Failed Suicide

I like to be an open book when it comes to this topic because a lot of people aren’t. The few that do, have helped me in some sort of way and I’d like for people who are going through what I am, to not feel so alone… like me. I stopped writing here because I got progressively worse and I couldn’t even talk about it. If you haven’t gotten the gist of my words or title, I tried to kill myself and I failed. How sad is that? I couldn’t even successfully kill myself. At least that’s what I see as sad right now. To me… it’s not sad that I felt compelled to kill myself because I see death as a beautiful thing. Something I wanted because I don’t feel worthy, I feel like a jagged puzzle piece being shoved into a smooth almost complete puzzle. I also feel like I don’t have a purpose (?), like I’m a burden… to everyone. I feel a lot of things, but hardly ever happy.

Have ya’ll seen the movie Split? The main character has several personalities and he says there are 23 characters in his head each sitting in a chair in a big circle and they pretty much take turns going into the light; meaning only one person can present themselves in the main characters body. I’m KIND OF like that, except for me it isn’t characters, it’s different emotional versions of myself. The front of my brain, the one “in the light” is negative, depressed and lifeless. The other one is anxious, sweaty and nervous. Lastly, there’s normal, flirtatious, happy, outgoing me just looking at those two emotions take over and I can’t do anything about it.

When I tried to kill myself, I had all three swarming in my mind like a fucking bee hive. Depression told me to do it, anxiety kept going back and forth on what would happen if it worked or didn’t and normal me was saying that if I was going to do it to at least not die in my sisters and brother-in-laws home. After I did what I thought would kill me, I called the cops on myself. I was really drowsy, but I just didn’t want to be found dead in the guest room. I didn’t want an ambulance. I just wanted someone to be there while I died to tell my family I didn’t suffer and that I did it with no bad intentions. I guess I was just expecting to die talking in the back of a cop car, I really can’t give myself or anyone a full explanation of why I called the cops. Maybe my normal side was being cautious or maybe I didn’t really want to die (even though I still get those thoughts quite often). Either way, they ended up sending me to the hospital in an ambulance. I don’t remember getting onto the gurney, I don’t even remember snapchatting the ambulance doors or replying to my best friend on what I’d done. I don’t remember taking off my clothes and putting on a hospital gown or getting poked with needles which I am very scared of.

I slightly remember seeing some close friends, my sister and my dads girlfriend there and hoping that that was the last time they’d see me a huge mess. To my unfortunate self, the next thing I remember is being transferred to another hospital for behavioral problems or something like that. I honestly don’t know exactly what it was to this day because it sure as hell was not to help me or anyone with depression or any other mental health issue. I was so mad that I hadn’t died. I’m still upset that I didn’t die. I don’t want to be alive. I don’t mind being a soul, but I don’t want this body. I don’t want this life.

I know what some people might be thinking and I hope that I can answer some of yall’s questions and that ya’ll can understand or at least respect my thoughts towards it.

I have not had the best life, but I have not had the worst either. I have a dad who loves me, takes care of me and who would give me his kidney if he needed to. I have a sister who loves me, has been a motherly figure for years and is just amazing and always there if I may need her. I have a brother who I love play fighting with and love with all my heart. I have a mother who cared for me when I was a younger child and tolerated my bullshit and I’m pretty sure cares about me. I also have friends who I think all love me and care for me too. I have a roof over my head, food on the table and Wi-Fi (I can be humorous sometimes). I have all 10 fingers and 10 toes. A lot of people, even my own sister call suicide selfish and I completely understand how people can think that.

My dad paid for my rent when I was in Uni. He paid for a car that I totaled. He paid for my tickets. He pays for anything I need. He gives me everything I need. He has never failed me as a father. All I have to show as appreciation is years of failures and no degree for the years of time and effort he put to put me in Uni. I have not graduated because I’ve slacked off and didn’t keep my priorities straight. I can’t even give him money for coffee or take him out to eat, pamper him. I have failed in making the best man in my life proud.

My sister picked me up from school when my mom wouldn’t and I would get mad at her for picking me up late even though she would pick me up right after she got off of work. I wasn’t even her responsibility and I never have been, yet she is always there when I need her and don’t even request her assistance. I can’t take her to get her nails done, I can’t show her how much I appreciate her, instead I do the opposite. I am a burden to someone who should have their own life and not have to worry about a depressed little shit.

I hated my brother for his first couple years of life and I never hid it. He knew it too and that’s the part that sucks. He grew up knowing full well I hated an innocent child who had literally done nothing to me. It didn’t take me long to realize I really cared and loved the little guy, but I can’t take back what I made him feel when he was younger. I feel like he’d be okay without me, because he would’ve been better off without  me before.

My mom? I hurt her way more times than I could count. Leaving would be like a rock off her shoulder.

I understand how suicide can be thought of as selfish, but I saw it as a release of all burdens. Me being gone would mean not disappointing my dad anymore, not burdening my mom or dad and not hurting my brother or my mom. I would just be a memory and you know what people remember when you die? Only the happy times. Only the good times. Sometimes, it even brings people together and I’m positive that would’ve happened. My family would be closer and more open to conversations about sadness and mental health. I would also be one more death in the suicide statistic which would hopefully bring more attention to mental health, bullying and self worth. I feel I would be far more useful dead than alive.

I am in no way saying that suicide is the only option. I don’t want people to commit suicide, I don’t want people to hurt and that is the only reason I’m writing about my experience. I’m obviously still alive and kicking. There’s a lot more to this story than what I’ve shared right now. I do plan on making a part 2 to show how I’ve been progressing, so stick around if you’d like. If you’re feeling down please don’t hesitate in reaching out to someone, reach out to me. I may not be okay, but we can be not okay together.

Thank you for reading. Please be respectful, it takes a lot for me to write about my personal experience so openly and unedited.