My Suicide Story
In my adult life, I have made three attempts to take my own life through suicide. Well, that’s not quite true. I made one attempt to actually kill myself, and the other two were to try and numb the pain, shut everything out for a while.
I’d like to talk about the serious attempt. It was in November 2018. My relationship of ten years was over, my girlfriend could take no more of my mental health: the constant mood swings, insecurities, panic attacks, anxiety, and depression. Looking back, I can’t blame her at all. My girlfriend had been the stepmother to my children and was a massive positive influence in their lives and mine. I was asked to leave our home. My life as I knew it was over, I thought my whole life was over. Looking back, I should have seen it coming, but at the time, I didn’t at all.
I moved in with my best friend to try to clear my head, it didn’t work. I went to stay with my cousin for a week, this didn’t help either. It was the day I returned to my best friends house that I decided there was no future for me, I had to take my life. I had no thoughts for my children, my family, or my friends, I had no thoughts at all. I was numb. I waited for my friend and her boyfriend to go to work around midday. I had been stockpiling my medication for a while. As soon as they left for work, I drove to three different chemists to get some more. I also drove to the off-license to buy a liter of Jack Daniels. When I got back to their home, I shut myself in my bedroom and pushed my bed against the door so no one could get in.
I started to drink and shoveled handfuls of pills into my mouth. I was crying my eyes out. I was listening to five finger death punch “Remember Everything” on repeat, a song that still haunts me. I wrote a suicide note and wrote, “do not resuscitate” underneath it. I really wanted to die. I sent some pictures to my friend at work, and although I don’t really remember it, I must have phoned my ex-girlfriend. I vaguely remember hearing her screaming at me down the phone. It was the phone call (that I don’t remember) to my ex that had saved my life. She knew where I was staying and came with the paramedics. They got in through an unlocked back door and broke the barricaded bedroom door down.
Around five hours later, I woke up in the hospital, my best friend, my brother and sister in law and another life long friend all standing at the end of my bed in recovery. I had lines with fluids going in and connected up to various monitors. I was high, I found everything funny, this feeling didn’t last too long. The reality of what I had done began to sink in. I was gutted that I had failed, all I wanted to do was to discharge myself and try again while everything was still in my system. I felt this way until I saw two mental health nurses the next day. They were the first people that had actually listened to me and were going to help. They made an appointment for me to see a psychiatrist and finally get a proper diagnosis. Help
I was discharged from the hospital, scared and alone. I stayed with a friend for a week before moving in with my brother and sister in law. I was there for three months before moving into my own flat. I got to see the psychiatrist about a month later, and that was when I got my diagnosis. Finally, things were going to change for me, or so I thought. My medication was changed, and I started Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) and stress management therapy.
Once this had all finished, I was left to it with no further support. The trouble with mental health here in England is the different attitudes of the doctors. Some believe in medication, some therapy, and some both. Some have no understanding at all. The CBT helped to release everything that was inside me but didn’t help me deal with it.
Eighteen months later and here we are in the middle of lock-down because of the COVID virus. This has caused me to take a minor overdose to try to numb things for a while. I let things build up inside of me to a point where I couldn’t cope. My anxiety was through the roof and my overthinking unbearable.
I’m very fortunate this time to have found a nurse in my local doctor’s surgery that really understands me and is listening to me. She has tweaked my medication and has urgently referred me for some specialist therapy. I was on sertraline, and it was making me ten times worse. I’m now on Escitalopram and diazepam, which are really helping me. She couldn’t believe that the psychiatrist didn’t follow things up properly in the first place.
I have had some Rapid Transformational Therapy (hypnotherapy). This has helped massively. I will never let myself get to the point of wanting to hurt myself ever again. I am determined to get well and stay well.
Stay strong you can get through it,
Martin’s experiences with therapy and medication are an example of HIS story and should not be used for making personal treatment choices.
Not all therapeutic methods are right for every patient. It is important to communicate with your therapist or medical professional about what seems to be working and what is not.
Patents ending therapy are vulnerable and may experience relapse. These individuals should create safety plans (numbers to crisis lines, previous therapist and other individuals in their support system) in the event that this happens.
If you have questions about starting therapy please see the article blog by site owner Hannah Siller.
Suicide Prevention is Possible
If you are someone you love is considering suicide please please seek help
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255
Suicide Text Line: Text HOME to 741741
About the Author
I’m Martin. I live in a small town in the East of England. I’m 47 years old, and I have suffered from mental health problems for most of my adult life. I have three grown-up children. I am currently single. My passions include riding motorcycles, listening to music, and supporting the world’s greatest football team, Ipswich Town. I decided to start blogging to try to remove the stigma from mental illness and also to raise awareness. I have borderline personality disorder, Generalized anxiety disorder, and manic depression. My blog is about everything I am doing to live with and overcome my illness and also the story of my life. There are many random events mentioned, and as you read through, you will understand why it is called “nine lives.”Happy reading!
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