Four Years

I’ve thought about sharing this story for years. Its something I haven’t talked much about. In fact, its a part of my life very few people know any details about. Most probably don’t even know it happened. Or maybe they do and I’m just fooling myself. Either way, I can’t stop feeling the push that I need to share my story. And not just this part of my story, but all of it. All the details. No matter how much they may make me squirm.

Four years ago today, I tried to take my life. There were reasons, but I’m not going to talk about them today. That would take too long. Much longer than any of us have right now. But there it is. I’ve said it out loud. For the whole world to hear. My life had been flipped end over end and I had no idea how to handle it. I wrote a letter saying essentially that and, more importantly (to me, anyway), that my kids needed to go to friends of mine because I truly believed that would be better for them than for them to have only me to rely on. I finished the note and took several pills. I don’t remember what kind or how many. There are some details about the day that I can remember as clearly as if it was yesterday, but others that I can’t recall no matter how hard I try.

Minutes after I took the pills, my sister called. I don’t know why (another one of those details I don’t remember). The pills had started taking effect and my grief was so raw. Immediately she knew something was wrong, more wrong than she had anticipated. She called the ambulance and then came over. I don’t remember who got there first. I don’t know if that matters. One of the paramedics on call that day was the husband of a close friend. He kept asking me questions, trying to keep me awake, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. I didn’t want to talk. The only thing I said to him, just once, was “Don’t tell Megan”.

Before I took the pills, I had been hyper-emotional. I cried and screamed and trashed my house. But then something snapped. It was like I had no more emotions left to feel. I couldn’t handle feeling the things I’d been feeling. Death seemed like the only escape. When the ambulance came, it didn’t matter that my plan had been stopped. I felt dead inside. At the hospital, the doctor asked me questions and it took everything in me to give  him a one word answer. I laid there in the bed in the ER virtually unresponsive, wishing I could just fall asleep and never wake up again. I remember laying with my eyes open, taking what felt like forever to blink. I couldn’t close my eyes, because questions started as soon as I did. Sleeping wasn’t allowed. I was, of course, admitted so that I could be watched.

I spent the next three days in the hospital. During those three days, my then husband and my kids visited once each day, but didn’t stay long, which was fine by me. The fear in my children’s eyes was horrible. It is a look that has been forever etched in my memory, one I pray I will someday forget. They didn’t know what was wrong and were to young to grasp the situation.

Outside of their visits and a daily check in from my doctor, not one person came to visit me. I don’t tell you this so you’ll think I had horrible people in my life. Honestly, I don’t even know which of my friends and family at the time knew. And in truth, I don’t know how I would have reacted to their visit. Maybe I would have welcomed them and felt less alone. Or maybe I would have assumed they were there out of pity and felt guilty. Or maybe I would have screamed and yelled and told them things I really didn’t mean. I don’t know. But I laid there day after day playing so many scenarios in my head. And thinking. Day in and day out, so many thoughts. I hated thinking. I hated having nothing to distract myself with and being forced to think the very thoughts I’d taken the pills to avoid. And now here I was with nothing and no one to distract me.

I realized over those few days just how very alone I was and would be on the journey I was being forced to take. I know, that sounds horrible. I have so many people in my life now who love and support me. But ultimately, whether or not my life is a success is fully up to me. No amount of help will make up for my unwillingness to participate in my own life.

I wish I could say I left the hospital with a renewed determination to do better. I didn’t. Not even close. I left feeling empty and hollow and pathetic and scared and so sure that the worst mistake ever made had been not letting me die. But I also left knowing that this was MY life to make of it what I would. I’d spent far too many years being pushed around by other’s bad decisions, too long letting my life be run by those around me. I had no clue how I was going to make things better or when they were going to get better or even if they were going to get better. If I’m being honest, I knew that things were going to get a hell of a lot worse before they got better. But I knew that the choices that had to be made were mine.

I won’t go into any details about after I left the hospital right now. Thats another (several) posts for another day. What I will say is this: it is now four years to the day since I tried to take my life. My life is still really, really hard. There are so many days I struggle to put my feet on the floor and get out of bed in the morning. There are days when every second is a fight to hold on to the things that keep me here. But there is also hope. And happiness. And joy. And peace. There is a forward momentum in my life now that is unstoppable, because its driven by me. By the knowledge that I AM ENOUGH exactly as I am! That its ok to have those bad days. Having bad days does not make me weak or awful or undeserving of love. Having bad days makes me human. Where I prove my strength is when I accept the bad day, acknowledge the pain and move forward with my life. Its not always easy. In fact, its rarely easy. But it is always worth it. I am rediscovering who I am, my true self, and I love me!

There are so many more things I want to say about this, that I will say about this, but this post is long enough already, so they will wait. For now, this is the most important thing I would like you to know. YOU ARE ENOUGH EXACTLY AS YOU ARE RIGHT NOW. If you are feeling anything like I felt four years ago, please know that there is hope. Know that there are people out there for you. If you don’t have anyone you can think of, let me be that person. My door is always open, my email is always ready and my phone is always on. zero judgement. I know its impossible to imagine things ever getting better, but I promise you they will, usually in ways you could never have thought possible. Don’t lose hope.