My Darkest Moment ⚫️ (as Told Afterward, in a Lighthearted Email)

Inspired by @ListPrompts // This is all C+P verbatim from the email.
  1. Sent: 5/26/2012
    [Author's note: I had just turned 22. I graduated college one year before this occurred.]
  2. To: [my close friends at the time.]
  3. Subject: THIS IS A SAFE (long) THANK YOU LETTER <3
  4. "My dear ones,
  5. This is NOT a suicide note.
    But it is shitastically longwinded.
  6. Kay... now that that's out of the way... thank you.
    Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
  7. I was released from the hospital psychiatric inpatient unit yesterday afternoon, but it's been hard to get up the guts to write this email.
  8. I guess I'll start from the beginning, and not hold anything back.
  9. Backstory first, because I know the attempt was really out of the blue for most of you.
  10. After my second release from the hospital I'd been really overwhelmed by my parents, my group therapy, my individual therapist, and just life in general.
  11. There were a lot of big pressures for me to be already cured and start a full, productive life right away
  12. In case you don't know anything about depression, it doesn't work like that. EVER.
  13. You have to take baby steps toward full recovery, and to own up to my own part in this I didn't communicate that need to anyone.
    I just... bottled it up until it exploded into a suicide attempt.
  14. My pills had been locked up since my first hospitalization, but after my depression lifted a few weeks ago my parents were convinced I was "all better" and were lax about making sure the boxes were locked up.
  15. So, on Sunday afternoon the box was open and I took advantage of the opportunity.
  16. I snuck some pill bottles into my room and completed the suicide notes I'd been composing for about a week.
  17. Your letter was the final one.
  18. Right after sending my email to you guys, I turned off my computer, turned off my phone, and downed about fifteen pills of lithium and fifteen pills of Klonopin
  19. At first it was terrifying and I was shaking and sobbing in fear, but it turned methodical and calming with each sip of Sprite Zero.
  20. Anyway, I lay down and waited for sleep to wash over me. I was incredibly calm and relieved.
    Probably because I wasn't aware of what was about to happen.
  21. Little did I know a network of incredible companions were teaming up, like superfriends or some other Avengers (I haven't seen it yet, I've been kinda busy...) metaphor.
  22. My mother got a call from [name retracted] who I had completely forgotten had her number.
  23. She rushed up to my room yelling and unlocked the door.
  24. She got my dad and they screamed at me, demanding to know what I'd done.
  25. I was groggy and admitted where the bottles were and how many I'd taken, primarily so they'd stfu and let me die already.
    It didn't work like that.
  26. They drove me to the hospital in my pajamas with my Dad running red lights and speeding like it was Grand Theft Auto or something.
  27. In case you've never overdosed, it's a completely awesome, non-gruesome, and all around enjoyable experience.
  28. NOT!
  29. It's the worst ordeal ever.
    Ever.
  30. Now I will (lightheartedly, so it's not so scary) describe what I went through so you never ever overdose or you can forward this section to any other loved ones who even hint at overdosing.
  31. It would've deterred me if I'd known what you go through if you're one of the high percentage of people who fail at killing yourself via pills.
  32. First, you are ordered to drink two cups of actual liquid charcoal.
    Yes, the shit you cook hot dogs with. (As my brother later joked, "Was it at least mesquite?")
  33. Anyway, once you chug that shit like it's the worst 4loko you've ever tasted (it's worse than that) approximately one minute later you puke it all up.
    Everything you ever had in your stomach goes BLACHHHHH out of your mouth and it's gross as hell.
  34. Then you're supposed to drink this clear juice that's a super strong laxative.
    I forget the name 'cause I was groggy by then.
  35. At that point I was on the verge of passing out so they decided to give it to me another awesome way - through my NOSE!
    I know, you're probably wondering how this magic trick works.
  36. Well, they shove a tube down your nose, down your throat (insert really bad bj gagging noise here) alllll the way down into your tummy.
  37. And then they pour cold liquid down it and it's just... so much fun.
    Definitely recommend it, fun way to spend an evening, blah blah blah it sucks.
  38. Meanwhile! I got stuck with so many needles I can't even count the bruises all over my arms and hands at this point.
    When I saw my brother after a few days we took him on the "bruise tour" to try and count, but there are legitimately too many. My mother recently suggested I tell people who ask about them that I am "really into bondage." Umm... okay. They are very specific, medium sized bruises, so I don't think I'll be able to pull that one off. Suggestions for alternative lies are welcome as long as they're not "Say you're a heroin addict!"
  39. Oh, and later in the shower I found a gigantic, bright blue bruise on my gut. I was completely unaware of how I got it until my mother told me they injected me with anti-clotting medication through a giant needle while I was passed out.
    Well, okay then.
  40. Anyhow. I'm vaguely aware they took me in an elevator and up to the intensive care unit. I had an IV of saline and an IV of the laxative into my nose and an IV in my hand for blood drawing and heart monitors hooked up to a machine and a periodic inflating blood pressure cuff and my own tv, all to myself!
    I watched an episode of Aqua Teen Hunger Force around midnight. Be aware, this show is even weirder on many drugs.
  41. Then I slept for approximately 12 hours, though I'm told I woke up sometimes and insisted on being disconnected from my many wires so I could use the real bathroom and not a bedpan because I WANT MY DIGNITY DAMN IT and said really mean things to my mom and the nurses.
    Oops.
  42. They had me sign a form to admit myself voluntarily to the psychiatric unit and then apparently I accused the woman of bullying me into it?
    Oops again. Apparently I was possessed by the devil - more evidence of that later when a chair is involved.
  43. So then I graduated to the delicious clear liquid diet, which was room service in fact made up of (you guessed it) clear liquids.
    Mmm.
  44. Then I slept more and eventually graduated to real food. The lame hospital chocolate cake slice made me glad to be alive.
    That statement is actually true.
  45. Eventually that night I was healthy enough and admitted to the psych ward for the third time in two months.
  46. All the Caribbean nurses (for some reason like 75% of them are Caribbean) were like "Oh no, Elizabet, why you here again?!"
  47. I am vaguely aware of sobbing uncontrollably in my official psych ward scrubs, and taking the calm-down pill cocktail after cursing them all out and giving someone the middle finger, which is just downright ridiculous.
  48. Two days later, a girl I befriended told me the first time she saw me in the ward I kicked a chair and told it "Fuck you!" She was intimidated by me and I actually can't stop laughing at this image because I don't remember it AT ALL.
  49. Later, my favorite nurse told me I made a mistake because I was so nice to the nurses in my previous trips, so he knew crazy mean Elizabeth wasn't the real me.
    It's true.
  50. Re-reading the story so far, I probably shouldn't have made this out to be such a funny tale.
  51. It is, in reality, probably in the lead for terrible things that have happened in my life.
  52. I guess it's just that humor is my only way of describing the experience at this point... like hearing the screaming racist psychotic guy in the psych ward, you can either laugh or cry about it.
  53. Right now I need to choose to laugh.
    (In case you're curious, the dude called people Hitler and asked for blowjobs. Anyway.)
  54. I gradually became lucid again and realized I was lucky to have gotten through it all without kidney or liver damage.
  55. My mother snuck me my phone during a visit (cell phones are against the rules... I'm pretty bad-ass, I know) and I discovered the many emails and voicemails from you all.
    The voicemails were what had me sobbing.
  56. Your intense level of care made me want to get better. Need to get better.
  57. In the next five days I went to many group therapy sessions and psychiatrist meetings and realized that the act was an expression of anger toward others and life in general, but expressed upon myself.
  58. I don't think I've shared this, but on top of bipolar II I've recently been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder.
  59. One of the symptoms is expressing your anger upon yourself via self-injury and suicide attempts.
    So... yep.
  60. Moving on. Three legitimately wonderful things happened during my stay this time.
  61. 1) I won a janky unicorn Beanie Baby during a quiz in group therapy, and named her Hope.
    This is full of meaning (if you're skeptical of this, gtfo because for once I'm actually serious) and wrote it on her foot like Andy writes his name on his toys in Toy Story. Okay, I know I'm mega lame but whatever.
  62. 2) I realized how much I mean to people, and myself.
  63. 3) I was given the book "How I Stayed Alive When My Brain Was Trying To Kill Me".
    I'm still working through it, but it's gradually changing my life, outlook, and actions for the better. I recommended it to anyone, regardless of your connection to suicide or suicidal actions. It's just... it's amazing. Really amazing. I can't express the intense meaning of it for me in words. Better than Harry Potter, and yes again I'm actually not kidding.
  64. So, yeah. Yesterday I was released, and this Wednesday I go back to outpatient group therapy which is good because I'm looking forward to some intense art therapy coloring, fuck yeah.
    Again, I'm actually serious about this statement. I'm considering a career change to art therapist, actually. But that's a whole 'nother long email.
  65. After I got home yesterday we saw my psychiatrist, who apologized for overloading me. I apologized for not communicating. We talked about shopping malls for two minutes. My parents came in and I explained the communication issue to them.
  66. I'm trying to live moment to moment these days, not overload myself, and stop fucking comparing myself to other people / obsessing about my future.
  67. So, yeah. That's the story, Wishbone.
    ~*FORWARD THIS EMAIL ON TO THREE FRIENDS OR THE POSESSED GIRL WHO SAYS "FUCK YOU" TO CHAIRS WILL COME INTO YOUR ROOM AT NIGHT AND MAKE YOU DRINK CHARCOAL.*~
  68. But for realsies: when you discharge from inpatient, they make you write a list of three things worth living for. I definitely wrote down "my friends".
  69. I love you all. This is probably TL;DR so reply (or don't, it's all good) at your leisure.
    I don't think I'm ready for Facebook or phone calls right now, but I'll return to full use of social media and legit voice to voice talking eventually, I promise.
  70. I love you all.
  71. And again, thank you.
    Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
  72. You were all right, and I'm glad to be alive.
  73. Your friend always,