while unfamiliar voices were shouting at me to stop. I must have slipped back into unconsciousness, because the next hazy memory I have is waking up again, tube-free, in a white room. I couldn’t speak. My tongue felt too big for my mouth and my throat was burning. My husband and a nurse were sitting at the side of my bed. Flashbacks of what I had done to myself pierced through my confusion. I tried to say I was sorry, but I couldn’t wrap my tongue around the words. I looked up at the wall in front of me. There was one of those wall clocks, with the date and time on it. According to the clock, it was Wednesday, 28th December at 4pm. Question after question flooded my brain. Where am I? Who’s looking after my children? Am I dying? I slipped back into unconsciousness.
For the next God-knows-how long, I drifted in and out of consciousness. When I opened my eyes, I was either hallucinating, or there was someone new at my bedside. On one of the occasions I opened my eyes, I found a group of familiar faces staring down at me. My husband, my Dad, my Sister, my Sister-In-Law and my eldest son were there. My Sister had travelled 80 miles to be at my bedside. At seeing my son, guilt and shame rained down on me. I repeated over and over again that I was sorry. I’m not sure if what I was saying was comprehensible, as speech was still a difficult task.
To be continued…
Photo by Aaron Mello, courtesy of Unsplash