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...
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