Surviving suicide...

The date is the 7th of December 2018 a Friday, I had what was a nervous breakdown the day before, I mean it's not like I had not experienced this before I had, had multiple nervous breakdowns/meltdowns/attempted suicides/all day ugly cry days... This day was like no other, I had attempted suicide twice before this and no one knew except my therapists and well, my best friend. In the past I would overdose on painkillers and sleep for days, to only wake up and be terribly ill, must be the reason why I developed ulcers. The day I did it for the third time was different, it was different because I just had been through so much and had too many relapses in the last couple of years... I had also grown tired of taking medication to survive.

The night before, I spring cleaned my apartment, packed my closet so that my parents would not have to struggle with packing my belongings; I wanted to be a perfectionist even in my death, wow LOL.I wrote down my funeral service plan (LOL, dramatic much), I had one of my favourite meals which reminded me of my grandparents- uphuthu namasi, I then went onto the balcony to smell the night's air and take in what I wanted to be my last night. I was woozy because I had been overdosing throughout the day, I lost count of how many sleeping and anxiety pills I was on, I then dragged myself to bed in tears and a lot of pain. I felt like I had failed to survive, that depression had won and I was simply tired of fighting, I cried so much that night till I fell into deep sleep.

Back to Friday. This is the day, I am supposed to meet my therapist. I have lied to my Dad claiming I am okay and I no longer want to die, I call my then boyfriend he is too busy I just wanted to tell him I loved him one last time. I text my Mother and she texts back "I love you my child." I am already passed 10 pills, I decide to mix it up with my anxiety medication, my Dad calls again to joke around and ask if I will be okay until my therapist's appointment, I mumble out "Eng Papa, ke tla ba sharp." I take another dose of pills, say the Lord's Prayer, say amen and that is the last thing that remember.

As I slipped into unconsciousness, I vaguely remember the feeling of death being one of peace, a painless one if you ask me...

I wake up in ICU with multiple machines attached to my body, people keep pricking and probing me, my mouth feels dry and foamy, I keep feeling the urge to puke but foam is the only thing that comes out of my mouth... I open my eyes wide, and the first feeling is anger! Why am I not dead! I drift back into sleep, I keep drifting in and out hoping I am dead, this is probably what happens when you die. I wake up to a lady who is my psychiatrist ,she says a couple of words, all I remember is her asking me how I feel and me mumbling, "I am so angry!" My Mother and Grandma walk in, and I can see the pain on both their faces, my mother looks like she is recovering from grief. My grandma whispers gently. "Baby I thought we had fought this battle, I thought we were beating depression..." Hot tears stream down my face, they are burning hot, I have never felt these kind of tears before, I respond "I am tired of fighting granny, I no longer want to live, I have no fight left inside of me, I need to die, I am weary." I slip back into sleep, angry that I survived.

The following day, my psychiatrist tells me that I need to be transferred to a mental health facility, she tries to make it sound rosy and not make me feel any more crazier than I already know I am. My cousins arrive, apparently one of them found me, and I can see the trauma on her face, I don't ask too many questions, neither do they, they are just happy to see me alive. They say their goodbyes and leave me a fresh set of clothing. I get bathed by one of the nurses, nothing degrading about that, been there before I have the t-shirts.

Fast forward to later on in the day, I am then transferred by ambulance to the mental health facility, that is apparently going to help me fetch my life. I arrive there, they check me in, weigh me, and check my vitals. The nurses are warm and kind, I hear a loud bubbly voice- my Dad (yep I get my loudness and boisterous nature from him) he talks to me like I am still a toddler, I roll my eyes and assure him I am okay. He goes around introducing himself to the entire nursing staff, I think my humour makes a feature and I half giggle as one of the nurses laugh at how animated my father is, I love this about him. I am done with all the checks, sign the contract which I barely read and soon discover with the days that I am there, that it was actually important for me to read it.

My Dad tells me he loves me, and asks that I open myself to this healing process and that I share all my burdens. I agree, but in my heart of hearts I am still so angry that I survived suicide, AGAIN! This then begins my journey at the mental health facility, and it actually turns out to be one of the most life changing moments of my life...

Subscribe, to follow the rest of the story, for now I will leave it here.