Let’s talk about something for a minute, ok? Suicide.
This is a heavy post so please use discretion if you are sensitive to this topic.
As some of you know, I was recently hospitalized for about a week after intentionally overdosing on medication, and even now, I keep coming back to a few thoughts- how can people think this is a joke? How can people think this is glamorous? How can anyone think this is anything except the ugliest feeling any one human can ever experience?
Suicide is NOT a joke. It is NOT glamorous. It is not something you should take lightly.
That day, after I lost everything, I went back to a house that at one point, was my home, and I fed my cats. I sat down in my bed. I moved things away from me, pillows, fabrics, things that might be hard to clean up whenever someone finally found me, I grabbed my favorite blanket, the plush bat my mom bought me before she died, and I emptied every single pill bottle I could find into my lap. 4 or 500 pills I think. I turned on my ps4 so I could listen to “one more light”. I hurt. Not just emotionally, but physically hurt. It felt like the entire world had been ripped away from me and replaced all the marrow in my bones with lead. My 11 year old relationship was suddenly gone. I had no income, no support, I was being evicted, facing an autism diagnosis at 28, and had lost my best friend. I was tired. I took the pills in handfuls and felt them like stones when they hit my stomach. No one would find me for at least a few days, no one would know I was gone, and I wasn’t convinced anyone would give a shit even if they did know. I couldn’t stop sobbing, even after throwing up from the effort of it. But the second I took those pills was something I wish no one person will ever feel. I waited. I stopped crying, I stopped shaking, I just waited to die. I felt it edging in with a certainty that was undeniable. And then there was nothing. Even when my vision was going blurry, black around the very edges, I stopped feeling anything. I just sat there. I didn’t feel fear or love or hope or sadness or even relief. And looking back at it now, some short time later, I feel sick to my stomach. After everything that happened, after all that was done, I just sat down and waited. I gave up.
It wasn’t a selfish act, it wasn’t a cowardly one. It was a heavy choice and one I hope you never make. I truly felt, in those few hours that led up to it, that there was nothing and no one left here for me. That I had no more fight or strength left to rely on. I was doing what I thought was best. I know now it wasn’t.
So no. I won’t laugh when you joke about killing yourself because you missed a sale or hated a movie. I won’t smile and ignore it when you joke about wanting to kill yourself so that you can die young and beautiful.
I spent almost a week in the hospital. They had to flush my system twice to get all of the medication out of me. My heart rate was on average 140. I was under constant watch because they were afraid I would have a heart attack. I stayed awake for 4 1/2 days before they could safely give me anything to help me sleep. I threw up more times than I can remember, busted blood vessels in my face from sobbing over the migraines the overdose had caused, I had 3 veins blown from IVs and dehydration. It took me 5 days before I could walk on my own without my legs giving out beneath me.
But tell me again, what trivial thing was it that prompted your joke? What celebrity made you want to die young and beautiful?
Suicide isn’t beautiful. It isn’t funny. Ever. And I wish people could realize this.
– Joji V. Grey