So, if you follow my Twitter feed, you’ve already got an idea of what’s coming …
Last Thursday, I actually tried to kill myself.
After Tuesday night, I should have gone to the hospital. My ex wanted to take me. But I told her I was fine, it was just a funk, I didn’t need to go, I was A-OK. But I stayed depressed for the next two days, and on Thursday something happened that triggered a quick downward spiral.
What triggered it is a story not worth telling; suffice to say that I became drastically fatalistic. I walked out of the house without telling my ex where I was going, and I ended up on an overpass near my house (in matters of suicide, apparently I’m a jumper, not a cutter). I was timing traffic and trajectories, trying to figure out when I needed to jump so a truck would be sure to finish the job.
My ex and I exchanged texts as I stood there. Eventually, perhaps coming to my senses a bit, I told her where I was. I wanted her to come for me, but she, afraid she wouldn’t be able to talk me down, instead called the police. They picked me up (a little forcibly), took me to the nearest ER, and petitioned me into inpatient mental care.
I’ve got much to say about my time in the looney bin, where I stayed until Tuesday afternoon. In fact, they gave me a journaling notebook and took away my iPhone, so I did a lot of handwritten “blogging” during my stay. But for now, I just wanted you all to know what happened and why I’ve been silent for over a week.
And please, if you know you suffer from depression or just if you EVER start having suicidal thoughts, don’t do what I tried to do. Do what I should have done: go to the ER or call 911.