Okay, an honest post. In the spirit of mental health awareness. I’ve suffered. Haven’t most people?
I’ve gone through many bouts of depression, been on anti-depressants, suffered through severe mental distress and once accidentally almost overdosed on a particularly bad night. I’ve considered suicide. Of course I have. Haven’t most people?
My overdose near miss. I was heartbroken. I was seeking any way to numb the pain I was going through. One night I popped pills along with the wine I was drinking and without realising, I’d had too much of both. I just didn’t care enough. I passed out. I came to some time later to a load of messages from friends who were frantically worried that I’d stopped responding to a text conversation we’d been having online. I never told them the truth of what happened.
Each time I’ve pulled myself back by feeling even more sad that I had lost so much hope. That sadness drives me to seek out more options. Suicide cannot be the last option. I know it isn’t. Getting out of the hole is hard. It takes so much time. But I always crawl back out eventually. Why do others not have these last thoughts?
The last time I started to wish I was no longer alive, I thought of my cat. Yes Shadow was my saving grace. I thought of him waiting at the window to be let in and fed. Still waiting and getting cold. Still waiting and maybe if someone came, it would be to take him to an adoption agency. I couldn’t cope with that thought. He means the world to me and I will gladly stay alive to ensure he has food, warmth and his mummy.
Why aren’t others considering their loved ones before they take themselves away? I’ve reached into darkness. But it hasn’t caught up with me yet, and I doubt it ever will.