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Triggering (Suicide) - The start of a story
I basically just started writing because I was bored, feedback welcome :)
Chapter I
Have you ever been so unhappy and had such a complete lack of energy it seems pointless to get out of bed? Or maybe to eat or wash your hair? Sometimes life can seem so meaningless and hollow that there’s no use to kill yourself, just no cause for living either. Maybe you want to die but to build up the energy to get that blade, swallow those pills; jump in front of a train is too much effort. Depression; there doesn’t have to be a reason but it’s what I believe to be the biggest baffling pain out there, well cancer is close to it.
Staring at the letter on the sideboard, the letters on the pages jump out at me “Mental Health”, “Psychiatrist”, “Suicidal”. Its funny how sometimes certain words jump out at you, other times they can be a scrabbled mess like your brain decides it’s not able to decipher the code or that if the depression took in what was written it just wouldn’t survive another wound. Freud would probably say it was repression, denial and by pushing it into our unconscious mind and not dealing with it means it WILL come back to haunt us. My mother has always said that there’s only so much that can be swept under the rug before the rug gets too small to hide these secrets. Everyone has secrets, many suffer a form of mental health problem in their lifetime, if they don’t they will definitely know someone who does even if they don’t know it.
Anyway, back to the letter I was talking about. Sometimes I lose track of what I wanted to say. I’m always thinking and that’s bad for me as it’s led me where I am today. The letter is a result of my first ‘real’ suicide attempt (by real I mean someone noticed it this time). For someone who has never committed suicide, successful or not, would be surprised what it takes to kill the average human being. You’d be shocked at what you could live with physically and emotionally.
Failure seems to be an excessive part of my life so failing to die is quite possibly my biggest failure yet. Do you think I sound selfish? Many of the professionals who looked after my physical well-being in the hospital seem to think so. How do you begin to explain to someone trained to save lives that it’s not as simple as what you see in front of you? That the possible liver failure and other vital organs giving up are the least of your worries? When I woke up in that hospital bed all alone, it wasn’t the fact I was covered in my own vomit, attached to an intra-venus drip that bothered me. It wasn’t that horrible taste of bile in my mouth, it was the fact I woke up crying. I was crying in front of complete strangers in an unfamiliar place after a failed suicide attempt.
If that isn’t a cry for help I don’t know what is. But I didn’t want help and I still don’t. I don’t cry in front of anyone, or get angry. Emotion is my weakness and to show my vulnerability to even one individual let alone the number that were in that hospital was terrifying. To give someone else the key to your weakness is the same as giving someone a knife and telling them to stab you. Although they might say to your face that they wouldn’t and it’s okay to feel, the minute your back is turn they’d stab you and not just once either.
I looked around the room to see a nurse coming in my direction “So, you’re Ella”. “Err, yes” I replied looking rather confused as to how she knew my name. “Your purse had your details in” she answered seeming to know what I was thinking, she carried on “You’re 15, is that correct?” “Yes, I am.” “Well, it looks like you overdosed on a lot of pills while drinking alcohol, it’ll be a while before you can go home we need to get the medication out of your system, but you will have undoubtedly done some damage to your liver at the moment we don’t know how much though”. I was speechless; what’s the polite way to say “I wish you didn’t save my life, I’d rather die”? After an awkward silence she carried on “Take a good look around Ella; these people are all in here because they’re sick like you, but they’re problems happened naturally, they value their life and appreciate our help. Your parents must be worried sick about you and if its attention you wanted you’re going about it the wrong way”. She left the room after that speech. No one seems to understand that it’s not attention; I really did want to die. Is there anyone to help me out of this one?
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