I just sat there waiting to pass out, thinking about how utterly broken I was, and how my death would finally end this lifetime of sorrow. I felt a sort of poignant sense of peace knowing that I'd never have to feel like an unwanted outsider looking in any longer.
I was so ready to be gone... I wasn't scared, and survival instinct was nonexistent.
When that method (I sliced open my radial arteries on both arms, very deeply) ultimately failed me, I drained the bath, cleaned up the bloody scene, and then I went back to bed to research a better method. I genuinely thought I would have died in that bath tub that night. Stupid me.
I had indeed lost a great deal of blood the night before and had tremendous trouble moving around that following day when I headed to the hardware store to purchase some supplies for the new method. I must have appeared drunk or something, because I remember how weak my legs felt, and that whole day just felt like I was drifting through a dream?
But I never got the chance to put Plan B into action. My wounded arms were discovered when I accidentally fell asleep with my bedside lamp on later that night. It was a whole ordeal, and I was taken to the hospital a couple days later to have my arms double-stitched.
But hey, at least I wasn't forced to stay in the psych ward- which is pretty unbelievable, huh?
♀
P.S. I actually just dreamt about the night of that attempt last night, which has my mind so fucked today, which is why I'm here right now after a hiatus.