Losing Myself

There wasn’t just a single event that led to that moment in my life. It was a collection of misfortune, impaired thinking, and defective genetics. Rarely am I upset about just one thing. I tend to bottle up my emotions, until it is too much. All someone has to do is open the bottle, and all my emotions flood out. I don’t remember what set me off that day—maybe it was a mistake I had made, something hurtful someone said, or I could have just woken up that way, but I don’t remember. I just remember the absolutely unendurable pain.

I had never felt quite like I did in that moment. Yes, I had been depressed and yes, I had thought about suicide, but was never strong enough to do anything about it. I sat staring at the wall. My mind was running a million miles a minute, and yet it was as if I was walking through thick tar. My heart pounded against my chest, fighting to break free, my breathing began to quicken, and tears pooled in my eyes. It was the start of an anxiety attack, and I was willing to give in. I was done fighting. I was done trying. I was done living.

Those are the worst moments in my life, the moments where I hide myself from the world, curl into a ball and sob. Every scream, every gasp for air, every body-shaking sob is a moment, situation, or thought that I have been holding back for who knows how long. Usually they don’t last long, but that day I didn’t have the strength to calm myself down. I don’t know what possessed me to go into the kitchen; maybe it was the pounding in my head. Slowly, I shuffled in. That was when I saw them. The bottles scattered around the counter and shelves like candy in a candy shop. They whispered a way out, a way to be free. An overdose was the antidote to my illness. The pills, however, were too much of a risk. I had a better plan, one that couldn’t be stopped even if they did find me in time. I knew my suicide plan would not fail.

As a Type 1 Diabetic, my suicide plan had and always has been to overdose on insulin. Within an hour it would have an effect and with the extreme amount I planned to give, there would be no way to counter more than three day's worth of insulin with more than three day's worth of carbs in one short hour. The insulin would drop my blood sugars so incredibly low that I would die quickly. It would have been so easy to grab my insulin pump and push the insulin in. It was too easy, too tempting. I grabbed my insulin pump.

Depression has a way of making you see the world as if it’s your own personal hell. It makes your brain incapable of thinking positively. Every dream or goal that you have is unattainable. Memories that were once happy turn dark and twisted. You believe that you have never had anything good happen to you, and it never will. No matter how hard you work, no matter what you do, you are going to be miserable. This is what got me to the point of suicide that day.

As I held my insulin pump, I could see the beautiful clear colored liquid inside. Tears streaming down my face and unrelenting gasps, I fought with myself. Some part of me still wanted to live, but it wasn’t enough to stop me. That’s when I knew. I could no longer stop myself. I could no longer hold back. I could no longer trust myself. Then the absolutely unbearable sobs came. I completely broke down, and the small part of me that was still held together, shattered.

In one hand, I held a way out of this life. In the other, I held a way to keep living: my cell phone. It was my only way out. My mother and sister worked full time, and I had stayed home. That meant no one would be there to stop me. I focused on the two objects in my hands. I had a decision to make, one that would forever change my life. My vision blurred and all I could see was my insulin pump in my left hand. It was all I could think about, the only option. I would be at peace. I would be free. I intended to, and wanted to inject the extreme amount of insulin, but by some miracle I chose the phone. I don’t know how or why I did. I was still clutching my insulin pump as I unconsciously dialed my sister; it seemed to ring endlessly. Finally she picked up and within ten minutes, she was there. She held me as I sobbed, and I knew what would happen then, I would go to the hospital.

I had a long, extremely difficult journey before me, one that I still have to fight every day. Even though my time at the hospital was one of, if not, the hardest things that I have gone through, I wouldn’t go back and change anything. I have learned so much and it has made me stronger. It’s far from over, the battle I fight, but I am still standing. I didn’t give up, and I never will.