smaragdyne
Member
- Jul 21, 2024
- 21
This is a story about my experience losing a loved one to suicide, and I want it to primarily serve as a resource for those who may be curious about the experience of those they may leave behind.
I started dating my GF - Lucy (fake name) - in 2016, and I knew she had some issues but idgaf about that. But some shit happened in early 2018 that led to her getting committed involuntarily by her neighbor (she had like a total episode destroying stuff, throwing stuff out her window, etc.). A few weeks later I finally got Lucy out of there but I guess the damage had already been done mentally. Hence... lesson #1-
I thought showing her it was surmountable was the solution, so we got us an apartment despite all the turmoil and worked my ass off getting the place situated and we moved in together. And that did work for a while, but then Lucy started to complain how she just couldn't go back to the way she was as a person. I'm guessing whatever happened to her exacerbating some schizoid tendencies that she had previously been able to manage.
One day she stopped talking to me entirely. That went on for probably over a week before she died, and I maybe got a few sentences out of her that whole time other than that day. So this actually is lesson #2:
1. If you want to get away with CTB, you need to act normal. Looking back, Lucy shutting down entirely and never speaking was the biggest red flag. It literally says "I don't care anymore, I'm about to die". (I do believe I'm at fault for letting this go on when it did)
2. Conversely, if you at least fake some type of existence, sometimes it can catalyze a few additional moments of peace or comfort. Let's face it, that's all the normie's are doing anyway....
My guilt surrounding these circumstances is why I'd like actually inform people about what they are considering, like in a non-judgmental, supportive way.
So I'll just start by saying I think Lucy deserves an award for most ballsy CTBs of 2018. I'm talking swooping down on a bald eagle butt naked, smoking a Cuban cigar, blasting Free Bird at full volume while pulling the trigger of a .44 Magnum with her tongue ballsy.
That's what happens when you back someone into a corner with no other options. Lucy and I argued that morning about paying the rent. But later while I was at work, she called me sounding perfectly sweet and happy and told me she was going shopping that day. It was strange because she sounded just like her old self, but she played me perfectly; I never suspected a thing, I assumed she had listened to me and decided to get her act together.
Her last words to me over the phone were "I love you". My last words to her were "well did you pay the rent?". Not a great memory. That was around 10 A.M.
Lucy did go shopping. She went to the store and bought a set of steak knives, two boxes of wine, and a few bottles of NyQuil (impressive stuff, she was 5' 2", 90 lbs., that's 157cm/40kg for metric friends). I think she also got her hair done, lol.
I guess she went back to the apartment, drank every drop of wine and NyQuil , got in the bathtub and gouged a hole in her throat with one of the knives, right through her beautiful vocal cords.
Now the bathtub part was very considerate, but the problem is I think she overestimated how quickly she would die. She was nowhere near the tub when I found her; she had ended up across the apartment into the living room, leaning up against the couch. Obviously she ran around panicking, like a chicken with her head cut off or something. Still makes me sick to think about it. That's lesson #3. Don't do it like that. You don't want to die like that.
I got home several hours later expecting anything but what I found. Needless to say it was a bad experience for me. But I do have some interesting insights because of it. Of course this is just how my mind worked:
The carpet was soaked in blood, it felt like gallons, but my brain still thought "oh she pissed herself" even though the volume, color, and smell didn't make sense. I think I was panicking in a way that was so primal I wasn't thinking straight. My brain would not let me see what I knew I was seeing. So I called 911 for an ambulance and started CPR when I realized she also wasn't breathing. Even after I saw the hole in her throat, I STILL didn't get it. I just covered it up with my hand and kept trying to breathe in to her lungs.
They connected me with the EMT driving to our place and I remember him sounding confused about what I was describing until he asked "is she warm" and it was like all of a sudden I remembered to feel temperature. So I stopped and just put a hand on her and realized she was fucking ICE COLD AND HOW DID I NOT REALIZE THIS IN THE LAST 10 MINUTES and it all started to make sense. I suddenly saw exactly what had happened. I remember the realization felt like an electric shock in my brain.
So naturally I was beside myself, in a very suggestible state, but I still think I knew I was going to be questioned by detectives. So they took me to the "homicide division" or whatever, lol. It was pretty cool honestly, one of those interrogation rooms with a table and the loop on the floor where they can chain you up if you're violent. Free cigarettes. The part I didn't like is that they didn't let me wash the blood off my hands until they handed me a pen to sign whatever garbage waiver you sign.
They did the good cop/bad cop thing which I would have found incredibly comical had I not been so thoroughly traumatized. I think they realized this after I told them basically this same story I told here. So this is the final lesson because I can't think of any more.
Maybe you were doing a little bit of drugs before you CTB'd? Maybe your friends or family were doing something naughty nearby? Maybe you had sloppy operational security and so did someone else on this forum and you left your computer open and logged in? Don't ruin it for the rest of us (living people)!
That's about all I have to say.
Disclaimer: This story is part resource, part vent, part introduction. It's not really meant as a commentary on the people involved therein, just another data point in the cycle. I don't know what Lucy would think about me telling her story here. I don't think I've given enough info to pinpoint my ID but I'd rather not find out please! :)
Proclaimer: I love each and every one of you, but ESPECIALLY those who read the whole thing.
I started dating my GF - Lucy (fake name) - in 2016, and I knew she had some issues but idgaf about that. But some shit happened in early 2018 that led to her getting committed involuntarily by her neighbor (she had like a total episode destroying stuff, throwing stuff out her window, etc.). A few weeks later I finally got Lucy out of there but I guess the damage had already been done mentally. Hence... lesson #1-
Why? It never helps. Most of Lucy's rights were permanently gone (no guns to CTB now! /foreshadowing). The embarrassment is excruciating, according to her. They gave her extreme doses of whatever makes you the most docile with no regard for how it affected her recovery. It's not a place for your benefit. She never got over this. It was the beginning of the end for Lucy.
I thought showing her it was surmountable was the solution, so we got us an apartment despite all the turmoil and worked my ass off getting the place situated and we moved in together. And that did work for a while, but then Lucy started to complain how she just couldn't go back to the way she was as a person. I'm guessing whatever happened to her exacerbating some schizoid tendencies that she had previously been able to manage.
One day she stopped talking to me entirely. That went on for probably over a week before she died, and I maybe got a few sentences out of her that whole time other than that day. So this actually is lesson #2:
What do I mean?
1. If you want to get away with CTB, you need to act normal. Looking back, Lucy shutting down entirely and never speaking was the biggest red flag. It literally says "I don't care anymore, I'm about to die". (I do believe I'm at fault for letting this go on when it did)
2. Conversely, if you at least fake some type of existence, sometimes it can catalyze a few additional moments of peace or comfort. Let's face it, that's all the normie's are doing anyway....
My guilt surrounding these circumstances is why I'd like actually inform people about what they are considering, like in a non-judgmental, supportive way.
So I'll just start by saying I think Lucy deserves an award for most ballsy CTBs of 2018. I'm talking swooping down on a bald eagle butt naked, smoking a Cuban cigar, blasting Free Bird at full volume while pulling the trigger of a .44 Magnum with her tongue ballsy.
That's what happens when you back someone into a corner with no other options. Lucy and I argued that morning about paying the rent. But later while I was at work, she called me sounding perfectly sweet and happy and told me she was going shopping that day. It was strange because she sounded just like her old self, but she played me perfectly; I never suspected a thing, I assumed she had listened to me and decided to get her act together.
Her last words to me over the phone were "I love you". My last words to her were "well did you pay the rent?". Not a great memory. That was around 10 A.M.
Not entirely sure what happened between then and 6 P.M. that evening, but I can tell you this much:
Lucy did go shopping. She went to the store and bought a set of steak knives, two boxes of wine, and a few bottles of NyQuil (impressive stuff, she was 5' 2", 90 lbs., that's 157cm/40kg for metric friends). I think she also got her hair done, lol.
I guess she went back to the apartment, drank every drop of wine and NyQuil , got in the bathtub and gouged a hole in her throat with one of the knives, right through her beautiful vocal cords.
Now the bathtub part was very considerate, but the problem is I think she overestimated how quickly she would die. She was nowhere near the tub when I found her; she had ended up across the apartment into the living room, leaning up against the couch. Obviously she ran around panicking, like a chicken with her head cut off or something. Still makes me sick to think about it. That's lesson #3. Don't do it like that. You don't want to die like that.
I got home several hours later expecting anything but what I found. Needless to say it was a bad experience for me. But I do have some interesting insights because of it. Of course this is just how my mind worked:
This was the weirdest part thinking back. It took me SO long to realize Lucy was dead. At first I thought "what a dumb bitch she passed out naked on the floor". But she didn't wake up when I yelled. So I thought "uh oh, she's unconscious" and went over and started to shake her.
The carpet was soaked in blood, it felt like gallons, but my brain still thought "oh she pissed herself" even though the volume, color, and smell didn't make sense. I think I was panicking in a way that was so primal I wasn't thinking straight. My brain would not let me see what I knew I was seeing. So I called 911 for an ambulance and started CPR when I realized she also wasn't breathing. Even after I saw the hole in her throat, I STILL didn't get it. I just covered it up with my hand and kept trying to breathe in to her lungs.
They connected me with the EMT driving to our place and I remember him sounding confused about what I was describing until he asked "is she warm" and it was like all of a sudden I remembered to feel temperature. So I stopped and just put a hand on her and realized she was fucking ICE COLD AND HOW DID I NOT REALIZE THIS IN THE LAST 10 MINUTES and it all started to make sense. I suddenly saw exactly what had happened. I remember the realization felt like an electric shock in my brain.
So naturally I was beside myself, in a very suggestible state, but I still think I knew I was going to be questioned by detectives. So they took me to the "homicide division" or whatever, lol. It was pretty cool honestly, one of those interrogation rooms with a table and the loop on the floor where they can chain you up if you're violent. Free cigarettes. The part I didn't like is that they didn't let me wash the blood off my hands until they handed me a pen to sign whatever garbage waiver you sign.
They did the good cop/bad cop thing which I would have found incredibly comical had I not been so thoroughly traumatized. I think they realized this after I told them basically this same story I told here. So this is the final lesson because I can't think of any more.
No, not that "law". Fuck laws! I mean "the Law" like the cops, pigs, 12, whatever. When you CTB they are going to get involved.
Maybe you were doing a little bit of drugs before you CTB'd? Maybe your friends or family were doing something naughty nearby? Maybe you had sloppy operational security and so did someone else on this forum and you left your computer open and logged in? Don't ruin it for the rest of us (living people)!
That's about all I have to say.
Disclaimer: This story is part resource, part vent, part introduction. It's not really meant as a commentary on the people involved therein, just another data point in the cycle. I don't know what Lucy would think about me telling her story here. I don't think I've given enough info to pinpoint my ID but I'd rather not find out please! :)
Proclaimer: I love each and every one of you, but ESPECIALLY those who read the whole thing.
