S
Today marks one month clean of cutting and day two of my healthy eating habits challenge to myself. I have wanted to recover from my S.I for a long time and unfortunately I felt that the only option I had after trying to talk to my family and several different therapists who came off cold and irritated with me, was to no longer live.
On May 18th 2014, I had gone to work as always only this time I just felt different. I knew today was the day, I was finally going to be successful in my effort to leave this planet and be free from all my troubles. I went to work and put on the play called "Happy perfect Emilie" as I did every day before pretending to be alright. It worked and no one suspected a thing. On the way home I began thinking of ways I should write my goodbye note, or if I should leave one at all. I had been thinking about it for quite some time. Mastering it down to the last dotted i and how I do my swirly hearts for the dot.
I wrote the note, which I still have and I took a bottle of pills used to treat manic depression and laid on the cold tile floor of my bathroom, and I waited. Waited for death to come, to feel that familiar warm feeling as my body tries to save itself. My head began to spin and I felt hot but not from me. From the floor under me. I still don't know what that meant, but that's all I remember.
I woke in the hospital and my parents were praying over me. The devout Christians that they are started to lovingly lecture me about how my actions could have ended my life. When I said "that's what I wanted to happen" my mom went hysterical. Crying and saying how much she wished I would want to live for myself. My dad just kept praying.
I know how much I have hurt them and all though there are still times I want to continue hurting myself, I can not keep living like that. I am a walking contradiction and it's time I change that. Little by little, here's to every little tiny win along the way!
On May 18th 2014, I had gone to work as always only this time I just felt different. I knew today was the day, I was finally going to be successful in my effort to leave this planet and be free from all my troubles. I went to work and put on the play called "Happy perfect Emilie" as I did every day before pretending to be alright. It worked and no one suspected a thing. On the way home I began thinking of ways I should write my goodbye note, or if I should leave one at all. I had been thinking about it for quite some time. Mastering it down to the last dotted i and how I do my swirly hearts for the dot.
I wrote the note, which I still have and I took a bottle of pills used to treat manic depression and laid on the cold tile floor of my bathroom, and I waited. Waited for death to come, to feel that familiar warm feeling as my body tries to save itself. My head began to spin and I felt hot but not from me. From the floor under me. I still don't know what that meant, but that's all I remember.
I woke in the hospital and my parents were praying over me. The devout Christians that they are started to lovingly lecture me about how my actions could have ended my life. When I said "that's what I wanted to happen" my mom went hysterical. Crying and saying how much she wished I would want to live for myself. My dad just kept praying.
I know how much I have hurt them and all though there are still times I want to continue hurting myself, I can not keep living like that. I am a walking contradiction and it's time I change that. Little by little, here's to every little tiny win along the way!
