Suicide Awareness. My own experiance. I wrote this a few years ago, hope you enjoy.
She can still remember what happened each day she decided to do it.
She can still remember why it was her decision to do these random acts.
She always knew what it meant if it worked and who it would affect.
The first time is always the most memorable.
She had only been at this new place a few months.
She really didn’t know what it would have meant to come.
She figured she would be happy and it would be the safest choice, but boy was she wrong.
Her mind was intruded by random thought of happiness and being with her biological.
Biggest mistake of her life you would think, but that’s another story.
Life and Death seems like it has a big difference.
Life can be given easily, and Death is either easy or hard, but both can be dangerous.
For her, death was the way.
God wasn’t in charge of this decision anymore.
She was loved and there is no doubt about that; it’s just the love wasn’t what she wanted.
Don’t get her wrong she had given her love, and it wasn’t her intention to hurt anyone; just herself.
It seemed that cutting and tearing at the skin wasn’t any pleasurable anymore.
It didn’t solve the problem; but it gave her an escape.
It was the only thing she had control over; sound kind of cliché but it was true.
It had been a rough two months, but hostility was the thing that killed her.
Step father was the solitary person she could rely on.
Best friend was 2,000 miles away.
Sister, well that’s also another story.
Brother one was the closet thing she had.
Mother was pretty much intolerable, and was blind by the very obvious.
Brother two she couldn’t stand, he pushed her.
He tore down everything she cared for; jealousy; maybe.
But it appeared it was more hate than anything.
It was regrettable hate of having her there.
That night was all fighting.
Step father had gone for a few days and mother was at work.
Mother had to come home early to help calm the house down.
See mother never really listened to what she had to say.
And you think she would since she got her there, to this place of indiscernible torcher.
Mother had to leave because she thought everything had been solved, but it wasn’t.
Time for Tylenol 500 mg.
She was in a state that she couldn’t go back not even if she tried.
Tears were drowning her face, and soaking her shirt.
Heart was pounding, hands were shaking, and mind was racing.
She started with 10.
10 minutes passed and nothing felt different.
Had all the stupid movies been wrong?
Did they embellish the simple truth which she relied on at the very moment.
Let’s add 15 to the mix of 10 already.
Not even the Mountain Dew was staying down.
Sister saw her there on the ground a sick, messed up, and hurt.
Sister didn’t know what to do to help.
Sister wasn’t sure what was really going on.
Brother one thought maybe he should call mother.
Brother two said “watch her die”.
Still 25 pills and no evidence of pain residing.
“Take the rest of the bottle”, the mind was speaking to her, taunting her.
Let’s add another 34 to the mix.
59 pills down, and 15 minutes later she could barely walk.
Sister was shaken with the scarce thought her sister was dying.
Brother one decided he should call Mother.
Brother two said “Who cares? Let her die”
Sister was fixed on making her live.
Sister walked everywhere.
Outside, bathrooms, backyard, and kitchen.
She could barely walk.
She stumbled and fell.
Smacked her head into kitchen counter.
Brother one calls mother.
She isn’t too thrilled that she would evidently be accompanied to the hospital.
She was now angry with everyone.
She just wanted to die.
One request would to have been left alone to die.
Dying is never good if you die in anger.
Mother comes home helps her to car.
Hospital smelled of death, and it made every hair on her body tingle.
Maybe this was the right place to enter.
Thoughts ran through her mind of the many things she could do to herself.
She could barely walk or see enough to even try to accomplish any thought in her drug stained mind.
Blood slowly drained from her body by a foreign object resembling a needle.
Tylenol blood level was the highest.
If her brother had left her for possibly 20 more minutes, her task would have been fulfilled.
Charcoal was the most disgusting and repulsive taste she could possibly envision.
It would get stuck in her teeth, it reeked, and it was almost impossible to keep down.
Sister never once let her spit it out.
Mother made a latex medical glove into a silly face.
She finally finished the charcoal with a big gulp of generic Sprite.
Blood again was taken from her arm.
Needle pierced her arm in the blue veins that linger beneath her skin for the 4th time.
Tylenol level still hadn’t decided to diminish from her body.
She now realized looking into her sister’s bright, big blue eyes that it was all a mistake.
A mistake she would continuously abuse.
Hours past, and past, and it seemed like the clock would only taunt her.
Finally 4 in the morning rolled around, 11 hours in the sickening hospital.
She had deceived everyone into letting her go home.
She was fine she said, and they believed her.
Mary Beth Miller, author of her favorite book Aimee, had once said “Suicide is like the chicken pox. It never really goes away. It just comes back in different forms.”
Like a smoker or an alcoholic, they can get better, but deep down they will always be one.
A smoker will always crave for one more cigarette to caress their wrinkled lips and fill their lungs with the essences of smoke overflowing with nicotine.
An alcoholic will always want one last sip to take a way everything that was once bad, to make them forget.
She will get better, but living with 2 years of wanting to die will always stay and haunt her.
Everything that had leaded her to the point of her breaking point will always settle in her mind.
Time will always remain.
She will never see a clock the same way she used to.
She will never be able to look into her sister’s blue eyes the same way.
To see so much hurt piercing into the eyes that only gave her so much truth.
The effect one young, innocent little girl can have on you to make you never want to strike her heart will such fear of losing everything she looked up to.
She will always remember that as her favorite time spent with her mother.
It takes her mother the thought of losing her oldest daughter to make her realize she wasn’t being the mother she should have been the whole time.
She will always remember her mother that way, the way she had been dying her to be.
She sees now that life is way more precious than she had ever thought.
It just took her 2 years to find that out.
It just took her constant cuts to the arms and wrists, and multiple life-taking events to see why people say life has meaning.
She will never be able to take a Tylenol the same way.
It’s never good to be addicted to a med that should help a simple ache or pain.
And that was it; it was supposed to take away the pain.
The pain she had so long been hoping to rid of; to finally give her heart a rest and put her mind at ease.
The hands still shake with nerves.
It took all this to realize that life was worth living for.
Suicide is just the devil disguised as a green little monster of hate, pain and hurt.
-VMA April 15, 2008