Almost too late

One decision is all it took to save my life.

You’re sat in the corner of your darkened room, curled up in a ball, your head failing to lift, but instead falling to rest against your knees. Clasping your legs so tight into your body, hoping you can cradle yourself to safety, praying that the hurt will go away if you just sit, hidden, and tightly close your eyes. The times you want to cry, but nothing but anger and pain comes out, your arms loosen, letting go of the tight grip you once held so well, turning from a grip of safety, protection, to knuckles clenching, you want to punch, but instead, your hands loosen and collapse to rest either side of your trapped mind. You’re at peace, you’re calm, then, with one deep breath, a rush of anger, frustration, anxiety and fear hits, your fingers spread, pushing through your hair, you squeeze, squeeze so hard against your head, you’re trapped, why won’t it stop, just make it stop. You don’t want to hold on anymore, you’ve waited for so long, hovering between living and dying. You have to make a choice, which way do you go? You’ve tried so many times to pull yourself back up, to live, but every glimpse of life you get, every time happiness reaches your emotion, something pulls you back, something refuses to let you live. So what’s left? You want to die. You’ve managed to compose your emotions, you want this. You let go of your head, you sit up, take one last look around and begin to write those last words, the words that will never leave your family/friends minds.

I’m sorry, I can’t. Goodbye, I’ll always love you.

It isn’t until you come so close that you realize, maybe life isn’t so bad, maybe you just weren’t trying hard enough.

Many times have I been that frightened little girl, curled up in the corner, terrified of her own mind. Attempted suicide four times.

Attempt number four.
12.30am, I’d been curled up in darkness for three hours by this time, I couldn’t cry, couldn’t force emotion to fall from my eyes, so instead, I lay, agitated and scared. So many thoughts racing through my mind, yet none clear enough to fix. Then suddenly, I stopped moving, I let go, moved my arms and lifted my small, weak body up to sit. I reached to turn my lamp on, and just sat. My eyes followed my walls round, the room of a girl, no clue to pain, no clue to having anything wrong. I looked and imagined me gone. This room, just sitting there, empty. Would my parents take everything down? How long would it be until my door was re-opened and the secrets in drawers and cupboards were searched and revealed by every member of family that built the life you chose to leave.

But that wasn’t enough, not this time. I let my head fall back as I slowly closed my eyes, took a breath, and reached for the pen and paper. I sat and wrote.

‘How do you begin to say goodbye? 4 years I’ve fought, struggled and failed to conquer my own mind.

Tell me it’ll all be okay, I dare you. I can’t. I’m older, my mind is stronger. My body lies, scarred, never will I be left alone. Do I want to die? I don’t know, but I’m sick and tired of being stuck in the middle of life and death. It hurts. Don’t reach out for help if I fail for the fourth time. Let it be.

I’m scared. TELL ME HOW TO FIX IT ALL PLEASE.

I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, I’M SCARED MUM AND DAD, PLEASE SET ME FREE. I DON’T WANT TO DO IT ANYMORE.’

A tear finally caused to fall as there in front of me lay a suicide note, a box of paracetamol and a bottle of vodka.

Two at a time, I placed them in my mouth, reached for the vodka, and swallowed them down. 16 paracetamol down, 8 swigs of vodka down. A pause of relief, fear and excitement hits before I lay my head back down, and close my eyes.

My body so little, so exhausted, so weak. You have to give up this time, you must.

The vodka began to mix with the pills, almost instantly my veins began to riddle with alcohol, my head span, I smiled. Within seconds, that smile turned to fear. I opened my eyes, screwed my face up and began to break. I rolled over, repositioned my body to the well known ball of safety. I shook, I spoke.

‘Please go away, just go. I don’t know what I did wrong. I don’t want to do it anymore, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. Let me go.’

Anger hit, my legs kicked out, I gripped my head, pulling my hair, tears began to appear and there it was. I’d broke. As my legs kicked out, I hit the wall, it woke my mum, in she came to find her little girl curled up in fear, something she could not possible fix. She simply sat, and held me, she let me cry and shout. You could see the hurt behind her tear glazed eyes, trying oh so hard to keep it together.

2 hours later, after her trying to get the words to leave my mouth, trying so hard for me to admit what she already knew. She read the letter, she saw the vodka, the box. She knew I’d done something, but inside, it was almost like she wouldn’t allow herself to believe it unless the words fell from my mouth. She hoped so hard that it wasn’t how it looked, that I hadn’t tried again, for the fourth time. Her only daughter, her youngest child, her baby girl, had not once again, tried to end her life.

By this time, I was really drunk and drowsy. So I spoke. I said what I’d taken. Why it took me so long I don’t know, maybe it was because this time, I really wanted it to happen, so I tried to let it happen.

Instead of my mum getting up and putting clothes on to take me to hospital, she simply just lay with me in her arms. I looked up, saw her eyes, emotionless, staring across the room. Her heart was breaking, she’d ran out of answers too, she didn’t have the strength to go through this all again. So she just lay until I fell asleep, she knew I wouldn’t die tonight.

2 days later, I was told to go to a&e. I sat in my car for 2 hours deciding whether to go or not. It would be fine, I don’t need to go.

However, I ended up going, I would be taken there by someone else if I didn’t myself, if I just get it checked out, everything will be fine. As always.

This is where my message to you lies.

That simple decision, do I or don’t I, could have cost me my life. This is where it hit me, this is where the reality of dying was coming all too close, where my eyes widened, my heart pounded and body panicked. S**t. I don’t want to die.

My liver wasn’t coping. One of the most vital organs in my body was shutting down, struggling to fight. Your liver functions correctly   on a level of 0-40, mine 2 days after overdosing, 289.

If I decided to turn round and go home, continue my week, wake up, go to college. Chances strongly say I wouldn’t of made it. I would have began to turn yellow, experience extreme pain, before slipping off into a coma. To which I may not have woke. One simple decision, made wrong, would have cost me my life.

Although I was in hospital, it wasn’t 100% that everything would be helped, yes I was put on treatment, yes I was monitored, but that’s all they could do. If my liver didn’t respond to treatment, I’d spend every day in hospital with i.v’s running through my veins until a liver transplant came by. Liver transplants don’t come along that often, it was still touch and go. I could still die.

Thankfully, my liver began to respond to treatment. Slowly but surely my levels began to come back down.

One more step to go. Can my liver repair itself without the need and help of i.v fluid? If it couldn’t, I was heading for an emergency liver transplant. If it did, I’d be able to start to rebuild my life. I’d be weak, and ill for a while, and my liver very delicate. I’d have to be careful with things I took or drunk.

I’m a 17 year old girl, it’s Christmas, my liver responded and began to fight on its own.
I’m a 17 year old girl, it’s Christmas, yet I can’t celebrate and party with friends and family because the risk of liver failure was still there, draining my energy and my ability to go out and have a drink.

So, here it is, next time you’re that person, just stop, think. Living, dying, two stages. However to process to reach the end, is not. You cannot simply decide to end your life, and in seconds you’ll be gone. You don’t think about to process of your body shutting down do you? Well next time, do. To die of an overdose is one of the most painful experiences. It’s not easy, and it’s not quick.

If it doesn’t work, instead of having a life, being a teenager, you’re stuck feeling exhausted, and invites out no longer feel you with excitement. Instead of going out and having fun, having a drink, you’re led in bed asleep, because your body is still fighting so hard to fix itself.

Oh and of course, if it works, you won’t die immediately, you’ll slip into a coma, where then your parents are faced with the choice of whether to turn your life support machine off or to keep it on, to keep praying and hoping that you’ll open your eyes. The thought of being one decision away from that outcome pains me. Feels my stomach with guilt.

My parents didn’t deserve that.

My friends didn’t deserve that.

Neither do yours.