Still Alive

Well... it's been a very difficult last few months. It took an especially unpleasant experience in the ICU for me to understand that I don't want to go back there. If you've never awakened, not knowing where you are nor what day it is with a tube down your throat, hands tied, feeling like you're choking - I wouldn't recommend it. I believe it was truly God's will for me to end up there. I prayed and prayed for a sign, anything, that would give me a reason not to put my plan in action. I had told the previous day both my doctor and social worker that I did have a plan and had done my research and knew that this time, it would work... the visit ended with my having another appointment with the social worker in 1 month, and one with the doctor in January. It's not like me at all to reach out, to cry out for help, but this time I tried. I called the suicide hotline 4 times and kept on getting a busy signal. Then I tried just a help line and got a busy signal there too. So that was it, I couldn't take it. I called afterwards, the crisis centre I had been to a couple of times this summer. I just didn't want to sit and wait to die - alone, in a cruddy appartment. I told them my intentions, but didn't admit that I had acted on them. During the conversation, something the worker said finally made me admit to what I had done and she called the ambulance. I was told later that had they arrived just 10 minutes later, I wouldn't be here right now. That would have been it. It's a scary thought and at the same time, I feel violated in a way, not knowing what happened, what they did during those 2-3 days. They had cut off my clothes, I also had a catheter. How much of me did people see and how many of them? Just my arm, on which I had written in big bright pink letters the word ''Sorry'' was in plain sight, and I couldn't hide it because my hands were tied. I feel as if tons of people have seen my pain, my scarred body, and read my suicide note. Those letters were my note, there was nothing else to say. It's a small word, but holds so many meanings.

Anyways, back to the point of this... I've now learnt and felt the pride of standing up for myself, for my right to be listened to, for my right to proper help, and have witnessed the love and support that surround me. I have filed a complaint and fired my doctor and social worker (for events following the attempt as well). Previous ODs had just been cries for help I think, but this was the first real time I didn't want it to fail. I no longer have access to my apartment except one hour a week to slowly bring it back in order. I have had to quit my job. I'm now living in a transition home where I feel I finally have someone who understands my needs even better than I do and wants to make sure that I come to know what I want from my life and to put a balance in all the aspects of it. To do some weeding. This experience has given me much more confidence to speak up and say what bothers me, to say no, and to let things go.