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My Own Raw '13 Reasons Why' Story

Suicide Alive

By shemindfreak .Published 6 years ago 7 min read
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I have lived with suicide ideation since I was 13 years old. I grew up in a strict Jehovah's Witness family and formed sort of Stockholm syndrome effects along with suicide ideation. My captors, in this case, being my mother and the rest of my siblings. I ignored my depression because I would hear that it was a teenager phase. After I turned 20, I had come to realize it was not a teenager phase. After I sought therapy behind my mother's back, I had concluded that my illness was not an illness but the direct factor of my religion causing me extreme anxiety. As a Jehovah's Witness, you are controlled in every aspect of your life: what job you get, what friends you have, what you do for entertainment, what you can and cannot wear. I was a mess and developed social anxiety from being constantly observed and judged by my church and family and even by my closest two-faced friends there. When I turned 24, I hit a breaking point, I couldn't be around people without freaking out and had to quit my job as a waitress because I would throw up. I felt so broken and trapped and had no friends outside of church because the Jehovah's Witness church enforces you to only associate with people of the church. I felt this was it, this is how they control you; they tell you to not talk to anyone else because when you want to leave you'll feel forced to stay. At this point, my suicide ideation became more active and I tried drinking roach poison but found the bottle to be empty. See, I didn't care if it made me sick and didn't kill me, I was just trying to destroy my body at this point. I didn't care how and this was the beginning of severe suicide ideation. I had lost all fear to die. I had created an Instagram account blankxspace1991 (which you're welcome to follow) or at the time was emilieautumnfanpage and decided to vent online to strangers. This would be the beginning of so much pain and misery. These strangers offered me a place to stay after moving out with an old church friend and things going south. I decided to move with a girl online that I have only spoken to on the phone from California. I had continued my suicide ideation but met a guy online from Brazil around the time that I lived with my mom. After moving to California my plan was to see this boy and I made him my reason to not kill myself. He wouldn't leave me alone but I had broken up with him two times, telling him I was going to kill myself. I did not kill myself and we got back together. After a terrible disagreement between my online friend and her boyfriend, I was kicked out. I moved in with my boss who, to my surprise, lived in a dirty warehouse; he tried to harass me and I still stayed. After the suicide ideation continued, I often thought of stabbing myself but feared not having the strength to keep stabbing I only thought of it. I kept crying and my boss told me I needed to smile and I lost my mind and got fired for not smiling. Though in reality, I probably got fired for not giving in to him. I left the warehouse and moved in with another friend but had to leave because they were under housing. I moved to Dallas with, yet again, another online stranger friend. I had decided to go to the hospital and had broken up with the boyfriend from Brazil after fearing I would seriously kill myself this time. I left without saying anything to him. Instead of killing myself, I admitted myself to a mental hospital called the Seay Center in Plano, Texas. I had expected that I was in hands of professionals but I was not. My psychiatrist, Dr. Aina, wanted to focus on talking about meds. He did not care or maybe he just preferred to ignore the therapy part. For the nine days that I stayed there I felt suicidal, I even thought of trading rooms with someone that was sleeping next to a schizophrenic patient. Though I expressed my suicide ideation of wanting to be killed by that patient in group therapy. If I'm here and want to get help, I can't hide any bit of my thoughts. The new patients were starting to be predominately alcoholic men to which I felt triggered after the incident with my boss. I went to my room and cried and the medical technicians surrounded me. One medical technician named Janice came into my room to tell me to try making a mantra which helped her. She saw me crying and the last thing I can think of is anything positive. I told her I did not want to go because at the moment I was feeling terrible. My medication wasn't working, my suicide ideation continued thinking could I bang my head hard enough in the shower? Here is the perfect place to die I thought. Nobody knows me, nobody really can stop me. Janice then told me do you want to be sad in your room or do you want to try to feel better? I told her that I did not appreciate her using the word want. To which she repeated again do you want to be sad in your room? I said I don't want to do it. And she sighed, rolled her eyes, and stomped out of my room. To which I yelled at her, "Oh yeah you rolling your eyes is really going to make me feel better." That was my breaking point, my meds were not working and I was being attacked by this fucking bitch. This bitch that reminds me of every fucking person telling me that I want to be sad. Including that boyfriend from Brazil that called my depression and reactions immature.

That worsened everything and this hospital stay was spiraling with his words, "I wish I loved someone normal for once," he said. Fine, I'll leave, how dare you expect me to be normal after everything I've been through. See when you call the suicide hotline number this is where they send you to a fucking mental hospital. Yes, I've called four times without giving my location. So what more is there for me to do? After hospitalization, I went to a psychiatrist. See, I'm a fighter but don't say I didn't fucking try or that I want to be sad. After seeing Dr. Ali, which I mentioned applying for disability since I kept crying in a customer service job, she took one look at me and said you're young and disability should be left to the truly psychotic. Well, Dr. Ali, your world and society treat me like I'm psychotic. Dr. Ali neglected to refill my medication and I read going cold turkey could cause severe depression and danger. After telling me I needed to be in treatment for a year to claim disability, well Dr. Ali, you didn't refill my meds and I went cold turkey on them because the Lamictal was making me severely sick and caused massive nausea. Upon another disagreement with paranoid, depressed, online friend, I was kicked out again. She didn't even let me explain she just said I was manipulating her. Though she took money from my card to which I trusted her with and spent money on things she didn't need. She blows her disability check and then asked to borrow money and other times just took what she wanted from my card. So excuse me the manipulator is you, who told me straight to my face I'm not using you, well you fucking did. So I had to move again after she kicked me out. We are in May, I moved to San Antonio, Texas with a friend I knew from church; the one I had issues with before. But I'm here and under no medication. I'm working and after everything I've been through, I can't say I'll be able to push forward. I think of people like Robin Williams and Chester Bennington; how long before I snap and can't put up a mask of laughter? But will it all be my fault if I end my life? Depression, or people, or the corrupt medical system? The lack of education and awareness about depression and suicide? Well, as long as I'm still alive I'll make sure to bring awareness to it. Sometimes it takes suicide for people to listen. But I'll do my best to let every fucking person know what they did was fucked up before I die by suicide or naturally. Help my story be heard and never be afraid to tell yours.

depression
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About the Creator

shemindfreak .

Funny when you're dead how people start listening. Well i intend to be heard not after my suicide but while I'm alive.

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