After my first attempt at suicide, it left me so drained and so empty that I felt that I literally ran out of tears. I must admit, I regretted that my first attempt didn't succeed. I had no idea what to do or where to turn. I felt that I deserved pain and foolishly, I thought that if I caused myself physical pain, then it would be a sort of release for me. It had the opposite affect. My desire to live was very low but I didn't have the will to end my life quickly. I hated myself for that. In turn, it made me want to die a slow death. So I started cutting. At first, I just wanted to feel the pain but I eventually wanted to cut deeper and deeper. Cutting is seriously addictive. I honestly did not care if I gave myself blood poisoning or infection. I cut all over my arms. I hid this from everyone. Eventually, I had cut so many times that both my arms were red and the wounds were a deep dark crimson in color. I have all the scars from cutting on my arms to this day. It reminds me of how far I've come in this battle and struggle just to survive.
One day in mid February, I decided to go on a walk. I went on walks often so I could distract myself. I spent most of my time around the house alone, staring blankly at the wall. I had no appetite and I usually only ate a muffin per day. I stopped drinking liquids as well and I was severely dehydrated. I was walking through the neighborhood and I ran into a couple of my friends. They could tell that I showed no emotion or enthusiasm so they invited me on a drive so they could talk to me. While we were driving, I decided to show them my arms because I was at the point where I couldn't take it anymore and I was sick of holding everything in. What I didn't realize was that they were just talking to me as a form of distraction. Before I knew it, I was at the hospital and the police and nurses waited for me in the emergency room. I was shocked. Too shocked to say anything. All I remember thinking was "Am I really this bad?" I started to panic because my parents just thought I was on a walk. I felt like a complete idiot because of how I was tricked into coming here. I still wasn't on any medication yet at this point. After a long wait, I was admitted into the hospital and they immediately put an IV in me so I could get hydrated. I was pale and my lips were chapped and puffy. I started to leak tears and felt so alone even though there were people all around me. I felt like a lab rat and I felt so disconnected from reality. The feeling that scared me most was that I felt completely cut off from God and all my thoughts were constantly of escape. The tension headaches got so bad that I couldn't sit up. I was on a gurney with a needle in my arm and My pillow was soaked with tears. Eventually, my friends had to leave but just as they left, my family came in. They were shocked to see me this way. I talked with each one individually and they were completely baffled at how sick I was. My thinking was even sick. I started sobbing again and I told them that I wanted to go home.After three hours of waiting, I was discharged but I was required to see a doctor, a therapist and a psychiatrist.
After this incident, I started to pray every night. I was always sobbing and begging God to do something. I didn't even know what to pray. I was about to start cutting again but something stopped me. I had the blade open and pointed towards some visible veins on my arm but the hand holding my knife was shaking violently. I screamed in rage and threw it against the window and I started to wail. I was sick of doing this. Constantly cutting and hating myself for it. I gathered all the sharp objects in my room, threw them in a trash bag and put it in the trash can in the garage. This was in the middle of the night. I rarely slept anymore. I mostly laid on my bed and stared up at the ceiling, wondering why I wasn't dead yet. I worried about everything. How could I continue taking my class at front range? I'm going to lose my job. I finally drifted off to sleep and I worried no more. At least until the morning came
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