[Continuation from this post last weekend...]
The school ball was a disaster. Well, it wasn't a disaster, but I had held it aloft for months as an answer to all my issues, that I would suddenly become popular, part of the alpha male group, that I would have the most fun of my life there. I had built up expectations to an unrealistic level.
When, on the night, I danced, I socialised, I wasn't invited to any pre or post ball parties - it just didn't seem enough. Also around this time, my year group deans convinced me to at least register for the end of year tests again, if I didn't feel like doing it I could back out closer to the end of the year - that put extra pressure on me, as if I had to start trying to do something at school again, other than just float.
Although I didn't fall as blackly as before, there was another touch of insanity about the subsequent decision to not take the anti-depressants, to stockpile them, in case of a 'rainy day'. Yes, I did think in terms of that rainy day wording, as if I was not depressed or suicidal yet, but just in case it happened later, I would be able to put the correct plan in action.
Stockpiling the pills was harder than it may sound. I was rationed two pills a day, the actual full bottle was under the watchful eye of my parents, and they watched while I took the pills and water. However, I put the pills in my mouth, under my tongue, drank the water down, went to my room and took the pills out of my mouth. I continued to do this for just under a month.
I was still angry at the world. At the school ball not meeting my expectations. At my psychiatrist, whom I thought obviously could never understand me, signing me off as cured. At my teachers for twisting my arm to enrol back into the end of year tests. At myself even, for only trying to slit my wrists a few months earlier, that if I had really wanted to kill myself I would have done something 'better'.
I convinced myself that taking pills would be a 'real' attempt, worthy of the whole suicide thought. That although scars on my wrist were nice and all, surviving that was easy - if I had a real attempt and I made it through I would have done my 'best' in the whole destructive process way. However, partly to raise my chances of survival, partly to show how much I was hating school, I decided to take the pills just before going to school and still wander in, see what happened.
After about three and a half weeks I think, I finally summoned up the courage to go through with the idea. And yes, even though it is the most destructive act one can do, it is still a matter of courage to go through with it - it is not a coward's way out, in the sense that so many people think. It is not the most courageous decision one can make, but there is at least a sense of courage about it. That thought and belief has stuck with me even when all the other suicidal thoughts have been lost or discredited.
It was a Tuesday I believe. I soaked in the minutae of the morning, was it porridge or weetbix I had for breakfast, or perhaps toast. Drinking in the sights of my family, determined to crash and burn later on that day, saying goodbye to my mother as she headed to work. I went into my room, looked at the pills, got a big glass of water. And proceeded to take about thirty of them. For some reason, that was only about half, the others kept in case of another 'rainy day'. Yes, I was insane at this stage.
Tears streaming down my face, listening to REM's Losing My Religion, again, and again, and again. It was on tape, so play, rewind, play, rewind repeat. My favourite song of all time, and the lyrics meant so much. The mandolin solo at the end.
I put myself together as much as I could, wondering how this would all turn out, and walked to school. First period was Biology, and although I felt faint when I arrived at school, I was still OKish. About ten minutes into the period, which I was not taking any notice of at all, my heart beat quickened, and the teacher came over and asked what is wrong. I said I had overdosed.
Two classmates were quickly assigned to take me to the sick room. My body went limp under me as I was carried into the sunlight, one of the boys asking what I had taken. I remember slurring out the name of the drug, and I passed out - fade to black.
The school ball was a disaster. Well, it wasn't a disaster, but I had held it aloft for months as an answer to all my issues, that I would suddenly become popular, part of the alpha male group, that I would have the most fun of my life there. I had built up expectations to an unrealistic level.
When, on the night, I danced, I socialised, I wasn't invited to any pre or post ball parties - it just didn't seem enough. Also around this time, my year group deans convinced me to at least register for the end of year tests again, if I didn't feel like doing it I could back out closer to the end of the year - that put extra pressure on me, as if I had to start trying to do something at school again, other than just float.
Although I didn't fall as blackly as before, there was another touch of insanity about the subsequent decision to not take the anti-depressants, to stockpile them, in case of a 'rainy day'. Yes, I did think in terms of that rainy day wording, as if I was not depressed or suicidal yet, but just in case it happened later, I would be able to put the correct plan in action.
Stockpiling the pills was harder than it may sound. I was rationed two pills a day, the actual full bottle was under the watchful eye of my parents, and they watched while I took the pills and water. However, I put the pills in my mouth, under my tongue, drank the water down, went to my room and took the pills out of my mouth. I continued to do this for just under a month.
I was still angry at the world. At the school ball not meeting my expectations. At my psychiatrist, whom I thought obviously could never understand me, signing me off as cured. At my teachers for twisting my arm to enrol back into the end of year tests. At myself even, for only trying to slit my wrists a few months earlier, that if I had really wanted to kill myself I would have done something 'better'.
I convinced myself that taking pills would be a 'real' attempt, worthy of the whole suicide thought. That although scars on my wrist were nice and all, surviving that was easy - if I had a real attempt and I made it through I would have done my 'best' in the whole destructive process way. However, partly to raise my chances of survival, partly to show how much I was hating school, I decided to take the pills just before going to school and still wander in, see what happened.
After about three and a half weeks I think, I finally summoned up the courage to go through with the idea. And yes, even though it is the most destructive act one can do, it is still a matter of courage to go through with it - it is not a coward's way out, in the sense that so many people think. It is not the most courageous decision one can make, but there is at least a sense of courage about it. That thought and belief has stuck with me even when all the other suicidal thoughts have been lost or discredited.
It was a Tuesday I believe. I soaked in the minutae of the morning, was it porridge or weetbix I had for breakfast, or perhaps toast. Drinking in the sights of my family, determined to crash and burn later on that day, saying goodbye to my mother as she headed to work. I went into my room, looked at the pills, got a big glass of water. And proceeded to take about thirty of them. For some reason, that was only about half, the others kept in case of another 'rainy day'. Yes, I was insane at this stage.
Tears streaming down my face, listening to REM's Losing My Religion, again, and again, and again. It was on tape, so play, rewind, play, rewind repeat. My favourite song of all time, and the lyrics meant so much. The mandolin solo at the end.
I put myself together as much as I could, wondering how this would all turn out, and walked to school. First period was Biology, and although I felt faint when I arrived at school, I was still OKish. About ten minutes into the period, which I was not taking any notice of at all, my heart beat quickened, and the teacher came over and asked what is wrong. I said I had overdosed.
Two classmates were quickly assigned to take me to the sick room. My body went limp under me as I was carried into the sunlight, one of the boys asking what I had taken. I remember slurring out the name of the drug, and I passed out - fade to black.
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