Support for Attempt Survivors

I'm not at that point now, but I was. My first attempt was when I was about ten years old. There was aserious attempt in college. I was too fool hardy and stubborn to seek and ask for help.

What did I do? I self medicated. I don't know how I was functional (and even did well enough to earn scholarships and then a teaching fellowship). I abused alcohol terribly. I abusedall types of opiates. I barely survived.

I completed a BA and two Master's degrees. I worked a full time job and was a high profile consultant in Manhattan. Although I had stopped recreational drugs, I was still abusing alcohol. I left my primary job to be the Chief Technical Officer at a major publisher. I accomplished many things, doubled my starting six-figure salary in fewer than 4 years. I wasstill suicidal and seriously abusing alcohol. It all ended on September 11th. I remember lying on the floor, in the fetal position, watching the news.

It was then, and only then, that I got help. I gave up any intoxicants or anything that evencould be addictive. (I still don't regularly drink coffee and never drink alcohol.) I renewed my faith and was taking three hours / week in religious studies and meditation. I was seeing a psychiatrist for two 1-hour sessions / week. I went on meds for the first time in my life. I journaledevery day for over a year. I was unable to work or function for almost four years.

I still write. I am still in therapy. I am still on meds. I have a respectable job.

Although I have been able to avoid being hospitalized, I know that is always a possibility. That fact no longer bothers me.

Why did I just pour out this diatribe? Basically to say, "Don't be as foolish as I was."

First and foremost, be kind and gentle to yourself. That's not an easy thing to do. For me, it was easy to be positive and kind to someone else, yet I was brutal with myself.

Second, seek the type of help you need. If your not sure, then try whatever you find; you can always change.

Last, once you are on a path, acknowledge that you will stumble and fall. We all do. Plan on it. Plan for it. Try to see it as just a point to start over.

I avoid saying something trite such as 'Good Luck'. Luck has nothing to do with it. It is courage, dedication, strength, or whatever you want to call it-- just not luck. Sometimes the best you can do is to keep afloat. There will be days like that at first. Give yourself a chance.

Since I wasn't particularly elaborate in my opening post, I'll share the story of not my first, but my most serious attempt, which occurred this November past.

I was in my fourth semester of college at the time. It was a cumulative affair; I was having increasing intensity of my suicidal thoughts and was finding it increasingly difficult to cope. I tried getting help, but to no avail. I ended up overdosing in the ladies' restroom of the college I attended. At that time, I didn't even feel alive. I was numb. The popping of those pills was mechanical, almost involuntary. I was listening to the song "Us and Them" at the time.

My classmates eventually put the pieces together, after seeing my deteriorating state that morning. They found all the empty pill bottles, and rushed me to the ER. I remember feeling the overwhelming desire to sleep. I couldn't make a coherent, comprehensible sentence. I wasn't there, yet I was completely present. I recall a lot of the gruesome details, which I will spare you. I struggled a lot against their attempts to "help" me. And I remember the head nurse returning at one point, saying that my professor had called, asking how I was. To help me want to fight this urge to die, I suppose. At least in retrospect, that's what it soundslike.

When I woke up the next day... I thought the whole ordeal had been an extremely vivid nightmare. It turned out to be real. Nurses coming in, back and forth, different tests and monitoring. Then the psychiatrist on call. I was discharged that day, still very suicidal... the week to follow was the week from Hell. At the end of that week, mypsychiatrist had me committed to the psychiatric ward.

I still have occasional flashbacks which cause me a lot of distress. They make me scared, angry, frustrated, depressed, and anxious. They make me want to claw at something, hurt something. So I often hurt myself to cope. I feel like a caged animal, trying to escape.

From this attemptI have yet to gain something positive. I am sure somewhere there is a lesson to be learned. However, at this point in time, the memories are still too raw and festering for me to observe it more closely. Hopefully in time (and with therapy), I will be able to heal.