I’m not sure when living day by day started becoming a real problem. By the time I got diagnosed with my mental health condition, I had already spent way too much time tortured by the noise in my brain. It was like a committee of raging snakes, but they spoke both languages.
There were times in which I would “shut down” involuntarily, meaning that I had to stay put, to do nothing for a day or two, until I felt a little better to go back to the circus the next day.
My memory has always been terrible, even when I was a kid. I realize now that’s a defense mechanism for trauma. There are many contextual details I don’t remember, but I do remember how I felt most of the time.
Dark memories
One time, I picked up a big kitchen knife and hid it in my room. Part of me wanted to slash my wrists with it in hopes that the pain would go away. Another aspect of me wished my mom to care. I showed her what I intended to do, and she dismissed me immediately. What was the point of dying if she wouldn’t even cry for me?
The first time I would dare end it “for real,” I was too intoxicated to understand what was going on. The Ice Storm was on, and I had cooked something that day, which was a miracle in itself. It was a Friday afternoon, about three months after major surgery. The store on the opposite side of the street had the worst vodka, but it was dirt cheap. I bought a bottle and came back to the apartment immediately. I looked for the medicine packets and started taking medicine out, one by one. When there was a considerable amount of pills in front of me, I realized I didn’t have a note.
There was a political issue back home, probably related to the recession. I had spent six months looking for work without success. What was left of my student loan money was not a lot, so I would have to go back home soon. To me, going back home meant that I had failed. I also wasn’t on speaking terms with my dad.
I wrote a letter. I think I printed and signed it, but I’m not too sure. I went back to bed, to my bottle of vodka and my bunch of pills. I started taking them little by little.
It had gotten darker when I came to again, but the night wasn’t upon us yet. I felt terrible like I’d never felt before. I felt as if my body was shutting down and screaming at the same time. I realized what I had done. I grabbed the phone and called the emergency number. The only thing I remember them saying was, “Can you open your door?” and I don’t even know what my reply was.
Then I was in an ambulance, sitting down on the floor. My extremities felt like quicksand. I think there were two people with me in the back. I had no sense of space and time. I could have been a fly for all I know.
When I opened my eyes again, the brightness of the lights on the hospital ward made me wish I was blind for a second. I looked to my left and saw an IV bag. I could see the end of it in my hand. But then I noticed that I had another IV bag hooked to my right hand. The liquid in both bags looked a little different from one another.
An older woman was on my left. The nurse drew the curtain back, so I was able to see her face. I know we talked about so many things, but I can’t remember a thing. However, I remember she was the nicest, most compassionate, and understanding person I had ever met. She gave me a card that I still treasure to this day.
I don’t know how I got my phone in my hand, but I could make two quick calls. I called my brother, then my boyfriend. The only part of the conversation I remember was my brother asking me if I was okay and not answering that without breaking down.
Three days later, I got released from the hospital. My mind was blank. The committee was silent, perhaps for the first time.
The aftermath
There have been other times when I’ve been close to ending my life, but never like that day. A few years after that incident, I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD).
Having BPD was the first diagnosis that made sense to me. It took a lot of work to get to the point of being in “maintenance mode,” in which you almost feel normal, at least for a minute or two. Life becomes more manageable. The tools work if you use them and are willing to do whatever it takes to get better.
There are days, like today, in which I pick up behaviors from my earlier days. Isolating, self-sabotage, obsessing over stuff are still comforting to me sometimes. However, I try not to be too hard on myself at the moment. If whatever I'm doing is not hurting me, I can see how the behavior unfolds.
Final thoughts
I thought most people had life figured out. Growing up with a mental illness helped me realize that even though my brain reacts to life differently, it doesn't mean there's something wrong with me. We're all just figuring it out together, one day at a time.
About the Creator
Nah.
I swear I’m human. In fact, I’m extraordinary.
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