Airing My Dirty Laundry

***Trigger Warning- Suicide***

You know, I thought long and hard about whether or not I wanted to write this blog. It took so long because I was ashamed and embarrassed about writing it and then I thought, ‘fuck it. Maybe it will help one person.’

So I have been going through a very difficult time. I would share that part with you but I stated to another party that I wouldn’t… people are so particular. <insert eyeroll>

But that part doesn’t matter. What does matter is that this particular situation broke me so badly that I have shattered into a million pieces. There are shards of my well-being all over the floor and I can’t seem to pick them all up. I have fallen back into old behaviors, the biggest one is self-harming.

This situation has destroyed a piece of me and I don’t think anyone that is involved really cares. I started scratching my arms till they bleed and over medicating my body. I am not self harming for attention; I am self harming because the pain inside is so severe that I don’t know how to get rid of it. The pain in my body is so deep that the only way to feel better is to harm myself and release some of that inner tension and inner pain.

On Thursday night, I contacted the suicide hotline so I could talk to someone. I thought about calling my best friend and even considered calling my therapist but I just couldn’t because I feel like I am such a burden to others. I am sick of hearing myself tell the same people how I feel and getting the same response. My pain runs so deep and dark that I don’t think it is fair to tell anyone how I really feel, so i decided to tell someone who didn’t know me; and that’s when I contacted the suicide hotline.

It felt good to get my issues and my pain off my chest. I could be honest about how I took too much medication and how I was considering taking the rest of the bottle. You see, people that want to commit suicide don’t want to do it to hurt themselves; they want to do it to get rid of the immense internal pain.

And let’s clear up some clich’es that I am sure you are thinking of already. Yes. I have an excellent family. Yes. I love my husband and love my children but in my twisted mind, I feel like they would be better off with someone healthier than me. Someone more patient. Someone happier. Someone smarter. Someone more beautiful. Someone skinner. Someone better.

I know what you are going to say, that I am perfect the way I am and I thank you for thinking that and for loving me for me but I don’t love me and that is my issue. A huge issue that I have been working on in therapy for close to three years.

So I contacted the suicide hotline and I thought it was anonymous but it’s not. Thirty minutes later, the police were knocking on my door. And as embarrassing as this encounter was, it was one that kept me from doing any more harm to my body or pushing myself just a little too much from not waking up. It saved me from me.

I was given two choices, to leave with the police voluntarily or involuntarily. I had to really balance my mind in that moment to realize that I didn’t really have a choice and I was going either way. I was taken down to the police car, patted down and took a taxi ride to the hospital.

Once there, they cut my drawstrings because I refused to wear their clothes and they gave me fuzzy socks. After check-in, I went to bed in nothing but a recliner.

The people at the hospital were friendly and even though I was scared to death, I still felt a sense of comfort surrounded by a large heaping pile of embarrassment and shame. I was hoping that I could connect with someone and someone would connect with me. Like having similar war stories, similar pain, similar feelings; a sign that I wasn’t alone.

The next day I ate a granola bar for breakfast and had a cup of coffee while gathered around the TV with other patients. I watched three movies that day. Three. There wasn’t a group or anyone to talk to; I met with the psychiatrist for ten minutes before I was discharged. I knew all the answers to get out of the hospital. I just wanted to go home.

The reason I am writing this is because:

1) I am grateful to the people that called the police from the suicide hotline, even if I did feel betrayed.

2) Mental health help, guidance and perception needs to change in America and people like me should get real help when we hit rock bottom.

3) Even though my mind is in dark places, my husband, kids, friends and my therapist, I will be forever grateful because they are the ones that make me feel like I can make it one more day, one more minute and one more second when all i want to do is slip away.

Until next time,

Allison

If you are suffering from suicidal thoughts, call the national suicide hotline at 1 800-273-8255 or text 741741.

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Published by

BlackWhiteAndCrazy

I am a mother of three small children with a wonderful husband. Having children is not as simple as black and white. Having kids is black, white and crazy. I hope you enjoy my blog of my crazy escapades.

6 thoughts on “Airing My Dirty Laundry”

  1. I found this from a friend posting on Facebook – I hear ya. Getting past the pain, the trauma, the “traitor brain” – it’s rough. I wish I had pixie dust to make it better – the medications, the diagnoses, the whole process of feeling like hell. I really do. I’m glad you made that call, and took care of yourself. You are worthy.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. If you need someone to listen, to talk to, so understand “the battle” know there are some out there that have been there too. Feel free to reach out. Some of us feel alone in a crowded room full of those we love because though they mean the world to us they can’t see the pain. The pain can sometimes be harder to ignore than we can handle alone, you aren’t alone.

    Liked by 1 person

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