About recovering from depression and suicide.

remembering to create: Day One

I committed suicide on Monday, August 3, 2009 at around 11 p.m. Mountain Time.  I woke up around 1 a.m. with a severe headache and an exploded “Force-flex” garbage bag around my head.  Then the thought “great, something else I have failed at…” crept across my mind like a vengeful snail.

So, I sat.  For around 60 hours, I sat and did nothing.  I mean nothing, absolutely nothing but sat.  No thoughts, no actions…

Thursday morning a sound occurred.  Then another sound, or series of sounds.  It took a while, but central data processing finally woke up, identified the sounds, and translated them.  Something about police, my mother, and a welfare check.

WTF? I’m not on welfare.  OK, must unbend legs and bifurcate to the door.

More sounds, non-threatening coming from beyond a door.  I opened it and there were two hominids on the other side insisting on coming in to my apartment and giving me a welfare check.

Things are confusing from there on; I remember them putting my shoes on me because my hands were cuffed.  I rode in the police car to somewhere, I went where they put me, I sat where they put me, I answered questions I think.  I had no volition, I just did what they had me do.

Some one brought copious amounts of food, but I was not hungry; I had no reason to be hungry, I was dead, or would soon be, I hoped.  I lay on the soft area I was on, curled in to a fetal position to minimize contact with the world I wanted to reject.  The world that was too painful to endure any longer.

A woman came in, she was gentle and did not insist on anything.  She said things to me, asked me questions, I think.  She said something about helping me.  Upon reflection now, it was like a spark onto semi-dry tinder.  It prompted a response from me, one not in mere answer to a question.

“Do you really think I can be helped?”

“Yes, I think we can help you help yourself.”

I had to absorb this.  She went away saying something about eating.  So I did.  Everything.  A lunch and a dinner.  I began to register my surroundings, but only the floor, I did not want to see anyone, anything.
She came back, and we went up an elevator to a place where other things happened involving my weight, my height, and pressure on my upper arm… oh, yeah, blood pressure, blood oxy levels, temperature.

I was given more food which I ate all of.  It began to register that I had not eaten in several days.  I began to feel my body absorbing nutrients, reveling in the taste and strength flowing into it.  My mind turned from it though, not trusting what was happening, knowing that I was here because I trusted and loved and was betrayed.

I looked only at the floor.  A swirling, almost non-descript mix of mute green, purple, and orange.  I saw feet pass as my peripheral registered shapes moving by.  I kept myself in a fog to not know who was there, what was there.  I came to stop and sit in a room with a box that was making shapes and sounds… a television.

Other… people? were sitting around, watching it.  I sat and stared at the box, the tv, so I would not have to see or hear the other people.  The shapes and sounds had no meaning for me… no trace remained in my mind; I did not want a trace, I wanted to just sit and die…

“What did you do to get here”, one of the shapes, one of the people? near me asked.

I looked up.  It flooded into me again.  I felt.  I felt all of it.  All of the sadness, the depression, the despair.  WHY WAS I STILL ALIVE, IS THIS HELL?  I could not stop crying,  I went away, I followed my own scent to a place where I could curl up into my own world again, where no one could hurt me, where I could stay until I died.

And evening and morning were the first day…


August 31, 2009 - Posted by | autobio, depression, recovery, suicide

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