I had been brought back from the brink twice, over the last three years. The first was when my illness went into remission, which stopped adding fuel to the fire. I was in the process of stockpiling the prescription drug etoricoxib.
The second was during a bad flare-up, and the reality of having to deal with a lifelong medical condition was starting to sink in. One fine day I decided I was done with life and on an impulse wanted to get it over and done with. Hydroxychloroquine (another of my prescriptions; the drug people were panic-buying during the pandemic) overdose was the method of choice. I went to places and did things I used to love – went to the beach, had sashimi and ice-cream then made my way to an offshore island, all the while with a swollen knee and inflamed finger joints. I sent goodbye messages to my friends, thanking them for the good times, and that they should make the most out of life. Unfortunately, that set off alarms, my family was alerted and I had to drop everything.
Since then, nothing has been bad enough for me to rush to CTB; the occasional flare-up is only mildly inconvenient. While I do regret not going through with my plans, hurting my loved ones is something I can't bear to do.