Post Suicide Attempt: Chapter 2


Post Suicide Attempt: Prologue –

Post Suicide Attempt: Chapter 1 –

Valentine’s Day came a few days after I was admitted to the ICU, and I had quite a few visitors that day.  It was nice.  I was brought flowers, candies, chocolates, and stuffed animals.

I also learned that I would be moving to the psychiatric hospital as soon as they had a bed available, which ended up being the following day at 10pm.  I had to quickly pack up all of my stuff, throw out my flowers and head over there.  My personal support worker took me to the psych hospital across the street in a taxi, as per protocol, and she brought me inside.  I was greeted by a nurse, and my personal support worker left.

The nurse who greeted me showed me my locker, where I would have to keep all of my stuff.  I was allowed one book at a time in my room, and nothing with a hardcover.  All of my clothes, toiletries, and the rest of my books were locked up by the nurse.  If I wanted to get something, I had to ask at the nursing station.  She then showed me to my room.

The room had a greenish hue, and the paint was chipping in several places.  There were two chairs and a table, all attached together, and a bed.  There was also a light on, which I would later learn never turned off.  I put the book I had chosen to keep with me on the windowsill.  The window was protected by bulletproof glass and the blinds were stuck shut, so I never got to see outside.

A few minutes later, a different nurse came in and started asking me a bunch of questions.  This took a very long time, and I don’t remember all of the questions.  I do remember the nurse calling me promiscuous because I had had some no-strings-attached sex that I had to tell her about to be admitted, and I remember being asked if I had ever been arrested for a bunch of different crimes.

She also asked if I had AIDS, and I said no.

“Are you sure?” she asked.


“How can you really be sure if you’ve had sexual intercourse outside of a monogamous relationship?”

“I’ve been tested, and I don’t have it.”  I really did not like this nurse.  I didn’t like most of the night-time nurses, but the day-time nurses were all excellent.  I wondered if they scheduled the grumpier nurses for nights so that they would have less interaction with patients while they slept, or if the nurses were grumpy because they had been scheduled to work nights.

Eventually she left, and I went to sleep.  The real adventure began in the morning when I was woken up to a breakfast tray.  At this point, I wasn’t eating much; I still felt pretty queasy from the overdose, and I don’t think I ate anything on my first morning.  I did have tea, though.  The only tea this unit had was orange pekoe tea, and I still can’t drink or smell that kind of tea without being reminded of this unit is the psych hospital.  It also took me several months to be able to eat eggs again since most of the vegetarian meals were egg-based.

The unit was shaped like a donut.  The nursing station was in the middle with windows all around it so that they could see what was going on.  There was a hallway around the nursing station with doors to all the patient rooms, the lounge, the isolation room, and the bathrooms.  There was also a door in the far corner from my room that led to the unit with lower security.

Since there wasn’t much you could do in the unit, a bunch of the patients walked in a circle around the nursing station.  There was one woman in overalls who told me that the government had murdered her children and were now trying to silence her by keeping her locked up.  There was the girl who would eventually become one of my best friends.  There was the guy from Newfoundland who was very friendly.  Most of the patients were nice and welcoming, even though I hardly ever left my room.  But there was one patient who terrified me.

When this guy walked around the nursing station in circles, he would shout, “I didn’t mean to hurt her.  They said I meant to hurt her, but I didn’t mean to hurt her.  It was an accident!  I DIDN’T MEAN TO HURT HER!”  All the rooms had windows into them (except for the isolation room) so that the nurses could look in on us, and this guy would stop at mine and stare at me.  He looked in once while my family was visiting and my sister jumped up and screamed.  On one of the few occasions where I did leave my room to ask one of the nurses for juice, he stood behind me at the door and told me, “Your body is just like hers.”

Another terrifying situation was when I was in my room, about to go to bed with the stupid light that didn’t turn off shining above me, when the guy from the room beside me tried to get into my room.  My door handle stuck all the time, which usually annoyed me, but this time I was grateful for it.  The night-time nurses didn’t do anything about it while it was happening.  I don’t think they were paying attention because when I went to tell them what had happened, they were playing cards with their backs faced to the rest of the unit.

I knocked on the door.

“Yeah?” the one nurse asked when he opened the door.  I found him pretty intimidating.  He had once refused to give one girl her PRNs, the medications that you are supposed to be able to get whenever you asked for them as long as your doctor said it was okay.  She didn’t get her anti-anxiety meds and she had an anxiety attack.  He got mad at her, as well as the patient and I who were trying to help her breathe through it.

“That guy just tried to get into my room.”

“Oh, what?  Did he scare you?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said.  “Kind of.”

“Go back to bed.”

And that was that.

I was admitted on the Friday before a long weekend, so I didn’t get to see my doctor for a few days.  As soon as I did, he told me that I would be moving over to the other unit, T2, as soon as a bed became available.  At this point, I was considering begging to be allowed to go home.  I promised myself that I would never hurt myself again because I never wanted to end up back in that place.  I kept telling my mom that I wanted to go home, but she kept telling me that I needed to stay where I was.  She told me that this was the place where I was going to get the treatment I needed.  I knew she was right, but I wanted nothing more than to get out of there.

Post Suicide Attempt: Chapter 3 –


Post Suicide Attempt: Chapter 1


Post Suicide Attempt: Prologue –

This post is going to be choppy and confusing because it is going to be about when I woke up from trying to overdose on pills.  You are going to experience this like I remember it.

I wake up sprawled over my bed with vomit on the floor, on myself, and on the bed.  I go right back to sleep.

I wake up again.

I remember telling the girl who lived in the dorm room beside me, who is now my roommate, that I need to go to the hospital.  She must have gotten my residence advisor because now I’m in her car.

Now I’m sitting on a chair waiting in line to see a nurse in the ER.

I’m was over a toilet, throwing up.  Apparently this happened several times, but I only remember it happening once.

I’m in a hospital bed.  My dad is holding me up, hugging me.  My stepmom is standing behind him.  I think he told me how much I scared him and that he loves me.

I ask for my mom.

I’m listening to my headphones and I am alone.  A nurse comes and takes my phone and headphones away because I’m not allowed to have a phone with me.

I wake up after trying to roll over in my bed and tugging on the IV that is now in my arm.  A woman I do not know is sitting by my bed, reading a magazine.

My bed is being wheeled somewhere else in the hospital.  I’m starting to become a little more lucid.  I learn that the woman who was sitting in my room is my personal support worker.  She’s there to watch me in case I try to hurt myself again.  She and one or two nurses bring me to a room in the ICU.

At some point, my dad arrives with clothes.  When he is gone, my personal support worker says that it’s nice how involved my dad is.  It’s usually the moms who do everything to make their kids comfortable.

“It’s midterm time in school right now, isn’t is?” she asks.


“It can be a stressful time.”


“Is that part of what happened to you?”

“No,” I say.  “I was doing just fine in all of my courses.”

Two of my friends come to visit me.  One of them brought me graphic novels to read.  They stay until my parents show up with my brother and sister.

My sister looks terrified; I know she doesn’t like hospitals.  She is sitting on the window ledge in the corner of the room.

At some point, I take a shower and realize that my dad only brought me pants.  I keep wearing my hospital gown as a shirt.

A few of my friends from residence come to visit me.  It could be the same day; it might not be.

I only really start to remember things on my third or fourth day in the hospital.  I’m in my own room with an en-suite bathroom, but I have to leave the door open when I shower and go to the washroom so that my personal support workers can keep an eye on me.  I don’t have much of an appetite for anything except toast.  I’m not allowed to have anything within reach, so I have to ask my personal support worker for books or whatever else I might want.  Except there isn’t really anything else that I’m allowed to have.  I am not allowed electronics, but the nurses let me watch tv anyway.  Whenever I have to go to the bathroom, I have to ask my personal support worker to get a nurse to take the IV out of my arm.  Eventually, my dad brings me some shirts, and I start to get used to the way things are even though I want nothing more to go home.

Post Suicide Attempt: Chapter 2 –

Liebster Award



Hey, exciting news! nominated me for a Liebster Award, which helps to generate awareness about up and coming blogs!  You guys should check out her blog too!

I answer the ten questions that she asked me, and then I ask ten questions to 10 people who I will tag (no tag backs!) at the bottom of this post.  Make sure to check out all of their blogs!

Okay, here goes with the questions:

1. Why do you blog?

I started blogging for a couple of reasons.  First of all, I wanted to share my story to spread the word about mental health issues.  Second of all, I love writing.  Those are also the reasons that I keep blogging.

2. When was the last time, you did something crazy, or extraodinary?

3. Would you consider doing yoga?

I used to do hot yoga regularly, but the classes got too expensive.  Now I just YouTube yoga videos and do it at home.

4. What do you love? (go ahead and get lengthy with this one children)

  • My bunny, Bailey
  • Writing
  • My friends and family
  • Purple
  • Orchids
  • Tea, especially chai tea
  • Dogs
  • Birds
  • All animals, really
  • Reading
  • Children
  • Prozac because it changed my life
  • Cardigans
  • Having someone else make me meals
  • Ryan Gosling
  • Vampire Diaries (and I’m not ashamed of it!)
  • Bagels
  • Spending time with my boyfriend
  • Knowing that my relationship with my boyfriend is a healthy one and that I am empowered enough to kick him to the curb if he ever treats me badly, but I am confident in saying that I doubt that will happen because he is super duper nice to me!
  • Pumpkin pie
  • A lot of things, but I think these are my favourites

5. If you had nothing to do, everyday for a year, what would motivate you to get up and start your day? Anything?

This is a tough question because I hate doing nothing.  I had a couple of months after being released from the psych hospital where I was supposed to do nothing, and it drove me crazy!  I got my motivation from friends and family.  At this point in time, I have my rabbit.  She’s a handful and a half, so she gets me running around doing things for her all the time.  I also have roommates who would keep me pretty occupied!

6. Have you ever held a chicken?

No, I can’t say that I have.

7. When is the last time you star gazed?

It was a few days ago.  I was waiting in line for a haunted house with some friends, and I went into a daze looking at the stars.

8. When is the last time you used the word beautiful?

Yesterday morning!  I take care of two girls before and after school.  One of them was really upset that she didn’t have time to straighten her hair before school because she thinks that she looks ugly with curly hair.  I told her that she’s beautiful, which she is, especially with curly hair.  Then when the two girls and I left the house, I said: “Now I get to take two beautiful ladies off to school!”

9. What is your favorite tv show?  Favorite band?

Vampire Diaries is definitely my favourite show.  I used to be embarrassed about that because I didn’t want to seem like some cliché vampire-obsessed girl.  And even though this is the only vampire thing I like, I really don’t care if you think that I’m a cliché vampire-obsessed girl.  I love the show!  As for my favourite band, that’s a tough question because I like so many bands.  I think I’m going to have to go with Death Cab For Cutie.  Even though I have some bands that I go through phases of infatuation with, I always come back to Death Cab.

10. Where do you feel like you belong?

I don’t really know if there’s a specific place where I belong.  I think I’ll just have to make the best of wherever I am at any given time.  I’m pretty happy with where I am right now.

Okay, there are my answers!  Now for my own questions!

  1. If you didn’t have to worry about money, what would you do with your life?
  2. If you could meet any person in the world, dead or alive, who would it be?
  3. What would you do differently if you could turn back time?
  4. Of all the books you have ever read, which one stands out the most?  Why?
  5. If your house was on fire and you could only grab one thing (assuming that all family members and pets make it out safely on their own), what would it be?
  6. What is your weirdest habit?
  7. Do you have any guilty pleasures?  If so, what are they?
  8. If you could have someone erase all of your negative memories, would you want them to?
  9. What is one lifestyle change that you really want to make but are struggling with?
  10. If you could be an animal, what animal would you be?

And these are the blogs that I am nominating to answer my questions:

Be sure to check these guys out!

Post Suicide Attempt: Prologue


Hello blog readers!  I had an assignment for one of my classes to write a short story about a life event, which inspired me to write a mini-series for this blog about the aftermath of my suicide attempt!  Cheerful, huh?  Don’t get too worried about it being super heavy and depressing.  That is not my goal.  My goal is to paint a picture of what it was like to receive treatment.  I will be releasing segments of this story every Tuesday evening, so stay tuned!  To get you all started on this journey with me, I am going to tell you about the actual suicide attempt.

It was a Sunday that I decided to take my life.  I had been thinking about doing it for a while, and I had made my decision a few days before I actually went through with it.  There were three reasons I waited until that Sunday.  One:  I was signed up as a driver for my school’s wildlife club trip to see a swan banding demonstration on the Saturday.  I didn’t want people to end up not being able to go because I had died.  Two:  I had volunteered to help my friend make soup for my residence’s Sunday soup kitchen (we all got together and ate soup; we didn’t feed the homeless).  I didn’t want to leave all of the work to her, and I didn’t want to ruin the soup kitchen, so I decided to wait until after that was over with.  Three:  I had borrowed my mom’s car, and I needed to get it back to her.  I also had a coffee date that day, but I didn’t really care; I didn’t even shower for it.

In retrospect, those all seem like really minor things in comparison to death.  But at the time, I thought I was a burden to everyone around me.  To me, it only made sense to do what I had promised others before taking my life because I didn’t want my death to be a burden to anyone.  I really thought I was doing my friends and family a favour.  I mean, I knew they would be sad at first.  But I thought that after their grieving period was over, they would feel a sense of relief because they would be done putting up with all my problems.

Once I finished all of my commitments, I locked myself into my room to end my life since I didn’t want anyone to try and stop me.  However, I felt the need to apologize to two people before I killed myself.  I apologized to the guy who had been emotionally abusive towards me because I felt so guilty about my anxiety, and I apologized to my friend for warning her not to date him when she had a crush on him.  I feel like an idiot for apologizing for those things now.  I’m glad I got in the way of this guy dating my friend because she is one of the sweetest people I know.  She deserves a lot better.  I probably didn’t warn her in the most tactful way, since I had to get drunk to muster up the courage to do something I knew would get me in serious trouble with this guy.  But I’m still glad I warned her.  I used to feel like an idiot for apologizing to this guy right before I attempted suicide because I felt like it made me feel weak, but I don’t care if he sees me as weak anymore.  I don’t give a fuck what he thinks anymore because he has been cut out of my life for good.

After making my apologies, I wrote out a note that said, “This isn’t anyone’s fault but my own.”  Then I gathered all of the pills in my room into a pile and poured a drink.  I was feeling pretty shaky, so I decided to take my anti-anxiety pills first to calm me down.  I have no evidence to prove this, but I think that decision may have been what saved my life.  My anti-anxiety pills made me really sleepy when I took 0.5 mg at a time, and I think that the amount that I took that night knocked me unconscious before I could swallow enough pills to actually die.  I don’t know for sure because I don’t remember a whole lot after that point until waking up the next day.  And that’s for me to write about next week.  *SPOILER ALERT!* I didn’t die.

Post Suicide Attempt: Chapter 1 –

The Bikini Wax Disaster


Okay, so, this happened about a month ago.  But at the time, I was so embarrassed about it that I couldn’t bring myself to write about it.  Now that it’s been a while, I’m over it.  It is pretty embarrassing, but I’ve decided not to care.

My boyfriend was going to come up to my dad’s cottage, and I wanted to take care of my hair down there so I could wear my bathing suit without having to spend money on a professional bikini wax.  I know that one of my friends always waxes her own bikini zone, so I figured that I would give that a shot.

In retrospect, I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea.  I’m a huge wimp.  The only reason I don’t ask the aestheticians who wax me down there to stop halfway through my appointment is that my anxiety kicks in, and I assume that they will judge me as a human being for being such a wuss.  I don’t know why I thought that I would have the willpower to rip hair off of my genitals using hot wax.

People always tell you to believe in yourself, but I really shouldn’t have in this case.  Everything started out fine, though, so I felt confident.  I had turned the wax heater in the bathroom on, cut the cotton I’d be using to rip the hair up from its roots into strips, and I had even put baby powder on my bikini area so the wax wouldn’t stick to my skin.  I felt like such a pro!

It was finally time to start waxing.  Putting the wax onto my skin and sticking on the strip of cotton was no problem.  The trouble started when it was actually time to rip the hair out.  I braced myself to pull off the cotton strip, but then I just didn’t do it.  I was too scared.

Then I started to think about the previous time that I’d tried to give myself a bikini wax.  That time, I had gotten so scared about hurting myself that I just left the strip on my vajayjay for hours.  I eventually ended up reheating the wax with hot water and gently peeling the strip off.  And then I had one hell of a time trying to get the leftover wax residue off.

I don’t know why I thought that I had gotten beyond that, but I knew that the pain would wear off faster than the wax would, so I took a deep breath and pulled the wax off.  It really wasn’t so bad.  At least nearly not as bad as I thought it would be.  I decided that I could definitely finish the job and put some more wax down there.  As I was putting the cotton strip on, I got scared all over again.

In fact, I was so nervous about pulling this strip off that I felt like I was going to pass out.  I grabbed a towel and laid it down on the bathroom floor to make myself a place to lie down.  I did some deep breathing to keep calm.  When the light-headedness wore off, I stood back up and ripped that strip of wax off.

At this point, I probably should have stopped.  But I felt like I had gone too far to turn back, so I applied the wax all again.  I really don’t know why I got so nervous because the last two times were really not that painful.  The worst part of the whole ordeal was the anticipation, which I was just prolonging by freaking out so much.  But the light-headedness came back, and I had to lie down all over again.

I finally decided that I wasn’t cut out for this, and I stopped.  The results weren’t pretty, but at least I made it out of that bathroom alive.

“I Like to Look Like Myself”


I’ve been having some self-esteem issues lately.  I’ve been breaking out, my eyes have been kind of puffy due to a lack of sleep, and I’ve put on a bit of weight since the beginning of the summer. But, in the grand scheme of things, I have a lot to be happy about in terms of my appearance.  This morning, a five-year-old girl that I babysit every day gave me some perspective about all the little things that I don’t like about myself.

I actually babysit two girls, Clara and Gracie, before and after school.  They are both smart, funny, and sweet.  This morning, I got to their house while they were still asleep.  Their mom had already left for work when I woke them up.  Clara got me to help her pick out an outfit after telling me that she wanted to wear blue that day.  Gracie, on the other hand, didn’t want any help with her outfit.  After they both got changed, they came down for breakfast.  Clara was wearing her blue outfit, and Gracie was dressed head-to-toe in pink.

“Gracie,” I said, “Do you want to pick out a skirt to wear over your tights?  You can see right through them.”

“Mmm, yeah, okay,” she replied.

Gracie went upstairs and picked out a pink skirt, pointing out that you could still see the puppies on her tights with that skirt; the puppies were the whole reason she wanted to wear those tights in the first place.

The girls spent a long time brushing their hair this morning because they had asked their mom what her hair straightener was for, and their mom had straightened their hair for them the night before to show them.  They also spent a long time brushing their teeth because they had a dentist appointment after school, and they wanted to impress the dentist with how clean their teeth were.  To finish getting ready, Clara picked out a fashion scarf to wear.  We then left the house to head over to the school.

After dropping Clara off at the grade 2 door, I walked around the back of the school to take Gracie to the kindergarten door.  While we were walking over there, a little boy stopped Gracie to ask, “Why is Clara dressed so fancy?”

“I don’t know,” replied Gracie.  “Because she wants to.”

The little boy ran off and Gracie said to me, “Clara really likes wearing scarves.”

“She does look pretty stylish,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Gracie, “Clara always likes to look pretty.”

“What about you?” I asked.  “Do you like to look pretty?”

“I like to look like myself.”

I was speechless for a moment.  I was in awe of this little girl who probably had no idea how intelligent she sounded when she said that.  Finally, I said, “That’s a really good way to feel.  It’s really good that you want to look like yourself.  Keep that up!”

I’ve worked with a lot of little girls when I worked in a library, and so many of them have self-esteem issues.  So many of them want to look like Barbie, who has to have a makeover in her movies before she can actually go out and do anything useful.  So many of them have overly-critical parents that they want to please.  Knowing that at least one little girl is completely confident in who she is makes me really happy.  It also made me realize that even though we all have flaws, those flaws are a part of what makes us who we are.

Thanks For The Dick Pic


Sometimes human stupidity is extremely entertaining.  However, there are times where it is not so funny and I wonder how humans have survived this long.  This week has given me a great contrast of both, but the story I am about to share was not funny for me.  I would probably laugh if it happened to someone else, but I did not enjoy the experience.

Anyway, it happened on Monday.  I guess it was actually Sunday night for the person on the other end of this exchange, but it was Monday morning when I happened upon it.  By it, I mean the photograph of a penis that had been sent to my phone.

Now, for those of you who know about my new boyfriend, it wasn’t his penis.  It was the penis of a guy I don’t even talk to anymore.  He didn’t send me any kind of message along with the photo, not even a winky emoticon.  It was just the penis.

I don’t know what this person was thinking when he sent me the photo.  He knows that I’m seeing someone, so I don’t know why he thought that it was a good idea to text me a dick pic.  Was he thinking that I would see his penis and realize what I was missing?  Because that’s not what happened at all.

I saw the penis and deleted the message, mortified.  I debated whether or not I should tell my boyfriend about it.  I was worried that he would get mad or upset when he had nothing to worry about on my part, but I decided that honesty was the best policy in a new relationship. Or any relationship, really.

Luckily, the boyfriend in question handled it really well.  He obviously did not like that some guy he didn’t even know had sent his girlfriend a dic pic, but he was more concerned about how upset I was about getting the photo.

I am sharing this because I would like to raise awareness about how unwelcome random dick pics are.  If you ever have the urge to send someone a photo about your genitals, make sure you think that through.  Are you certain that the person on the other end will enjoy waking up to a penis on their phone?  If your first thought is, “My penis is fabulous!  Who wouldn’t enjoy having a picture of it on their phone?” then you probably shouldn’t send the photo.  You think too highly of yourself.