Hello again, Friends! 🙂
Today I wanted to bring up something that irks me, and I hmm-ed and haaa-ed about this topic, because there’s no “happy ending” and there’s no great lesson to be learned from it, and it’s kind of a dark topic, but I think it’s something that SHOULD be talked about.
Please be warned, I do briefly mention self harm in this post so if you’re triggered at all by that, please, please leave this post and keep yourself safe.
In spring of 2013 I hit another major snag in my mental well being. Some of it was organic and some was circumstantial, but regardless: After a long talk with Mom, and then my aunt, I was off to the local hospital to hopefully avoid losing what was left of my sanity (ha, ha, ha! Like I had any sanity to begin with!) and possibly offing myself.
That first hospital visit was 100% awful. I spent around twelve hours in a waiting room for some doctor to look me in the eye and tell me I was basically fine even though I knew without a doubt, I was a hundred thousand degrees away from fine.
In my muddy state of mind, I began to feel like I was not “sick enough” to see a doctor. It made me want to hurt myself more than I did before. I wondered if I slit my wrists if I’d be “sick enough” for them to take me seriously. I wondered if I took a whole bottle of Benadryl if I’d be considered “sick enough”.
A few days later I was still a complete mess. I was crying on the couch (which was not something I did on a regular basis. I don’t cry that often anyway, and when I do, I’m more of a “private crier”.) and I didn’t want to talk to anybody, I just wanted to be dead. So my parents took me back to the hospital, and after eight more hours of waiting, the doctors told me that my family was the problem, even though I highly disagreed, and they said I should see a professional (for the life of me I can’t remember if he was a psychologist or psychiatrist, but he was a doctor of some variety, and he was terrible, but I plan to talk about that in a post in the near future!). And despite telling the intake nurse I wanted to overdose, they prescribed sleeping pills! Does that make sense to anybody else? It definitely didn’t make sense to me! Sure, my mom was supposed to dole them out, and they didn’t prescribe enough to seriously harm me anyway, but that’s not the point!
Looking back on it now, the whole thing was a giant headache, and it really hurt my family more than it helped any of us, but I still don’t think I would change it because all of my experiences — good or bad — have made me who I am, and my mom was by my side 24/7 for a few weeks after that second hospital trip so we got to talk a lot and our relationship became stronger, and I learned what I want to be “when I grow up” ;P
I know the hospital can be great for other people, and I still encourage anybody that’s seriously contemplating suicide to GO. Just because it didn’t work for me doesn’t mean it won’t work for you. It’s scary to get help, I know it is, but it’s gonna be okay.
Whether you get help from a hospital, or from your family or friends, or from a counsellor, whatever works for you, as long as you don’t suffer alone.
Your life is priceless, and you deserve so much more than a life lived alone in the darkness. Reach out to someone, it’s the best thing you will ever do for yourself, I promise you. Even if it’s hard to do, it’ll be worth it.