jamesies
coydog
- Apr 8, 2025
- 19
i am very hesitant about posting here, i came to this forum at the peak of my si and i have complicated feelings on it. i do want to recover, but my brain is still telling me that death is ideal and inevitable. i want to recover, but i say that with the caveat that i dont even know if im being honest when i say that. its a weird feeling. i probably shouldnt be posting, but until i get a therapist (and i am getting one, a new psychiatrist as well, maybe even iop), this will have to do. i have the restraint to not go into the discussion forums. i am living now for others and not myself. i am surrounded with love and i am full of love and i really mean that. i dont know why death nags me despite all of this love.
it didn't go as planned, it wasn't my plan at all. i know damn well that overdoses aren't reliable but i was so out of my mind from stress the night i did it that i just wasn't thinking clearly. i took about 3000mg of wellbutrin and went to bed hoping to pass away peacefully in my sleep. that right there is just one indication of how unclear my thinking had been. i, someone normally not very impulsive, someone who pours an extensive amount of research into things, somehow thought i would pass away peacefully after an overdose. this was stupid of me. i hesitated once or twice before downing the pills and washing it down with tea. to be honest, i have this horrible feeling about the circumstances and how thoroughly this experience has fucked with me because a part of me views my impulsive, hysterics driven overdose as something nobody should take too seriously. my coworker and friend told me that it almost never goes as planned. is that true?
my only other attempts had been naive ones when i was a child. i thought drowning myself in the sink was a viable option when i was about 10, and while it obviously didnt work out the intent was still there. this had been boiling over my entire life after a lifetime of abuse and intense struggles. i spent so much time agonizing on whether or not to admit myself when i was a teenager. i always knew my future and my future was to be cut short by suicide. i was medically neglected and isolated and thus too scared to try and push harder for the care i really needed as a kid. i remember feeling like attempt was the only way to get help, i don't think i even wanted to die as a teen, i just desperately wanted help. so, i considered myself someone who just "wanted attention", because i did. of course i did.
that changed as an adult. after a number of severe betrayals in trust from people i truly loved and while dealing with increasing health issues, stressors, etc, something shifted. i genuinely did want to die, not attempt as a last ditch effort to get help, help was in my hands, im an adult. i wasnt scared, i wasnt even concerned, i didnt want help not out of reluctance or stubbornness but because it just didnt even register to me, this fate was as clear as day to me. i planned and planned and i would constantly return to this plan when it got especially hard. id think about it first thing in the morning and before bed at night.
when i woke up, i just laid in bed for a while. i intended on going to work. again, i dont know what the hell i was thinking. the second i got up, my heart started pounding and fluttering and i knew if i went to work id risk seizing in front of my coworkers and i knew i couldnt traumatize them like that, at least that much was clear to me. i called poison control and danced around the fact that it had been intentional. 5 pills is what i told him but that wasn't accurate, i was ashamed. when he finally got it out of me he told me to not to drive because i risked seizure. i ignored this, got in my car, instantly hit a parked car (no damage to either). again, i dont know what the hell i was thinking. this whole ordeal was so fucking selfish. i could have killed someone had i decided to drive.
i was too terrified to ask my father to drive me so the only option i could think of was my coworker who was already at the store. i texted my manager telling her i was going to the ER, and texted him asking for a ride to said ER. he told me he was at work, so no. i just accepted that, told him okay, and sat buckled in my car as the tremors started sitting in. i sat buckled in my car totally okay with the possibility that id just seize or go into cardiac arrest, probably both, and either die or be left with horrible damage. thankfully, he texted me soon after asking if i NEEDED someone to take me and i said yes. the first thing he said when he got me was that our manager was pissed off about everything, pissed off she had to get coverage. whatever. he asked me what happened, i said overdose, and he went "why!!?!?", i didn't want to explain. i was so so terrified of seizing in his car because, like i said, i didnt want anyone to be traumatized by me.
i was admitted soon after and everything kind of blurs. i pissed myself when two nurses tried to help me to the bathroom. seized multiple times. nearly went into cardiac arrest. my condition was only worsening for a good while and i knew things werent boding well because i could hear the nurses talking about me beyond my hallucinatory daze. i remember making out someone saying "he definitely took more", because they were still under the impression i took 5 pills at most. i dont remember this at all, but apparently i spoke to a psychiatrist while on that bed, and the first thing i told him is that i wished i had taken another bottle. stupid. i could go on and on recounting my stay there and at the hospital but it would get awfully long. i had a sitting nurse the entire length of my stay, i drew a lot, got lots of compliments on my drawings. left a drawing as a gift for the staff before i got transferred to inpatient
inpatient wasnt as scary as i thought, it wasnt scary at all. i loved it honestly. i loved the people i met and they loved me. i made a dozen or so tiny clay kirby figures with the model magic they gave us and passed them out to the others, i considered them my friends and i still do. this severely schizophrenic woman, a very very sweet woman, told me that she had put hers on her night stand and that he watched over her and made her feel safe. another called it her little baby and asked me if he was a pokemon. another, someone i have been texting after my stay, sent me a photo of hers on her night stand at home.
before i was discharged, i asked people if theyd like to sign a sheet of paper, and they did. i hugged everyone and i swear to god the hugs i got were the most warm, genuine, healing hugs ive EVER gotten. especially the one from this one girl who i really really liked, someone who shared a lot of my issues, the sweetest person there. it was amazing. i have that sheet of paper by my bed to feel less alone, i look at it to feel okay. i didnt want to leave them. i honestly could have stayed much longer, but im reuniting with a longtime friend very soon and i knew that seeing him again is the most therapeutic thing life has to offer me right now. i love him so so dearly.
i still miss them. i dont see my er, hospital, or inpatient stays as an unpleasant experience. i felt so safe. the care meant everything to me, i swear to god nothing has compared.
i could go on and on. i have so many stories even just from my short stay. so many. i have so many thoughts as well, so much to share in general.
i realized there just how uncomfortable i am with being alone, its really bad. even if i was dead tired, irritated, anything, id stay up late in the common area or in the room adjacent (there were windows, so i could see everyone) just to feel safe. i couldnt sleep unless my roommate was as well. i feel so childish for this. i hate being alone so much. the night i got back, i was so uncomfortable being alone again. i put on a podcast to sleep, needing to hear human voices.
i dont really know how to end this. theres no point to this, i doubt anyone would have read all of this. the night i got back i asked my boss if i could come in the next day and she asked if i was sure, i said yes. i went back to work today. work was fine. i talked to my coworker, an older woman who lost her son to suicide. when i was planning, she crossed my mind a number of times. i knew she'd be devastated. why was i so selfish throughout this whole process? i wish i could say this disgusts me but it doesn't. i feel like it should. i learned i have a lot in common with her, more than our shared love of birds.
i was telling her the story about the kirbies, and i asked her if she even knew who kirby was. she said "of course i do, my son made a kirby with clay".
i told her about the woman with schizophrenia who i gave a kirby to, she said her son had schizophrenia as well. isnt that crazy? things like this shake me to my core. i still cant believe it.
i have been thinking a lot, and i realized that reckoning with how cruel the world is and how cruel its people can be is what crushed me. how childish is that? 21 years old, i have experienced abject cruelty in many forms, over and over, relentlessly. i still trusted, to a fault, i was still so optimistic, always. i was, and am, a "doormat", someone who loves even their abusers, who sees the good in others and even refuses to reckon with the bad in them. i, of all people, should know the world is cruel, that people are cruel. people like me aren't supposed to see people as good.
i am just as capable of cruelty as any other, everyone is capable of cruelty, but i still experience love every day. the fact that my brain doesn't align with this fact, that i still want to die, is a puzzle to me. this fracture in trust, worldview, values, is what almost killed me. i have never been closer to death. im in a weird place now, but i have faith that i will continue even though i still feel close to death. even when my brain doesn't align with what i think is right, how i think it ought to behave. this may have been one of the best things to ever happen to me.
it didn't go as planned, it wasn't my plan at all. i know damn well that overdoses aren't reliable but i was so out of my mind from stress the night i did it that i just wasn't thinking clearly. i took about 3000mg of wellbutrin and went to bed hoping to pass away peacefully in my sleep. that right there is just one indication of how unclear my thinking had been. i, someone normally not very impulsive, someone who pours an extensive amount of research into things, somehow thought i would pass away peacefully after an overdose. this was stupid of me. i hesitated once or twice before downing the pills and washing it down with tea. to be honest, i have this horrible feeling about the circumstances and how thoroughly this experience has fucked with me because a part of me views my impulsive, hysterics driven overdose as something nobody should take too seriously. my coworker and friend told me that it almost never goes as planned. is that true?
my only other attempts had been naive ones when i was a child. i thought drowning myself in the sink was a viable option when i was about 10, and while it obviously didnt work out the intent was still there. this had been boiling over my entire life after a lifetime of abuse and intense struggles. i spent so much time agonizing on whether or not to admit myself when i was a teenager. i always knew my future and my future was to be cut short by suicide. i was medically neglected and isolated and thus too scared to try and push harder for the care i really needed as a kid. i remember feeling like attempt was the only way to get help, i don't think i even wanted to die as a teen, i just desperately wanted help. so, i considered myself someone who just "wanted attention", because i did. of course i did.
that changed as an adult. after a number of severe betrayals in trust from people i truly loved and while dealing with increasing health issues, stressors, etc, something shifted. i genuinely did want to die, not attempt as a last ditch effort to get help, help was in my hands, im an adult. i wasnt scared, i wasnt even concerned, i didnt want help not out of reluctance or stubbornness but because it just didnt even register to me, this fate was as clear as day to me. i planned and planned and i would constantly return to this plan when it got especially hard. id think about it first thing in the morning and before bed at night.
when i woke up, i just laid in bed for a while. i intended on going to work. again, i dont know what the hell i was thinking. the second i got up, my heart started pounding and fluttering and i knew if i went to work id risk seizing in front of my coworkers and i knew i couldnt traumatize them like that, at least that much was clear to me. i called poison control and danced around the fact that it had been intentional. 5 pills is what i told him but that wasn't accurate, i was ashamed. when he finally got it out of me he told me to not to drive because i risked seizure. i ignored this, got in my car, instantly hit a parked car (no damage to either). again, i dont know what the hell i was thinking. this whole ordeal was so fucking selfish. i could have killed someone had i decided to drive.
i was too terrified to ask my father to drive me so the only option i could think of was my coworker who was already at the store. i texted my manager telling her i was going to the ER, and texted him asking for a ride to said ER. he told me he was at work, so no. i just accepted that, told him okay, and sat buckled in my car as the tremors started sitting in. i sat buckled in my car totally okay with the possibility that id just seize or go into cardiac arrest, probably both, and either die or be left with horrible damage. thankfully, he texted me soon after asking if i NEEDED someone to take me and i said yes. the first thing he said when he got me was that our manager was pissed off about everything, pissed off she had to get coverage. whatever. he asked me what happened, i said overdose, and he went "why!!?!?", i didn't want to explain. i was so so terrified of seizing in his car because, like i said, i didnt want anyone to be traumatized by me.
i was admitted soon after and everything kind of blurs. i pissed myself when two nurses tried to help me to the bathroom. seized multiple times. nearly went into cardiac arrest. my condition was only worsening for a good while and i knew things werent boding well because i could hear the nurses talking about me beyond my hallucinatory daze. i remember making out someone saying "he definitely took more", because they were still under the impression i took 5 pills at most. i dont remember this at all, but apparently i spoke to a psychiatrist while on that bed, and the first thing i told him is that i wished i had taken another bottle. stupid. i could go on and on recounting my stay there and at the hospital but it would get awfully long. i had a sitting nurse the entire length of my stay, i drew a lot, got lots of compliments on my drawings. left a drawing as a gift for the staff before i got transferred to inpatient
inpatient wasnt as scary as i thought, it wasnt scary at all. i loved it honestly. i loved the people i met and they loved me. i made a dozen or so tiny clay kirby figures with the model magic they gave us and passed them out to the others, i considered them my friends and i still do. this severely schizophrenic woman, a very very sweet woman, told me that she had put hers on her night stand and that he watched over her and made her feel safe. another called it her little baby and asked me if he was a pokemon. another, someone i have been texting after my stay, sent me a photo of hers on her night stand at home.
before i was discharged, i asked people if theyd like to sign a sheet of paper, and they did. i hugged everyone and i swear to god the hugs i got were the most warm, genuine, healing hugs ive EVER gotten. especially the one from this one girl who i really really liked, someone who shared a lot of my issues, the sweetest person there. it was amazing. i have that sheet of paper by my bed to feel less alone, i look at it to feel okay. i didnt want to leave them. i honestly could have stayed much longer, but im reuniting with a longtime friend very soon and i knew that seeing him again is the most therapeutic thing life has to offer me right now. i love him so so dearly.
i still miss them. i dont see my er, hospital, or inpatient stays as an unpleasant experience. i felt so safe. the care meant everything to me, i swear to god nothing has compared.
i could go on and on. i have so many stories even just from my short stay. so many. i have so many thoughts as well, so much to share in general.
i realized there just how uncomfortable i am with being alone, its really bad. even if i was dead tired, irritated, anything, id stay up late in the common area or in the room adjacent (there were windows, so i could see everyone) just to feel safe. i couldnt sleep unless my roommate was as well. i feel so childish for this. i hate being alone so much. the night i got back, i was so uncomfortable being alone again. i put on a podcast to sleep, needing to hear human voices.
i dont really know how to end this. theres no point to this, i doubt anyone would have read all of this. the night i got back i asked my boss if i could come in the next day and she asked if i was sure, i said yes. i went back to work today. work was fine. i talked to my coworker, an older woman who lost her son to suicide. when i was planning, she crossed my mind a number of times. i knew she'd be devastated. why was i so selfish throughout this whole process? i wish i could say this disgusts me but it doesn't. i feel like it should. i learned i have a lot in common with her, more than our shared love of birds.
i was telling her the story about the kirbies, and i asked her if she even knew who kirby was. she said "of course i do, my son made a kirby with clay".
i told her about the woman with schizophrenia who i gave a kirby to, she said her son had schizophrenia as well. isnt that crazy? things like this shake me to my core. i still cant believe it.
i have been thinking a lot, and i realized that reckoning with how cruel the world is and how cruel its people can be is what crushed me. how childish is that? 21 years old, i have experienced abject cruelty in many forms, over and over, relentlessly. i still trusted, to a fault, i was still so optimistic, always. i was, and am, a "doormat", someone who loves even their abusers, who sees the good in others and even refuses to reckon with the bad in them. i, of all people, should know the world is cruel, that people are cruel. people like me aren't supposed to see people as good.
i am just as capable of cruelty as any other, everyone is capable of cruelty, but i still experience love every day. the fact that my brain doesn't align with this fact, that i still want to die, is a puzzle to me. this fracture in trust, worldview, values, is what almost killed me. i have never been closer to death. im in a weird place now, but i have faith that i will continue even though i still feel close to death. even when my brain doesn't align with what i think is right, how i think it ought to behave. this may have been one of the best things to ever happen to me.
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