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I'm Not Crazy, or Maybe I Am.

Updated on September 16, 2017

My Suicide Story

For those of you that are unaware, I have very recently gone through a treatment facility for Alcohol, Suicide and PTSD, and I'm going to tell my story.

Before going in I was terrified, as I laid in the hospital bed half drunk unsure of what was even going on around me I couldn't stop thinking about my reputation. "What will people think, how will they see me now? My life is ruined." I laid there confused, with tears streaming down my face, I told them I didn't belong there and needed to leave. I was broken but fueled by anger because I refused to let the sadness show through. It was a fairly dark room with a curtain instead of a door, there were nurses walking around in a hussle on the other side. It smelled heavily of generic soap and that hospital smell that no one can describe. Everything was a little spotty until I gained some clarity, which was an unknown time to me, but it was still dark. I didnt know what day it was or where I was. But, it was pretty clear to me that I must have been in the observation area in a hospital. As soon as the room stood still again I promptly got up and let someone know that I was awake. After having what appeared to be a conversation from my end, I came to the conclusion that it was after midnight and I was not there voluntarily. My heart sank to my knees when they told me what happened, and I had to get the nurse to clarify what he was saying because I couldn't believe it. I got hostile and told him he was lying, but deep down I knew it was true. I felt like I was in a horrible nightmare. I just stood in shock and disbelief that what was happening was in fact real and not a dream. My mind went dark and it became hard to breath, my heart raced in my chest and I began to panic. By that point I just stopped talking to him, whether he left on his own or not I couldn't tell you what happened after that point. I just laid down on the bed and went back to sleep, with tears running down my face, feeling hopeless, defeated and broken.


Lets rewind a couple days prior to this event, I was doing well with my sobriety, stayed away from alcohol for nearly 90 days. I had been researching suicide for some reason the whole previous couple of weeks, it fascinated me and I wanted to know everything I could about it. I was planning something big but I knew if I was honest about it I would get stopped in my tracks, so I kept it a secret. I didn't want anyone to get in the way of my master plan. It's not even that I was that miserable, I was just content with ending my life. My abusive childhood plus the death of my mother plus fighting relationships got me to step off the cliff. I was researching what happens after death and I wanted to see for myself, I figured if there was any time then this would be as good as any. I found some interesting videos on youtube and educated myself to the point of exhaustion. I read articles and best ways to do it. I wanted it to be clean and not messy, easy and not terrifying. But I knew it was going to be very terrifying. After some time I felt so overwhelmed that I almost couldn't wait, but I had to wait till I was alone. The time grew closer to the moment I could feel it. On the 26th of June I got hit with a ton of bricks. I don't know if it's because of all the research I was doing or the fact I felt doomed to my disease, but I began the process. At my 87 mark of sobriety I relapsed, which of course was not planned. I beat myself up hardcore for that because it ruined my original clean plan, I wasn't going to be messy, I hated myself for that and after I relapsed all shit hit the fan. That was on a friday and I tried to go through my weekend like nothing happened but on sunday I couldn't help myself, the flood gates were open and I fell off the wagon again. I spent all of sunday researching my suicide again and trying to figure out a rush plan because I had already relapsed and by that point I was doomed to end up like my mother. So It had to happen that day or the next. I was terrified and didn't want to do it that way, but i couldnt wait any longer. I was overwhelmed with emotion and hopelessness. When darkness washed over I knew the end was near, Ithe made me paranoid and I felt the grim reaper around every corner stalking me. I asked a friend for help on sunday night, but the vibe was weird and after obtaining her reaction from what I said about suicide I decided she was not someone I was going to talk to, so I took her home. Hated mysef even more as I dropped her off, thinking anyone ekse could ever save me. I felt the rage build up inside me as I realized that I must not be meant to stay alive so maybe that was the sign. I couldn't help it, I wanted to inflict pain on myself, so I did, but it wasn't enough. On monday after my therapy appointment at 9 I decided it was time and I had to go through with it. No more waiting. I was feeling antzy and I knew I had got to the end of the rope, so I knew it was time even though it wasn't how I originally planned. I told her I was going to drink that day and that I hoped I just passed out and never woke up. I guess she didn't get the hint, I guess I should be more clear. I guess I should always be more clear about my feelings because you never know when it could be your last day on earth. The disappointment in people only grew more intense after that which gave me that the necessary fuel and courage needed to go through with this selfish act of death.

After the therapy I went to the liquor store to get some whiskey, I figured I would go out the way I wanted to. When I got home, I sat at the dining room table, poured myself a glass of whiskey and drank it. The anxiety left my body as I swollowed, feeling the sting on my throte. I got nervous but kept drinking in hopes the liqour would ease my pain like it always did before. Somewhere in that time I ordered a pizza and so I had what I treated as my last meal. While all this went on I kept knocking back whiskey. After the third glass I felt the familiar numbness and was put at ease so I drank glass after glass. I knew I had to drink it faster if I was going to die of alcohol posioning. So I started to put more in the glass each time I refilled it. I thought to myself, people die like this all the time, they will just see me as the disgusting drunk that I am and think nothing of it, I'll die just like my mother and her sister, had I not written the suicide note. Shit! A suicide note, of course. As I felt myself fade away I instantly panicked as I thought of how my mother went out. No warning, just dead. I didn't want to leave everyone the way I felt, so I got a jolt of adrenaline and realized I had one last thing to do before crossing over into the hand of death. I was fading in and out by this point, I felt the floor shifting and the room was spinning. I had to at least be courteous enough to leave some last words, suicide is selfish and the least I could do is leave a note. I had drank over half the bottle and knew from past experience that I was not stopping, and judging from the black spots in my vision my blackout moment was approaching quickly. Fear set in as I knew that I had no control over what I was about to do, so without thinking about it I textend a good friend of mine the words "it's not a good idea for me to be alone right now," in hopes that she will be that last glimmer of hope that would bring me out of this inevitable sequence of events.

After setting my phone down I decided it was a good idea to write that note before I blacked fully out. I hopped up from the spot at the table and to the best of my ability staggered into my room to find a notebook, I ripped a sheet of paper out of the back and grabbed a pen. Stumbling back to my spot at the table hitting stuff on the way, I plopped down with a pen in hand, setting the paper in front of me and started to write. I couldn't tell you what I wrote because I don't remember, but it started with "if I don't wake up from this..." and I think that was all the cops needed to baker act me.

I regained consciousness just long enough to see a couple people in my house including a cop. I was filled with disbelief at what I was seeing, I couldn't tell the difference from reality and what I was imagining. I was slightly furious that they were invading my plan but relieved that my friend got the hint that I needed real help. The fact they were standing in my house right then gave me the reassurance that I was not doomed. I only gained consciousness for a quick second then everything went dark again.


That night I woke up in the hospital and I knew I had not drempt what had happened. It was mot a horrible dream, it really happened. After a few hours of sleep and crying, I woke up to notice the sun gleaming in from the window and at that moment I knew without a shadow of a doubt that my life was about to change, and I had no idea how much.

© 2017 Virginia Davis


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