Adventures in Depression

A month ago I tried to kill myself. I left work early, wrote out instructions and goodbyes then swallowed forty Tylenols. Pretty grim stuff.

Apparently Tylenol is one of the most toxic medications out there. I had to stay in the hospital over night, getting stuck for blood every couple hours to keep an eye on my heart, liver and kidneys. I had an allergic reaction to the IV they hooked me up to; my face swelled, I was itchy all over, mouth like a cotton ball. They got me onto Benadryl at five thirty in the morning then sent in the psychiatrist for an evaluation. Nothing says fun like trying to answer questions about your mental health while doped up with Benadryl. Oh, and I had had to pee since two.

Alright, so it’s kind of hard to find a good anecdote about my suicide attempt but don’t fault a girl for trying. Truth is, it fucking sucked. All of it; the constant needles, the charcoal and subsequent vomiting, having to pee for what felt like eternity, hurting my family and my friends, all of whom had been supporting me unconditionally since this nasty depression took hold. The worst part, even worse than the feelings leading up to the tango with the Tylenol (ok, maybe not worse because, shit yo, that was hell on earth) was the numbness I felt while lying on that hospital bed, realizing that I was going to be “ok”.

I didn’t overdoes because I wanted to die. I did it because I couldn’t stand feeling the way I felt for another second. It was the impulse to put a hurt animal out of it’s misery. For months I had been in agony. A dull, throbbing pain like being suffocated or drowning. My body had turned against me; blurry vision, jerky movements, exhaustion. My mind as well; a termite-riddled memory, shrunken vocabulary, paranoia, crushing anxiety, crippling guilt and a growing terror that “this was it”.

Maybe I’m weak but I couldn’t go on like that; being completely cognizant of the war waging in my head but being completely powerless to stop it.

I didn’t cry and repent my sins, not even when my Mum arrived from the airport. I couldn’t because reality was too painful. I lay there and just was as if I hadn’t brought myself to the brink. I had talked myself into doing the most hurtful, selfish thing I could have done. I had resisted nature; gone against Darwin. And what did I have to show for it? I wanted, desperately, to be relieved and happy to be alive. I wanted to leave the hospital and hear birds chirping. All I felt was let down. Let down and frustrated that the single biggest decision of my life left no mark. I was still depressed. My future was still a never ending tundra of nothing.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I don’t know how to end this maiden post. That is all I can do for tonight. The punch line is that I’m still here and for the first time in close to two years I am feeling optimistic about my life. The drugs have started working. Hip hip hurray.

I hope that writing about my experiences with depression will be cathartic and, who knows, maybe even helpful to someone out there who needs a kindred spirit.

All I know is that to survive I need to suck the poison out.