5 Years Later.

Originally written on: May 8, 2011.


They say that hindsight is always 20-20.  I don’t know if I really believe that.  I still look back on days like today, and on other parts of my life, and even now, things seem a bit muddled.   I don’t think I’ll ever really understand what happened 5 years ago today.  I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make sense out of that suicide attempt, or the events and consequences that followed.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully describe it.  There are no words for the pain that I felt.  There is no way to fully describe the hell that I went through.  That I put myself through.  The truth is, I can blame it on an unsupportive family, and I can blame it on crappy friends and a boyfriend who did NOT love me or care.  Or who put me through some more hell.
But the truth is, I went down that road.  I chose to drown.
The thing is, I gave up.
I lost 95% of my friends that day.  I was already in agony and I was trying to just find something to hold onto.  They let me go.  I can’t really blame them though. I had taken a ride on the dark side, and now I was too far gone, and they couldn’t take it anymore. One of my best friends told me I was dead to him.  They all said that.  Then they had the guts to write me letters, called me up, told me to check my mail, and then they hung up.  That’s where some of the meanest things I have ever read slapped me in the face.
As I walked to my house, each step seemed like hours had passed.  Every inch of me had been wounded.  Maybe this sounds over-dramatic.  Maybe I was over-dramatic.  But everything I had been living for for the last six months just stabbed me.  The betrayal hurt the most.  I remember trying to go to bed.  I remember that didn’t work.  I went for a walk.  That didn’t work.  While on my walk, I found myself at my neighborhoods church where my friends and I would go to smoke.  I remember looking into the sanctuary and being so angry with God.  I sat down on the steps, smoked a few cigarettes and tried to stop the tears that were burning down my cheeks.
Nothing helped.  I called my best friend.  I told him I was sorry.  I told him I would do anything, please, just don’t leave me.  Please, just don’t leave me.  I’ll try harder.  I promise.  I’ll do anything.  He said, you’re already dead to me.  There’s nothing you can do to change that.  Don’t call me anymore.  I don’t care if you live and I don’t care if you die.
I hung up.  Walked home.  I saw no way out.  I saw no way of feeling better.  I saw no end in sight to my pain.  It wasn’t just that my friends had left.  It wasn’t just that my parents weren’t supportive, and my older sister had told me she wished I would just die instead of this halfway sh!t.  It was everything and nothing.
I wanted to die because I could only see pain.  Death to me, seemed like the ending to that pain.   The ending to that relief.  To never being wanted.  Never being happy enough. 
I was sleep deprived.  I wasn’t thinking clearly.
I wanted to fly.  So I jumped.  But then I fell.  Hard.
To this day, I can still smell the ambulance.  I can feel my legs tingling in my stretcher.  I began shivering.  They put a blanket on me.  I can feel the straps holding me down.  I can hear them trying to keep me awake.
I got scared then.  But I wanted to die more than anything.  But I wanted to live.  I was at war with myself.
Part of me really wishes I could take this part back.  The agony I caused my parents.  My Mom and Dad both said, “f*ck you, when they got to the hospital, dropped my stuff off, and left.  The agony I had caused so many people.  The way I was selfish.  The way I couldn’t see a way out.  But I know that I wouldn’t be where I am today if I hadn’t hit the bottom.  Once you finally hit it, there is no way to go but up.  Things have to get better from there.  And as crappy as the bottom is, and as much pain and sorrow and agony there is in that moment, there is also relief.  You can’t go any lower.
There is relief.  It’s like the eye of the storm.  It’s the most calm.  As bad as things got for me, it is 5 years later for me.  I can see just how far I’ve come.  I can see that I got my life mostly figured out.
I don’t cut.  I  don’t smoke.  I don’t drink.  I don’t binge and purge.  I don’t attempt to end my life.  I graduated high school.  I’m in college. I’ve had jobs.  I’ve seen the other side.
When I left the hospital, my staff Nick said, okay, Punk, what’s your plan?  I have to ask you what your plan is, rules you know.
I told him this:  Screw drowning.  I’m going to swim.  I’m going to paint.  I’m going to take walks.  Go to the beach.  Go ride a horse.  Go fishing.  Go sit in the grass.  Finish school.  Get my degree in psychology so I can help other kids find the light in the dark. I’m going to breathe.  Recover.  Move on.  Heal.  Keep moving forward.  Live.
He gave me a hug and told me how proud of me he was.  I’ve done almost everything on that list.  I’m still in school, but I’m moving towards that goal.