Crazy Socks

This is a description of my suicidal ideations along with my account of the evening I took too many pills.

Warning: This story contains vivid descriptions of suicidal ideation. I wrote this from personal experience as a means to help me cope. I have absolutely no intent of encouraging this type of behavior and am not trying to do so in any way. This is something I battle with. I have a support system, I take medication and I am generally doing well.

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I've 'suffered' from suicidal ideation more than half of my life. There was a period of time where I would gently rock myself in bed while picturing myself hanging from a rafter in the garage. This gave me permission to no longer care about life. All my worries would disappear and moments later I would drift off to sleep. I never thought about taking a trip to the local Hardware store to purchase a rope and a step-ladder then teach myself how to tie a noose from a YouTube video. This time and effort possibly prevented me from taking the action. Just a very bad coping technique, that helped me get through those times.

 

My thoughts continued to get dark during this period of time. I eventually had it planned out with a gun. I would do it outside. No one wants the task of cleaning blood off of walls and carpet, especially when it's your loved ones. Clean up in a yard would be as simple as a water hose. I would make sure there would be notes for a couple people, not sure what I would write, but it would make everything better.

 

Any type of firearm has never been allowed in my home.

 

My mother attempted suicide two times. Once before I was born, and another time shortly after I graduated high-school. She took a bunch of pills and was unsuccessful both times.

 

I have always believed that pills are not a true attempt at ending yourself. I consider it more of a (very risky) cry-for-help. Kicking a stool out from underneath you, with your hands tied behind your back is guaranteed. Pulling the trigger with the barrel under your chin, in your mouth or at your temple is guaranteed. You can't back out of those by calling 911.

 

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Recently I started thinking about taking my wife's sleeping pills. Almost every night, I would picture myself going into the kitchen, getting her medicine and swallowing the entire bottle. Very few steps involved. Open Bottle, pour pills into mouth, swallow with water. A very simple action.

 

Around 7pm on a Friday, there was no thought, just muscle memory created from my thoughts. I got up from the couch, went into the kitchen, opened the pill bottle, and got some water. I picked up the pill bottle, poured it into my mouth letting the pills gather up, followed by a drink of water. They went down very easily.

 

My wife was in the living room not knowing what I had just done. I needed her to see my 'cry for help'. I walked into the living room and continued to pour more pills into my mouth, washed them down and said "You better call 911".

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While on my way to the hospital the EMS explained that my vitals were good but that the night isn't over, "the pills still have to metabolize." He also informed me that what I took will give me the s***s.

 

I threw up twice, no pill fragments to be seen.

 

In the emergency room an audience watched while I had an IV put into my right arm (I already had one in my left). The EKG wires were everywhere. The ER doctor tells me her name and begins to take my right shoe off while another individual takes my left shoe off followed by my sock. The DR explains what is going on and why she is checking my feet and legs. I shall be with only one sock until the morning.

 

Everyone slowly dissipated out of the room. I was no longer entertaining enough.

 

After a couple hours of waiting outside, my wife was finally brought back to see me. I cried like a baby while hugging her. I began the first of many apologize over my "cry for help".

 

She did some research while waiting to see me. She found that you need to take a lot more of the pills in order to overdose.  The most that would happen to me is that I would sleep for a long time. This meant that I really didn't need to be there and now I wish we hadn't called 911. I wanted to go home.

 

My wife had to leave, I laid down and was able to get some rest.

 

The hospital psychiatrist visited me around 1am Saturday morning. He asked the typical questions you would expect for someone who has been admitted for a suicide attempt. He explained that I would be eventually be moved into the psychiatric area of the hospital where I would have a personal room, a bed and a phone. I asked how long I would be held for. He explained that it should be no more than 5 days, but 3 days is possible.

 

Wasn't much longer I was transported via wheelchair to my new room in the psych ward. It was like walking into a huge freezer. I needed three hospital blankets, which was barely enough to keep comfortable. I was able to get some more rest.

 

12 hours after all this began, I was being transported in the back of a police van to a Medical Hospital with one sock and had yet to experience the s***s.

 

After being brought into intake, the nurse brought me my first pair of mental hospital socks. I was no longer wearing just one sock and the first part of my journey to getting well began. 

I would remain in Unit 2 for 7 days.