The rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated.
A little over two weeks ago I tried to do something very stupid to myself. I tried to hang myself in my own yard at my house.At the time all I could think was that I wanted peace and quiet. I didnāt care if it made me selfish or ungrateful. Whatās still eerie to me is how calm I felt then. My belt was already tied around my neck, and for a couple of minutes I wandered around outside my house looking for a tree branch or some type of structure to tie off the other end of my belt. Obviously I couldnāt find any otherwise I wouldnāt be typing this explanation out now. After that I went back inside my house and told two of my closest friends via texts what I attempted to do. Thankfully they conferred between themselves and had called the cops on me. Two cops arrived at my house, and one questioned me if I had tried to injure myself. I admitted that I did, and the cop gave me two options: Since itās illegal in my home state to try to commit suicide I could either voluntarily let the cops take me to our local hospitalās ER, or I would get arrested. I chose the first option, and soon admitted myself to ER.
I was stuck inside the ER for close to a week. Leaving the ER by any means would mean Iād immediately be arrested. I had to talk to doctors, nurses, and the hospitalās counselor. I had to wear patient scrubs at all times. I had to sleep on a gurney. Eventually I would be transferred to a crisis center in another city, but I had to wait until it had an available opening for me. That gave me enough time to rethink what I had tried to do to myself. I understood I had problems, but I wasnāt able to focus on the right thing. I was honest about all the reasons as to why I felt depressed, unmotivated, lonely, and constantly feeling like a failure.
1. My parentsā health are declining, and in my honest opinion both of them need to be placed in a rest home. My mom mostly for multiple medical and possibly mental difficulties, while I fear my dad has let his pride and stubbornness and worry over what other people would think if they discovered any or all of our problems.
2. My family has been without a car for over a year and a half. Weāve had to rely on the local taxi company for rides everywhere.
3. Until I was fired from my last job around two months ago, I was earning pretty decent money. Except it was flying out the door as fast as I got it. Itās tough to save money when I couldnāt really control how my parents were spending it due to me working long hours at a stressful job.
4. Speaking of my last job, my last six months there made my stress levels skyrocket. Before my stress was manageable, to say the least. That was until my section of the factory got a new department head. I admit that I had applied to the same job as him, but I decided to stay fair to him and give him an honest chance. That chance was quickly squandered when he showed his true colors as a glory hog, a brown-noser, a lazy incompetent who had less required skills than I did for the job, and someone who would quickly toss me or another co-worker under the bus if it meant saving his own hide to our bosses.
5. Three times before Iāve gotten so sick to my stomach I ended up bed-ridden and very nauseous for two to three days. I havenāt been to a doctor to see if I had any stomach aliments, but Iād bet good money my high stress levels were causing me to get sick.
6. We have way too many cats in our house. My parents arenāt cat hoarders, but I couldnāt get them to understand how it was becoming impossible to care for them.
7. I had my own problems. I was unmotivated. Even though my many friends -- online and in the real world -- told me they would support me through anything I still couldnāt completely feel and/or understand why I trouble grasping their concerns. I knew why theyāre worried about me and Iām grateful for it, yet something clouded my mind. I felt like whatever I tried to do would just end failure. Even when I was being successful in something, no matter how large or small a task it was, instead of concentrating on the positives all I focused on was how I felt it would soon end and I would feel like shit again.
When I got transferred to the crisis center it wasnāt as clear cut as I thought it would be for me. While I donāt believe I received a diagnosis the techs, nurses, doctors, and psychiatrists used the word ādepressionā often when describing me, with some anxiety problems on the side. I got prescription for a medicine, a wristband, and was placed in a unit with probably about twenty other mental patients.
After the first three days I had thought I made significant progress. The medicine seemed to be working, and the crisis center staff helped me realize for years I had been doing exactly what my parents were doing. I was putting all my parentsā needs and problems ahead of my own needs and health issues. It sounded simple enough, but the psychiatrists felt I needed a bigger push. The dosage of my medicine was increased, which meant I had to stay there longer to make sure I could still handle any side effects if they appeared. I took the news hard and started reverting to my old self. It took several family members and friends telling me while it was difficult to keep moving forward, moving backwards would mean staying at the crisis center for even longer, to say the least. I took their words to heart as best I could, especially since after the first hour I was there was more than enough to make me scared straight.
I had to share a room with three other male roommates. I couldnāt get much sleep since the staff was required to enter all the patientsā rooms at regular intervals to ensure all of us werenāt missing. Whether I liked it or not I had to let a tech take my vitals around 5 a.m. After my initial twenty-four hour inspection my the staff, I had to leave my unit with certain other patients to eat at the cafeteria. I couldnāt go anywhere without first asking a tech, for example, because all the doors were locked. I had to wear clothes there were donated to the crisis center. I had to attend classes and group therapy sessions. I had to obey their rules or it would negatively affect my evaluations.
I met all sorts of people in my assigned unit. The most annoying guy on my wing was a manic with a superiority complex that was also on fluid restrictions because his kidneys were failing. Whenever his needy ass didnāt immediately get whatever he wanted, he always resorted to insulting whoever stood in his way. Another patient I grew to like had blacked out and somehow shot his own father, and his father was pressing charges against him. Even some of the counselors that were assigned to me used to be addicts. One such individual was an alcoholic so bad that he said he once got out of his bed only to think he was actually in his bathroom, then proceeded to piss all over his bed and his sleeping girlfriend. Another patient that I had thought was mostly harmless since all he did was sing rap lyrics and dance by himself now and again ended up flipping out one day. He had punched the window of one of the doors that go outside our unit, flipped over a small table, took a plastic chair and slammed it against the ground, and tried punching the window of the other outside door before nurses and techs could subdue him. It wouldnāt surprise me if another patient, who I believed was autistic, grabbed one of my roommates in a reverse bear hug. Luckily this patient was doped up enough that my roommate could escape once the techs came to his rescue.
Once it looked like I could handle the higher dosage of my medicine, the center began showing me the errors in my previous judgement before I arrived there. While it was admirable that even as much as my parents and their problems drive me up the wall, I had to accept that their bad decisions were theirs and not my own. I had limited myself to putting them first, and if a sudden and easy solution didnāt present itself I didnāt want to bother solving anyoneās problems. As much as I wanted to form deeper connections with my family and friends, I had built a wall inbetween us that made me feel insignificant and/or shy whenever I wanted to talk to them. I had to put my foot down when it came to my parentsā situation and prove I was beginning to make my own decisions, even if it means leaving my parents behind to their own fates before they dragged me down to hell with them.
I got discharged from the crisis center yesterday. I wouldāve typed this post out sooner but I wanted to take my time and soak in as much of my newfound freedom as I could get. A long enough break, partially because of the holiday today, before I begin setting whatever plans I can scrape together to start my second chance at my life. A change needs to happen to me, even if it means I have to move out of home town, or even to another state. Sure, Iām scared and worried about whatās going to happen next since nothing is set in stone. Then again, thatās okay. I have to accept my life has risks otherwise I could end up right back at the crisis center. So prepare for me to be a little awkward when talking to you as I get used to my new position in my life. I may still hesitate with whatever I have to say. I may still not know how to express myself or my interests clearly to you. Iām in the driverās seat now, but until I feel comfortable driving fast in the far left lane Iām going to stick to the right lane until I get used to my new feelings and surroundings.
Iād like to thank everyone who took the time to check up on me. Iām sorry my stupid decision lead to what transpired these past couple of days, but Iām better now and looking forward to being with you and all my other family members and friends a lot longer. Iād also like to thank The Attack on Twitch for mailing me a big box full of goodies. It gave me something else to look forward to once I got discharged from the center and I appreciate everything you sent me.
Iām adding a picture of me holding up the wristbands I had to wear near the end of my stay at the crisis center. One is my identification band which was my only proof of who I am when it came time to take my medicine. The other band was later given to me to prove that I was well enough to take part of extracurricular activities in other sections of the crisis center. I plan on keeping them as reminders of what could happen to me if I go back down the wrong path.
In conclusion, Iād like to add how I now agree with how poor the mental health situation is in America. The crisis center is almost overflowing with patients, especially since another and larger mental health clinic in another city was closed down. It literally is a revolving door for patients there. Until patients can improve themselves to where they can be discharged under their own control, they have to stay inside the crisis center. This means that potential new patients are stuck waiting their turn to get any medical help they need -- which is why I had to wait almost a week at the ER before being admitted to the crisis center. The crisis center itself looks like itās decades old. Iām sure all the staff are already working themselves past the point of exhaustion caring for the patients. And if you think you need help like I did, please donāt wait to get yourself checked out. It was almost too late for me to receive any help, and I donāt want to see the same thing happen to someone else.
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